by Claire Kent
Seven
Claire Kent
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Claire Kent. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Contents
The Wager
One
Two, Three, and Four
Five
Interlude
Six
Seven
The Aftermath
About the Author
The Wager
Amy peeked beyond a rack of romance novels so she could see whether Owen was flirting with the pretty blonde who always worked Saturdays at this used bookstore.
Owen charmed every woman he talked to—females from eight to eighty—but Amy decided he wasn’t really flirting with the blonde. She was flirting with him. No doubt about that. But he was just being his normal, charming self.
Not only was Owen gorgeous, with his light-brown hair, blue eyes, classic features, and a body that could prompt drooling even in the coolest of observers, but he also had a posh British accent that drove American women wild. His company had sent him from London to their Baltimore office just for the year. So, with his accent and his looks and his irresistible smile, Amy was used to women falling all over themselves to get his attention.
She’d had to resist the urge to do the same thing five months ago when she’d first met him in this very bookstore.
Amy read mostly on her ereader, but she’d been looking for a book that day that wasn’t out in ebook version. Owen was a self-proclaimed Luddite who preferred to read from pages he could touch. That afternoon, she’d noticed him, of course, as he’d been browsing the history section, but she would have just admired his broad shoulders and tight ass from afar had he not turned his head and caught her leering.
He’d gradually made his way over to her—moving from the biographies to the inspirational section to the mysteries. She’d kept shooting little glances at him, to verify that he was indeed approaching with only thinnest pretense of browsing. Every time she looked over, he’d grab a random book and peruse it with a barely suppressed smile. It turned into a game, with both of them sustaining the façade of disinterest until they were side by side in the paranormal section.
She couldn’t believe it was happening. Hot men didn’t approach her in bookstores. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
But he’d finally made a dry, straight-faced comment about how he thought werewolves were overrated as lovers because of the inevitable wet-dog smell, and Amy had burst into surprised laughter.
They’d started to talk about books. Before she knew it, she was telling him about her small-town upbringing and her one visit to the U.K. She’d been powerless to resist his invitation for coffee. They’d spent the whole day together and then the night together in a hotel.
Amy’s life was neat, orderly, and under control. She liked it that way. Right now, she was focusing on her career, still being in the early stages of establishing her dental practice. Just living in the city was slightly overwhelming for her, after being raised in a rural area, so it took all the time and energy she had to do her work well and not feel like she’d get swept away in the chaos. Later, once she had her career well under control, she would get serious about relationships. Not right now, though.
So, when Owen said he’d like to keep seeing her but it couldn’t be serious, she’d thought that sounded just about perfect.
For the last five months, they’d gotten together every weekend for hot sex and stimulating conversation. They’d set very clear ground rules for how the relationship would work, though. It was just sex and a good time. No feelings allowed. Owen was returning to London on a certain date, where his family, friends, and life were, and Amy wasn’t about to move across the Atlantic and give up the career she was building here.
But six months of great sex? Neither of them was about to refuse that.
So, for any number of reasons, Amy had no right to feel jealous or resentful of the little blonde, who was beaming up at Owen and now putting her hand on his arm—ostensibly to emphasize a point. Amy wasn’t Owen’s girlfriend, and she only had twenty-eight days left to be with him at all. If he wanted to fall in love with this blonde, he had every right to do so.
Amy wanted to claw her eyes out anyway.
She wished Owen would stop smiling at the blonde. Surely he knew how deadly his smile was. Humility had never been one of his character qualities. He should know it wasn’t fair of him to be flashing that smile around to hapless females and then expect them to go back to their days as if he hadn’t left them as puddles of goo in his wake.
When Owen turned back toward her, with three books that the blonde had been “assisting” him to find, Amy quickly grabbed the first book she could lay her hand on and pretended to be reading it, so he wouldn’t know she’d been spying on him and feeling irrationally jealous.
A few seconds later, an arm slid around her waist and a very male body pressed into her from behind. He’d placed his stack of books on an empty space on the shelf beside her. “Good book?”
Shit. No man in the world had the right to make two simple words sound so achingly sexy.
“It’s okay,” she said, making herself scan the page quickly so she had some clue what the book was about. Leave it to Owen to ask her the content of her improvised prop. “It’s a little too much fantasy for my taste.”
“A hot billionaire sweeps in and rescues a sweet, selfless virgin from her life of mediocrity?” His hand was resting on her belly, and his mouth was right at her ear.
Despite the fact that they’d had quite good sex the night before, Amy’s body suddenly started to hum with interest. “No. He’s a hot SEAL.” She’d figured that out from the title, so she was able to give at least a little authenticity to her pseudo-reading. “The fantasy material is his magic penis.”
“Really?” Owen took the book out of her hand and peered down at the page she’d had it opened to. “What does it do?”
She smothered helpless giggles as she realized he thought she was being literal. “The penis forks into ten heads so he can pleasure ten women at once. Hot SEALs sometimes need to do that, you know.” She was quite pleased with her attempt to keep a straight face.
His eyes widened dramatically. “What?” He was flipping back pages now, obviously trying to find the ten-women-magic-penis-orgy scene.
She burst into laughter and grabbed the book out of his hands. “That would be a man’s fantasy. This book is a woman’s fantasy. So it’s not that kind of magic penis.”
“Oh.” He looked rather disappointed, but he was still smiling her favorite smile—the private, almost intimate one, like she was the only important person in the world. But he’d given her that smile from the very beginning, so she reminded herself it wasn’t promising her anything other than a good time. “So what does it do?”
“It evidently makes her come about seven times in one fuck.” Amy flipped back to the right page to verify. “Yep, that’s seven. In like an hour or something. Definitely, too much fantasy for my taste.”
