Seven

by Claire Kent

  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.”

  One

  “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 h
aving 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 ey
es 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.”