Seven (2 page)

She called out to
him, and he waved, coming over when he was through in line.

Wes was the same age
as Amy—twenty-eight—and he was attractive in a quiet way, with brown hair and
glasses. They’d gone through dental school together and even gone out for a
couple of months until they’d mutually realized they could never work as a
couple. They’d been friends ever since, though, and they’d both joined his
father’s practice here in Baltimore when they’d gotten their degrees.

Owen stood up and
shook hands with Wes. Then he gave Amy a kiss on the lips and said he was going
to pay for their meals.

Amy frowned as he
walked away. He’d only met Wes a couple of times, and he’d never seemed to like
him.

Wes grinned at her.
“So you’re still going out with him? Doesn’t he move back home pretty soon?”

“Next month,” she said,
swallowing hard as her eyes rested on Owen’s back, strong and smooth beneath
his gray shirt.

“So what are you all
going to do? Try to do a long-distance thing?”

“Oh. No.” Amy’s eyes
returned to Wes. “It will be over then. We decided that from the beginning.
We’re just having fun. Nothing serious.”

“You’ve been going
out a long time for it not to be serious.”

“It’s not about the
length of time. It’s about the intentions. There’s just no future for us. His
whole life is back in London, and I’ve worked too hard to build my career here
to just pick up and move.”

“Yeah. It would be
hard, I guess.” Wes was studying her face. “Maybe he could stay here.”

Owen was a rising
star in corporate finance, and his company worked him like an indentured
servant. It was understood—by him and everyone he worked with—that he was only
in Baltimore for a year.

There was no way in
the world Amy could let herself think about any other possibilities. Those
dreams would destroy any hope she had of staying in control of her life. “But
why would he? I’m telling you, we set ground rules from the beginning. No
feelings allowed.”

Wes gave her a
characteristic half-smile. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Just fine.” She
stuck out her chin to show she wasn’t happy about the implications. “Women are
just as capable of keeping their feelings under control as men.”

He chuckled. “I’m
not talking about women. I’m talking about you. I know you pretty well,
remember? And it’s obvious to me that you’re crazy about this guy.”

She sighed and glanced
away. “I’m not crazy about him. Even if I were, it would be an exercise in
futility.”

“Maybe he feels the
same way about you.”

Occasionally, she
was tempted to daydream about that, but she always stopped herself. In her
years of dating and all the sensible advice she’d ever heard—from her mother,
from her friends, from best-selling dating books—she’d learned one thing for
sure. If a man was interested in more, he would make it clear to you.

If Owen wanted a
deeper, more emotional relationship with her, she would have known it by now.

“No, he doesn’t. I would
have seen some sign, if he did. He’s planning to leave twenty-eight days from
now, without looking back.”

“Well, maybe you
could float the idea past him, just to see his reaction.”

“Why are you
assuming I even want to? I’m a practical woman, remember? He’s
fun-for-six-months material. He’s not husband material.”

She mentally
clarified that he wasn’t husband material for
her
. She had no doubt he’d
be an amazing husband. She was just not the kind of woman a man like Owen would
ever marry.

“If you say so,” Wes
murmured.

 She’d been watching
Owen as he paid for their food and turned around, but now she turned to give
Wes a dirty look for his snide tone.

When she looked back
at Owen, he didn’t appear as charming and relaxed as normal. In fact, he was
frowning as he started back toward them.

“I’m just saying
that, if you want to act like a grown-up and admit to him that feelings have
developed, that wouldn’t be entirely out of line,” Wes added.

Amy scowled again at
her friend, which just made him laugh. He leaned over and gave her a friendly
kiss on the cheek as he said goodbye.

Owen completely
ignored Wes’s farewell and put his hand on Amy’s back to urge her out of the
restaurant.

She was annoyed by
his high-handedness and his rudeness both. “What the hell is your problem?” she
demanded, when they started down the block toward Amy’s apartment building,
where they were spending the weekend.

Owen raised his
eyebrows. “My problem with what?”

“With Wes or
whatever that was back there.”

“I have no idea what
you’re talking about.”

She peered at his
face, and it didn’t look anything but neutral and questioning. Maybe he hadn’t
been as bad-tempered as she’d imagined back there. “I don’t know. It just
seemed like you were kind of rude to Wes. He’s a good friend of mine, you
know.”