He was frowning now as he picked up his books and put the fantasy paperback on top of the pile, evidently thinking she wanted to buy it. “It’s not impossible.”
“Seven orgasms? In an hour or two? And not from oral or anything. It’s all from regular intercourse. I’d say it’s highly unlikely.”
“I didn’t say it was a common occurrence, but certainly within the realm of possibility.”
She snorted, exaggerating her disdain because the blonde was smiling at Owen from the cash register as the
y approached. “Right. Not any realm of possibility I’m familiar with. I’m lucky to come even once.” She did lower her voice so the blonde couldn’t hear what she’d said.
Owen’s eyes narrowed as he handed the blonde his card to pay for the books. “Is there a particular complaint you’d like to lodge?”
“Don’t get touchy. I’m not complaining. Just saying some things are realistic and some things are fantasy. And that…” She nodded toward the book, which Owen had paid for with his collection of history and biography titles. “That is fantasy.”
“Can I help you with anything else today?” the blonde asked with a hopeful smile. Her eyes had been darting between Amy and Owen, and she was clearly displeased that they were together. They’d come to this bookstore almost every Saturday for the last five months, so Amy didn’t know why the blonde would be surprised by the fact that they were together.
“Not today.” Owen flashed her one more smile as a parting gift. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” the blonde replied stupidly.
“Should we eat at Gerard’s?” Owen asked as they walked out onto the city sidewalk.
It was loud and crowded and chaotic, and Amy felt a familiar rush of anxiety. It dissipated almost immediately, but the fact that she still felt it bothered her. She’d lived in Baltimore for three years now. Surely, she’d get used to it eventually.
She liked to be in control of things, and it was hard to always feel like she wasn’t in control in this city.
She smiled at Owen and hoped he hadn’t seen her initial reaction. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
He put his hand on her back as they walked, guiding her through the crowds on the sidewalk. She didn’t like to think of herself as the kind of woman who needed a man, but she did feel more secure with him beside her.
Amy did her best not to think about the fact that, after today, she only had three more Saturdays with Owen before he left. Twenty-eight days from now he’d be on a plane back to London. For good.
She’d known this relationship had an established end-point from the very beginning, and that was the only reason she let herself indulge in it. Owen was not a safe or a sensible choice for a serious relationship, since he was so far out of her league. Falling in love with him would be a huge mistake—she’d end up with nothing but a broken heart—so six months of fun was all she could allow herself.
She had three more weekends left with him, and she wasn’t going to spoil them by getting upset about the fact that their time was ending.
“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, adjusting his hand at the small of her back and guiding her away from the family approaching who was taking up the entire sidewalk.
“Nothing,” she said with a grin, feeling better now that she’d given herself a mental lecture about reality. She’d always been good at giving herself mental lectures. “Just thinking about the magic penis of seven orgasms.”
An elderly man who was walking past them gave a visible start and scandalized stare.
“I say again, if you have any particular complaints about our sex life, I’d prefer for you to state them outright.”
Owen sounded so offended that Amy couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t get all sensitive. You know the sex is fantastic. I’m just saying it’s normal sex. We don’t swing off the balcony or use props and costumes. And I don’t come a zillion times every time you fuck me.”
“True.” His face relaxed visibly and his shoulders became less tense. “A zillion might be an overly ambitious expectation from one fuck. Even with me.”
She choked on another laugh. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. But, seriously, I’m willing to grant your sex-god status, but having seven orgasms at once seems to be stretching the bounds of plausibility.”
The intensity of Owen’s frown surprised her. “Why do you assume it’s so remarkable?”
“Because it is! It’s ridiculous. One or two, sure. Maybe three if it’s from oral. But seven? Uh-uh. There’s no way. Not during one sexual encounter.”
“I don’t believe it’s impossible.”
She rolled her eyes, arguing partly because she believed it was true but mostly because it distracted her from a poignancy that rose up in strength as they entered the little lunch bistro, where they ate lunch at least every other week.
Only a couple more times to have lunch here with Owen. She couldn’t even imagine Saturdays without him.
Shaking the feeling away, she said, “Okay, maybe it’s not impossible for some hypothetical woman who can come at the drop of a hat. But it’s sure as hell impossible for me.”
Owen pulled out the chair for her at their table—he did that sort of thing unconsciously, which was just another thing to make him attractive—and then studied her soberly when he took the chair across from her. “I don’t think it’s impossible for you.”
“You really think you could make me come seven times?”
“I do.”
“In the space of an hour or two?”
“Yes.”
“With your cock, not your mouth?”
The middle-aged woman getting up from the table next to theirs gasped and dropped her wallet.
“Yes. I could.”
Amy shook her head. “No way.”
“I’ll prove it.”
“Good luck.”
“I’m serious.”
“You can be serious until the cows come home. I’m not going to come seven times.”
He’d opened his mouth to reply, but the server came over to take their order, and they lost the thread of the conversation.
Amy assumed it was over. After all, Owen wouldn’t want to take on a challenge he would certainly lose. Before she’d met Owen, she’d never thought she was particularly good at sex, but in the last five months she’d discovered she could be incredibly passionate and enthusiastic in bed. But she was the kind of person who worked hard and took life seriously and never expected silly fantasies to somehow become reality.
Seven orgasms in one go was definitely a silly fantasy.
As they ate lunch, they chatted about work and about the global economic situation and about the movie they’d watched last night and about Plato—a fairly typical conversational pattern for them—and they were just finishing up when she noticed that Wes, one of her partners in the dental practice, was paying for his take-out order at the counter.
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.
