Seven

by Claire Kent

  Since he’d already ascertained her readiness, Owen pulled the cheeks of her ass apart and found her pussy. Lifted her hips slightly as he pushed his hard cock inside her, making her suck in a breath at the familiar intrusion.

  Amy was grabbing at the back of the dresser and holding her head up so she could watch them in the mirror. The sharp edge of wood she bent over was poking her painfully in the belly but she ignored it. Focused only on the feel of Owen’s cock inside her.

  Holding onto her hips, he pulled out some and then plunged back inside—going deeper than he had all afternoon, filling her completely. Shudders of pleasure radiated out from the penetration, and she moaned deep in her throat. She felt his balls resting against her bottom. She wiggled in response.

  He grunted and thrust again, once more making her shudder and moan.

  She clung to the dresser desperately, her eyes never leaving his face.

  He was acting like the caveman she had teased him into—giving her what she’d asked for.

  It was what she wanted. He was hot and primal and dominant, and he was fucking her like an animal. This was sex. Only sex. And it felt amazing.

  Exquisite pressure started building inside her as Owen’s thrusts become harder and faster. With each drive forward, he pushed her into the dresser and one of his hands slid forward on her back until it was fisted in her hair. She urged him on with her broken whimpers and pleas, trying to move with him as best she could in her helpless position.

  It wouldn’t take much longer for her to come to the final of her seven orgasms.

  Owen's face was damp again, and now he was staring down at where his cock was sliding in and out of her body. His hands were clutching hard at her hip and her hair. And the breathless grunts he made were rough and incoherent.

  He wasn’t watching her. Wasn’t looking in her eyes. Wasn’t holding her in his arms. Wasn’t saying her name. Wasn’t calling her “love.”

  Wasn’t saying he loved her.

  The pleasure was still building each time he slammed back into her, but she couldn’t watch him anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut instead.

  This was what she’d wanted, a reminder of the true nature of their coupling. Nothing deep, nothing intimate, nothing that was anything more than physical.

  What it was was good. Amazing. Mind-blowing. Something other women could only fantasize about.

  But it wasn’t enough for Amy.

  So she finally admitted it to herself. Maybe she was foolish and impossibly greedy, but she wanted—she needed—so much more.

  And everything changed. The feel of Owen moving roughly inside her became painfully bittersweet. Her shoulders started shaking, and she could barely make them stop. Tears burned in her eyes, so she squeezed them closed to keep the tears from falling.

  This was supposed to be nothing more than hot caveman sex. It was wild. It was impersonal. It embodied the true nature of their relationship.

  And it would probably be the last time she’d take Owen inside her body.

  She’d lost control over her life, her heart, her world after all, and now she couldn’t keep doing this. Even just for twenty-eight more days.

  It would be an injustice to her heart.

  She loved Owen. For good. No going back. And she needed to be loved in return. She couldn’t settle anymore for meaningless sex.

  Couldn’t give her body to a man when she wanted so much more. Even if that man happened to be Owen.

  Even if she happened to love him.

  She couldn’t help but grieve over what it meant, even as he fucked her hard from behind.

  The momentum of her orgasm faded completely, but she tried to hide it from him. This might be the end, but she wanted to feel him come inside her one more time. She kept her eyes shut and tried not to cry. Continued whimpering, although less from desire and more from heartbreak now.

  Owen froze with a wrenching groan, his cock inside her all the way.

  Before she had time to process that he’d stopped, he’d leaned over her. Cupped her cheek with one hand. “Amy?”

  “What…why…” she stuttered, trying to form a coherent question.

  His breath was hot and damp on the side of her face, and she could feel his weight pushing her into the hard wood of the dresser. “I thought this was what you wanted,” he said in a raspy whisper.

  She wanted to look at his face, but she couldn’t open her eyes. If she did, all the tears she was trying to hold back would overflow. “It is.”

  “No, it’s not.” He pulled his weight off her and then pulled out of her completely—leaving her feeling empty in more ways than one. His voice was uneven. He’d been on his way to climax and had to stop abruptly. “If it was, you wouldn’t be crying.”

  “I’m not crying.” A tear leaked out of her tightly shut eyes, belying her words. One of his fingers found the tear and flicked it away. “That’s just because it feels so good. I'm just overwhelmed.”

  She had to open her eyes so she could see Owen’s expression. He looked sober and intense and unreadable as he shook his head slowly. “No. That’s not what it is.” He pulled her up off the dresser and, before she knew what was happening, he had lifted her off the floor, cradling her in his arms. “I thought I was giving you what you wanted. You should have told me you didn’t want me that way.”

  “I did,” she said, instinctively twining her arms around his neck and nestling against his strong body. “I was the one who instigated it, remember?” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “What about number seven?”

  He laid her gently on the bed and lowered himself beside her. Caressed her face with such tenderness that the lump in her throat threatened to suffocate her. “Fuck number seven,” he said hoarsely. “Amy, tell me what’s wrong.”

  She just wasn’t brave enough to tell him. She’d lost control of too much already. She couldn’t lose control of everything. “Nothing,” she mumbled, giving the lie one more try.