“I am aware of that.
You’ve mentioned it any number of times.”

She searched his
expression. “You’re not jealous of him, are you?” she asked, noting that same underlying
tension again. Her heart leaped in hope at the idea—at the possibility that
Owen might be jealous of her feelings for another man.

She shouldn’t feel
hopeful. She absolutely shouldn’t feel hopeful.

But she did.

“Why would I be
jealous? You can shag him, if you’d like. Just make sure you tell me, so we can
go back to using condoms.”

That was another of
their ground rules. They were exclusive unless they said otherwise, at which
time they’d start using condoms again. Amy had no desire to sleep with anyone
but Owen, and she doubted he’d have time to fuck anyone else, between the long
hours he spent at work and the time he spent with her.

She was sure, if he
did, he would tell her about it. She trusted him at least that much.

“I don’t want to
shag…to sleep with Wes,” she said, once she’d recovered from her surprise.
“We’re just friends.”

“Are you sure that’s
all
he
wants?”

“Yes, I’m sure
that’s all he wants. So you
are
jealous?” That jumpy excitement started
up in her chest again, even as she tried to stamp it down.

“Of course, I’m not
jealous. Unless he has one of those magic penises that fork into ten different
heads.”

Amy couldn’t quite
hide a grin. “Or maybe he has one of those magic penises that can make me come
seven times.”

This was evidently
the wrong thing to say. Owen’s hand, which was once more on the small of her
back, clenched suddenly.

“I was joking,” Amy
said, feeling rather hopeful again at the glower on his face. “I have no
interest in Wes’s penis, magic or not. Don’t get all cranky.”

“I wasn’t cranky, to
use your unfortunate word, about
that
. I am still baffled by the fact
that you think it would take magic for you come seven times.”

“Are we back to
that?” She groaned ironically, mostly to cover up that she was disappointed
that he wasn’t really as jealous as she’d been hoping. She’d known it was
stupid to hope for such a thing. “Unless you’d like to prove it, then I think
you should give the subject up.”

They’d reached her
building, and he pulled to an abrupt stop. She stopped too, by necessity.

His eyes had
suddenly taken on a heat that made her heart race in excitement. “I will prove
it.”

“Well, you’ll try
anyway.”

“I’ll succeed.”

“With your cock, not
your mouth or your fingers.”

“With my cock.”

One of Amy’s neighbors,
who was leaving the building just then, gave Owen a quick, startled look.

“And you’ll only
have a limited amount of time. Say an hour.”

“You said the scene
in the book was an hour or two, so you’ll have to give me two hours.”

“Fine. Two hours. Seven
orgasms. No cheating.”

“No cheating.” He
stepped forward and leaned into her in a way that made her gulp. “I’m offended
you think I’ll need to cheat to make this happen.

“Well,” she managed
to say, feeling her cheeks start to warm from the heated look in his eyes. “I
know you’re stubborn, and your skills in bed are impressive. But, seriously,
I’ve never come more than twice at one time in my life. Some women can’t have
multiple orgasms, so I hope you won’t take it as a slight to your manhood when
I’m not able to make it to seven.”

He tilted his head
down until his face was a breath away from hers. She shivered at his closeness,
at the warmth she could feel radiating off his body. He murmured, “My manhood
is functioning just fine.”

Amy gulped again.
“Never doubted it. But seven—”

He brushed her lips
so lightly that it could have been the flutter of a feather. “What’s the
victory prize?”

She hadn’t thought
about that yet, but she never doubted her victory. She knew her own body, knew
their history in bed—which was always amazing but always like real sex. Knew
she’d never make it to seven. “I don’t know.” She wrinkled her forehead in
reflection but lost the ability to think clearly when he started sliding his
tongue across her lower lip. “What do you think? Got any ideas?”

“When I win,” Owen
said, rubbing his hand lower on her back. “Then we’ll live out one of my
fantasies.”

“That’s good.” She
was starting to wonder what she’d gotten herself into and was darkly fascinated
by the mysterious content of Owen‘s sexual fantasies. “And when I win, the same
thing applies.”

Seven orgasms would
definitely qualify as fantasy sex. But her deepest fantasies didn’t involve
sex. They’d always involved three little words.