  Owen felt warm and big beside her, and he was gazing at her with an intensity she didn’t understand. “Amy, tell me what you want.”

  She wanted him to love her. Wanted him to stay with her and not go back to London. Wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

  “I want to try for number seven,” she said at last, meaning it for one last time, reaching up to stroke his thick, damp hair.

  He shifted his tense body and studied her carefully. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed, opening her legs as he moved over her and settled between them. “I’m sure, Owen.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him as close as she could make him. “I want you to make love to me.”

  There was something too raw and naked in her last words, and she was afraid she had given too much away. But it was too late to take them back, and part of her didn’t even want to.

  With a strange groan, Owen sank into her once more, and she tried to wrap her legs around his hips. It took her three attempts, since her muscles were tired and trembling, but she finally got her legs linked around him.

  He didn’t move immediately. Just buried his face in her neck. “Amy,” he said, his voice muffled and unspeakably dear. “I am. I always have. I’ve never done anything else.”

  Something lurched in her chest as she tried to understand what he meant. “Owen? What do you—”

  He raised his face and placed one finger on her lips, silencing her with the gesture. Meeting her eyes, he murmured, “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Don’t try to work it out. Some things we just can’t control.”

  She was about to cry again. About to shatter. About to be completely overwhelmed. So she made one last-ditch effort to stop it. “There’s an appalling kind of irony to your telling anyone in the world not to talk, think, and control.”

  He smiled slightly in response but refused to lighten the mood. “Amy,” he said softly, his tone almost pleading. His hard length inside her felt familiar, felt complete, felt so incredibly right. “Why won’t you unde
rstand?”

  Opening her mouth again, she would have asked another question, but he silenced her with a kiss. The lovely pressure of his mouth on hers was so sweet that the tears that had collected in her eyes streamed helplessly down her face.

  “Owen,” she whispered against his lips, sniffing and hoping that her nose wouldn’t start running. “What—”

  “Shh.” He continued pressing little kisses into her mouth, and then he started to move inside her.

  Slowly, gently, with a lingering rhythm, Owen made love to her—just as she wanted. Her legs tightened around him with every deep thrust, and one of his arms edged under her shoulders so he could pull her chest toward his as they moved together. They were kissing constantly, his lips and tongue stroking her mouth as his hard cock stroked her most intimate self.

  The pressure started building again with the rich friction of his motion inside her, and she angled her hips to get more stimulation on her clit. Moaning against his mouth, she arched beneath him as the sensations continued to collect at her center.

  Soon, her breathing became too urgent, and she tore her mouth away from his. Tossing her head on the pillow, her eyes happened to land on the clock. “Faster,” she urged him breathlessly. “Running out…time.”

  “I don’t care.” His voice was a husky caress. He mouthed the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Amy, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Yeah…does,” she panted, arching her neck back and clawing at his shoulders as her orgasm approached too damn slowly. “You wanted…to win.”

  He made a strange noise in the back of his throat and continued the steady thrusting of his hips. “Amy, baby,” he said thickly, his face hidden because he was now nuzzling her neck. “That was never what this was about.”

  “But,” she objected, hope flooding her chest at the implications of what was happening but reason trying to keep her joy in check. “You said—”

  “I say a lot of things.” He found her throbbing pulse and kissed her there. “They’re not always what I mean.”

  She wanted so much to believe him. Wanted so much to allow herself to believe that he was trying to express something without words.

  She had to make sure. She breathed, “Why don’t…you say what you mean?”

  He lifted his head up. Met her eyes. Told her everything she needed to know. “Why don’t you?”

  Because she was afraid. Because she didn’t think he loved her back. Because she thought it would lead to heartbreak. Could his reasons be as simple as that?

  His eyes, his mouth, his hands, his cock, his body was telling her the answer. All of him was loving her, adoring her, asking her to love him back.

  She did. So much. Held him tightly with her arms and her legs. Squeezed him with her inner muscles. Moved her hips with the rhythm they were making, allowed it to push her toward release.

  “Owen,” she cried, on a taken breath—wondering how everything had been made right in such a short space of time. Her heart, her body was exploding with a fullness she’d never imagined before. “Owen.”

  “Amy,” he choked out in response. His movements had taken on a new urgency, propelled by the change he must sense in her. He sped up his thrusting and kept giving her clumsy, loving kisses. “Love.”

  She arched beneath him again as she felt the delicious pressure coiling tightly inside her. She was sore, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Owen inside her. All the way inside her. All the way to her heart.

  And the unimaginable truth that maybe she was in his heart too. She couldn’t believe it was real, but he was silently communicating his feelings to her. Finally, she couldn’t help but hear them.

  “Amy.” The gentle rhythm of his motion disappeared as desire and need took over. “Amy, Amy.”

  She was crying again. Tears falling down her face and sliding into her hair. Little sobs breaking out of her throat as she felt her final orgasm tighten, on the edge of releasing. “Owen,” she whispered, just before she came.

  Her body froze, as if shocked by the shattering rush of pleasure. And then her whole body rocked with the sensations.