Unfortunately, she’d
always been a realist. In sex and in everything else. And she knew those three
little words would never—
could
never—be said between her and Owen.

“Deal. As soon as we
get up to your flat, we’ll check the time. And two hours from then, you’ll have
come seven times.”

“Only if you win the
wager. You’re probably going to lose, you know.”

He gave her bottom a
possessive squeeze, despite the fact that they were still standing on a public
sidewalk. “I’ve never lost a wager in my life.”

“Well, there’s
always a first.”

He gave her that
grin that always took her breath away. “And a second, third, fourth, fifth,
sixth, and seventh.”

“Pompous asshole,” Amy
murmured, not quite under her breath. The insult was purely a reflex. She had
to do something to distract herself from how rapidly her heart was pounding and
how hot she suddenly felt at the wager they’d just made.

Owen arched his eyebrows. “I should
cry foul for trying to distract me by starting a fight. Beginning to lose your
confidence?”

 “Of course not. But, you’re right.
I’ll try to avoid the name-calling. You have a lot to try to accomplish in only
two hours. You can’t afford to lose any time. We better get upstairs before you
get too scared.”

He chuckled—such a fond expression on
his face that she momentarily lost her breath—and started to walk inside.

They got onto the elevator but,
instead of standing in the normal way, side by side with their backs to the
wall, Owen maneuvered her into a corner.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as
the doors slid closed. Quite without conscious volition, her hands lifted to
hang onto his shirt.

“What do you mean?” His voice was low
and thick, and his body was hard and hot as it pressed her into the corner.
Very hard. Very hot.

Amy’s already pulsing blood pulsed
even more. “The two hours haven’t started yet, so don’t try to cheat by getting
a head start.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Are you having
an orgasm at the moment?”

Torn between laughter and arousal,
Amy said, “Well, no. Not just at the moment, but thanks for asking.”

“Then there’s no cheating. I’m just
standing in the lift, minding my own business. The rules don’t apply.”

“The rules never seem to apply to
you.”

He gave her that same intimate smile.
“If rules get in my way, then I work around them. You should try it some time. You
wouldn’t always work yourself into knots trying to control the entire world.”

She gazed up at him with a sudden
swell of emotion. Owen wasn’t just handsome, charming, and sexy as hell. He was
so clever and so dryly funny and so completely attuned to who she really was.
And he had a sweetness to his soul that none of his surface qualities—as
remarkable as they were—could possibly hide.

The affection was so at the surface of
her heart that, when he leaned down to kiss her, her response was hungrier,
needier, than it would have been otherwise.

Owen must have recognized the feeling
in her and responded to it instinctively. His mouth seemed to devour hers as he
pressed her back against the corner, the edges of the support bars poking into
her ass. The kiss was deep—with more than just physical arousal—and Amy’s head was
spinning when their lips broke apart.

He leaned his forehead against hers
and murmured, “Amy.”

Before either of them could say
anything else, the elevator stopped. On the tenth floor, rather than the
eighteenth.

By the time the doors opened and one
of Amy’s neighbors stepped on—obviously coming back from working out in the
fully equipped gym on this floor—Owen had rearranged them in a less intimate
position. He was now in the corner and Amy was positioned in front of him, her
back pressed against his front.

His arm rested lightly around her
waist.

Amy smiled a greeting at her
neighbor, hoping she didn’t look like she’d just been making out on the
elevator. Her cheeks were flushed, but hopefully she looked otherwise normal.

“Did you hear all the racket the
other night from 1808?” her neighbor asked as the elevator started back up to
their floor.

“No. Were they having a party or
something?”

“It sounded more like an orgy. I
mean, really. How long can a sex marathon last?”

Amy laughed, a little nervously, as
Owen eased his groin into her back. He was hard, and the motion was an obvious
taunt, a reminder of their wager, what they would do as soon as they got to her
apartment. “Oh, no. I don’t share a wall with that unit. I didn’t hear
anything. Maybe it was a one-time thing.”

“I hope so,” her neighbor grumbled,
straightening up as the elevator reached the eighteenth floor. “Or I’m going to
have to invest in some earplugs.”