  She clawed lines down his back as she came. Felt Owen come too.

  He grunted out her name one final time as his hips jerked against her, as he tightened and released with his climax.

  They lay together breathlessly afterwards, making funny, helpless sounds as they tried to deal with the culmination of the entire afternoon.

  Unthinkingly, Amy glanced at the clock. “4:10,” she said hoarsely. “You win.”

  He kissed her again, leaving Amy a limp heap of mush and satisfaction. Her tingling legs had finally unwound themselves, and her exhausted body was sprawled beneath him.

  When he didn’t reply in words, she added, “Seven orgasms. Who knew?” She briefly wondered if any sexual encounter she had in the future could possibly live up to this afternoon.

  Then she looked up at Owen’s tired, tender face. Thought about what both of them seemed to feel.

  Decided the future might be even better than today.

  “That means we get to live out one of my fantasies,” Owen said in a textured voice. He couldn’t seem to stop stroking her face, and his body was heavy on top of her.

  “Right,” Amy agreed, almost glad she hadn’t won because she was dying to know what he fantasized about. “But, just so you know, we’re not going to be having sex again for a day or two.”

  He pulled his limp cock out of her with a wet sound. “Are you really sore? I tried to be careful.” Then he looked a little guilty. “At least, until the end. Then I got a bit carried away.” He pressed a little kiss on the side of her mouth. “You do that to me, you know.”

  “I know,” she said, smiling at him fondly, tearing up again at the joy of knowing this was true. “It’s not too bad. But no matter how careful you are, seven times is seven times.”

  He nodded. “Well, not to worry. This hasn’t been entirely painless for me. And I’m not sure I’m going to be particularly eager for a while myself.” He smiled, something deep and intoxicating entering his eyes. “We can wait for my fantasy.”

  She sighed happily and nestled against him. “Okay. Hopefully I’ll be recovered enough by whenever that is.” They both really needed a shower, and she thought it must be a sign of how completely besotted she was that she didn’t even care how sweaty and messy he was as she snuggled against him. Of course, she was a little sweaty and messy herself, and he didn’t seem to mind either. “Owen, I—”

  A sudden scratch in her throat made her cut off her words abruptly, her head twitching to the side and her body jerking with each cough.

  Owen loosened his hold on her and waited until she recovered herself. But when she stopped coughing, he grabbed her and scrutinized her face with a surprisingly hungry gaze.

  She blinked up at him, still a little befuddled from all the sex, the exhaustion, the coughing, and the joy over the revelation of Owen’s unspoken feelings.

  “Yes?” he prompted impatiently. His gaze was so urgent and frustrated that Amy had to think back to what she’d been saying.

  Then—in a hot rush—she understood. He thought she’d been about to say something important. Something that started with “I.”

  She was momentary flooded with mushy feelings over this evidence of how much he wanted to hear her say it, and she almost babbled out the truth in a sappy haze.

  But she bit the words back, her nature making itself known with a sudden clench. The selfish coward wouldn’t say it himself. Wanted her to say it first. Actually expected her to cave before he did.

  “You what?” Owen demanded, his arms like a vice around her.

  Arrogant, spoiled asshole. Thought she would make it easy for him. Always used to getting everything handed to him.

  Well, not this. She might have lost the wager of the seven orgasms, but she wasn’t going to let him win this other game.

  This game that meant so much more.

  Smiling at him tenderly, sh
e patted his cheek. Gazed up at his handsome face, her heart in her eyes. Said sweetly what she’d originally intended to say, “I reserve the right to veto any of your fantasies if they make me too uncomfortable.”

  This time she was watching for it, and she recognized the disappointment that flickered briefly in his eyes at her words. Was impressed by how quickly he was able to hide it as he murmured, “Agreed.” He relaxed beside her on the bed, looking as drained and exhausted and worn as if he’d been through a battle. Then his lips twitched. “I’ll think of something good for both of us.”

  She was instantly intrigued and rolled over until she was draped on top of him. “What are thinking? Anything good?”

  He narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrows. “You’ll find out eventually,” he said snidely.

  “Bastard,” she muttered. “Indulging in petty spite just because I wouldn’t tell you that…”

  “That what?” His body tensed up beside her.

  She sniffed, panicking a little over how close she’d come to slipping and saying what she was now stubbornly determined not to say first. Thinking quickly, she rephrased, “Just because I’m not swooning over your victory.”

  He smiled in tired amusement, the intensity fading once more. “It was quite a victory, wasn’t it?”

  “Pompous, bloody arse,” she mumbled, exaggerating an accent vaguely similar to his.

  He choked on a laugh.

  Then she smiled fondly. “It was an amazing victory. No one would ever believe me if I told them.”

  He seemed to appreciate her praise because his eyes grew soft. His voice, however, was typically smug as he added, “One might almost say it was worthy of a sex god.”

  “While I certainly appreciate his occasional appearance, I’ve never really wanted the sex god.” She put her hand on his pounding heart and spoke words that were as close to the truth as she was willing to voice right now.

  Said, “All I’ve ever wanted was the man.”

  The Aftermath