Owen kept his arm around Amy until
her neighbor stepped into the hall, and they walked slowly until her neighbor
disappeared into her apartment. When they reached Amy’s door, though, Owen was
on her again, kissing her hard and deep, pushing her back against the hallway
wall.

“Wait until we get inside,” Amy
gasped, fumbling unsuccessfully with her keys as her hands clung to his
shoulders.

Owen took the keys out of her hand
and unlocked the door for her. Then both of them stumbled inside.

He was kissing her again, his hands
moving urgently over her body as she dropped her purse on the entryway floor.

Despite her growing anticipation, a
little thought threaded through her mind about how this was a good sign. If he
was this urgent and impatient so early into the two hours, then there was no
way he was going to make it long enough to get her to come seven times.

“Check the time,” she mumbled against
his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Ten past two,” he said, after a
quick look at his phone.

“All right. Two hours start now. Go
to it.”

Instead of “going to it,” Owen straightened
up and unexpectedly swung her up into his arms.

“Hey!” Her arms flew up around his
neck as he turned and walked toward her bedroom. “What the hell are you doing?”
He wasn’t in the habit of carrying her, and she felt disoriented and kind of
strange in his arms, especially since her body still throbbed from their
embrace. “I didn’t even put my stuff up.”

“You won’t be using any of that stuff
any time soon. And I think we better use the bed, rather than try to fuck in
the entry hall.” He adjusted her in his arms, bouncing her up a little.

“Very smart,” she replied, with some
girly satisfaction at being cradled in his arms. She wasn’t a small woman—average
height and not a waif—so she’d never been carried all that much. Giving him a
little kiss on his right cheekbone, she murmured, “Always thinking ahead.” When
he adjusted her body again, she added, “I could have walked, you know. You
don’t need this kind of exertion before everything else you have to do. You’re
not as young as you used to be.”

He was thirty-four. He sneered and
dropped her onto the bed so hard it made her grunt.

Amy would have giggled at his obvious
annoyance, but he’d kicked off his shoes, pulled off hers, and moved over her
before she could get out the first giggle.

She lost all desire to giggle when he
kissed her again—the kind of sensual, lingering kiss that always turned her
into mush. His tongue leisurely traced the line of her lips and then stroked
along the roof of her mouth in a pattern she couldn’t follow. Her own tongue
fluttered frantically against his, trying to increase his speed and intensity.
But he resisted her silent insistence, and soon his hands started to move over
her body just as slowly as his tongue was exploring her mouth.

Amy hummed against his lips and
grabbed the back of his head, pushing his face hard against her own. Then she
felt his fingers at the bottom edge of her stretchy shirt, and she reached down
to bunch up the fabric in her fists so she could help him pull it off.

She’d always been a go-getter—in sex
as in everything else.

Their mouths parted with a smacking
sound, and Amy sucked in an urgent inhalation. She was already aroused and
overly warm, and she grew more so when he tossed her shirt on the floor and then
pulled off her jeans in an impressively smooth move. Then he kissed her
again—just as leisurely—until he finally trailed a sensuous line down to one of
her breasts.

He mouthed her over the satin of her
bra, moistening the fabric as he flicked his tongue over her nipple. “Yeah,”
she breathed, arching her back up toward the stimulation of his mouth. “Good.”

Continuing his attention to her
breast, Owen raised his eyes until they were focused on her face. She must be
quite a sight: blazing red cheeks, half-closed eyes, and mouth hanging open in
a wanton display of desire.

He lifted his head and moved back up
to her mouth, kissing her long and deep and at the same time removing her bra.
Her entire body writhing against his, Amy tried to gather his shirt in her
hands so she could pull it off, but was foiled when Owen broke off the kiss to
take her other breast in his mouth.

It wasn’t long before Amy was desperately
grinding her hips, trying to get friction against her aching arousal. But Owen
must have been purposefully positioning his body in such a way that she
couldn’t rub herself against him. She whimpered, “Owen, hurry up. I’m dying
here, and you only have two hours.”

He nipped at the hard peak of her
nipple, causing Amy to give a sharp cry of pleasure. “We have plenty of time,”
he assured her, smiling against her breast. “What’s your hurry?”

“You know my hurry.” Maneuvering
until she could squeeze her thighs around one of his, she rubbed herself
against his jeans, sighing in relief at the needed friction. “And you’re not
one to talk, anyway.” As he raised his upper body, she reached out and grabbed
the hard bulge in his jeans, squeezing gently in a way she knew drove him crazy.

“Fuck,” he rasped, staring down at
her as she fondled his groin and humped his leg. His eyes were wild and
ravenous, and he started visibly perspiring at the same time his pelvis began
to thrust a little against her hand. With a helpless groan, he squeezed his
eyes shut. Whispered, “Fuck, yeah.”

Feeling thrilled and victorious, Amy
worked him over with one hand while she rubbed hard against his thigh. Panting
and urgent, she quickly worked up toward a climax, the rough fabric of his
jeans over the hard strength of his thigh creating lush friction against her
clit.

And this orgasm Owen couldn’t even
take credit for. She was so going to win this wager.

Then he released a strangled
exclamation and jerked his body away from hers.

Amy sprawled out in only her panties on
the bedcovers, gasping and trembling. She’d been so close to coming against his
thigh that her arousal was now throbbing painfully.

When Owen had caught his breath, he
narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re going to pay for that bit of poor
sportsmanship.”

Amy couldn’t summon up enough
lucidity to say anything, so she just stuck out her tongue at him.

She could see him try to stifle a
grin, but he managed to hide it as he pulled off his shirt and jeans.

“I can hardly wait.” Since Owen was
distracted by the removal of his clothing, she snuck her hand down to her clit
and tried to finish the job she’d begun against his thigh.

She’d only just started when he let
out an indignant sound and snatched her hand away. Holding her wrist in a
ruthless grip, he grabbed her other one as well, raising her arms above her
head and then holding both wrists firmly against the pillow with one hand.

Her body stretched out, completely
vulnerable before him, Amy took a deep breath that made her breasts rise and
fall. “I was just trying to help. Seven is a pretty big number.”

He repositioned his naked body
between her spread legs. “I don’t need any help.” A spark of a different kind
entered the blue of his eyes. “Seven might be a big number, but I’m a big boy
and I can handle it.”

Despite the urgency of her arousal, Amy
dissolved into laughter at this. She struggled to free her hands since she
wanted to cup his cheek. But when he refused to release her, she just smiled at
him. “You’re adorable when you make bad jokes.”

Her tenderness appeared to distract
him momentarily, and his hand relaxed on her wrists as he leaned down to kiss
her softly. But when she tried to pull her hands away, he tightened his grip.

“Are you going to trap my hands the
whole time?” she asked, feeling vulnerable, which made her slightly anxious and
strangely excited at the same time.

His eyes raked over her naked body
stretched beneath him. “I’ll let you go if you promise to be good.”

“I’m always good.” She was. She’d
been a good girl all her life.

“In this case, being good means
letting me do what I want with you.”

Her lips parted and her pussy
clenched at his textured voice. At what he’d said.

He met her eyes with an expression
that looked unexpectedly significant. “Do you trust me?”

“Y—yes.”

“Baby, do you really trust me?” He
leaned a little closer, and she was suddenly terrified that he could see into
her soul.

“Yes. I do.” It was the truth, and
there was no way she couldn’t admit it.

“You’ll trust me in this?”

She nodded, her voice catching in her
throat.

His expression changed, but her
vision was slightly blurred from the intensity of her emotions and arousal, so
she couldn’t identify the nature of the shift. But he released her wrists and
adjusted so he wasn’t trapping her so completely.

She moved her arms so they were more
comfortable, but she remained stretched out beneath him, exposed to his view,
his touch.

He leaned down to kiss her before
trailing his lips down her body, teasing and fondling as he went. Soon, she was
squirming and struggling not to grab his head and force him to move faster and
give her some relief.

Finally, he straightened up and gazed
down at her with a possessive smile.

“What is that smile for?” she asked,
although she had a feeling she knew.

“Now you’re exactly in the shape I
want you,” he murmured thickly, erotically.

“Naked?”

“Hot and wet and ready for me.”

He was absolutely right, but she
wasn’t in the habit of admitting such a thing. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He cocked an eyebrow and trailed one
finger from her lips down her neck, along the curves of her breasts, and then
down her belly to her groin. The light touch was sensual torture, and she
couldn’t keep her hips still as he got lower.