Just a Number

by A. D. Ryan

  “Dad,” Amelia says, exasperated. “It isn’t like that. We haven’t been able to talk much since I left the city.” It’s admittedly hard to suppress a smirk every time she finds a way to skirt the truth without flat-out lying. Somehow, a career in journalism seems quite fitting. “I’m sure he’s got something planned.” She carefully casts her eyes up at me before tossing her napkin onto her empty plate. “You guys done?”

  Alan and I relinquish our plates to her, and she takes them to the sink where she proceeds to tidy up. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to start an argument with her father about her relationship, and I can’t blame her. I’ve known Amelia long enough—and her father even longer—to know that if they continue on down that road, Amelia would have enough and tell him about us in a fit of anger. And anger only breeds more anger, which is something we’re trying to avoid when it comes to telling Alan.

  Keeping his voice low, Alan leans across the table, and I fear the conversation we’re about to have. “Do you really think she’s serious about this guy?” he asks. “What could they possibly have in common?”

  Anger spikes slightly, and I pick up my coffee mug, suddenly very interested by the steam rolling off the black liquid inside. I debate reminding him that I—an older guy—am involved with a younger woman and he seemed to be just fine with the idea of that, but I fear that this will only put him on the path to figuring everything out, and that’s definitely not what I want. “Let it go, Alan.”

  “I can’t!” he hisses, still careful not to draw Amelia’s attention over the running water. “What kind of man goes out prowling the streets for a girl half his age?”

  I breathe deeply, evenly, and count to ten before my anger can build any more. I know he doesn’t realize he’s talking about me, but that doesn’t make it any less insulting. Besides, does he really think that little of Amelia’s ability to choose a suitable partner?

  I set the mug down, my hands still wrapped around it, and I look Alan dead in the eye. “Don’t you think it’s possible that this guy’s good for her?” Alan stares at me, dumbfounded. “She’s happy, Alan.”

  This seems to quiet him for the time-being, and I experience a flicker of hope that he might be a little more forgiving when he finds out that I’m the man seeing his daughter. If we can just keep reminding him about how happy we are, then perhaps he’ll listen to reason.

  Behind me, the water stops running, and when I turn around, I see Amelia is wiping down the counter, having finished the dishes. “Okay,” she says brightly, almost as though her conversation with her father never happened. “I’m going to run upstairs and finish packing my things. Dad, you think about that trip up to see me. I’ll take you to your favorite restaurant for brunch.”

  The tension in the room thins as Alan smiles. It’s obvious he’s not going to press her about her relationship any further, and I relax slightly. “I’ll see if I can sneak away for the day, kiddo.”

  “Great.”

  The sound of Amelia climbing the stairs echoes through the lower level of the house before she can be heard in her room above the kitchen. Alan finishes his coffee, takes the empty mug to the sink, and then turns to me and says he’s going to go have a quick shower before Amelia and I have to take off.

  With Amelia and Alan upstairs, I decide to go make sure all my things are packed and fold up all the blankets that are still on the couch. By the time I’ve stacked the last blanket on the pile, I hear Amelia skipping down the stairs. While Alan showers, I decide to take advantage of this rare moment alone and meet her at the foot of the stairs where she sets her bags down. Taking her hand, I pull her around the corner until we’re out of sight, but still within earshot of the stairs in case Alan makes an appearance.

  “Owen!” she quietly exclaims with a light giggle as I sandwich her body between mine and the wall. Her chest heaves against mine as I trail my fingers up and down her arms, inviting a fog of lust to roll around us.

  Being sure to pay attention to the sound of the shower running upstairs, I lower my face to hers, kissing and nipping along her jaw, moving toward that ticklish spot just below her ear. Her body softens against me, head falling back against the wall, and her hands fly to my hips. She hooks her thumbs into the waist of my jeans while my hands splay across her lower back and travel south. She releases a soft sigh as I lightly nip the shell of her ear, and it travels straight to my groin, but I hold back every carnal impulse I have because I know we won’t be alone for much longer.

  “Just think,” I whisper into her ear, smiling when I watch the skin of her neck prickle with goosebumps, “in a few short hours, we’ll be back in the city…alone.”

  She moans in reply, pushing her hips away from the wall and up against mine. “And what exactly do you plan to do to me?” She shifts her head, forcing me to look into her eyes as she smirks slyly. Her voice is low and sexy, sending another shot of lust straight to my groin.

  I’ve always hated that stereotype about how men can’t think when sex is involved, but every day with Amelia has me wondering if there isn’t maybe the tiniest hint of truth to it. Without thinking about how we could be caught by her father at any moment, my right hand moves around to the front of her body and slips between her thighs.

  She inhales a shaky breath as my hand moves a few times before my common sense finally returns, and I pull it away, placing it securely on her hip. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at me through heavy eyelids. “How long until we leave again?”

  Before I can reply, I hear the shower stop and the sound of the metal shower rings sliding across the bar. Smiling, I kiss her softly once more before pulling away. “To be continued.”

  Reluctantly, Amelia and I part ways—she to the kitchen and I back to the living room—and soon Alan wanders down the stairs. Amelia and I offer to help him clean up the living room and take down all of the Christmas decorations before we leave, so we spend the next couple hours doing that. He never once brings up Amelia’s relationship again.

  As soon as the house is back in order, I suggest that we should get on the road, and Amelia agrees. It’s obvious she’s trying to rein in her eagerness to go, but at the same time, I can see how much she hates saying goodbye to her father.

  Alan hugs Amelia after she puts her jacket on. “I’ll be up in a couple of days,” he tells her. “You did promise me breakfast, after all.”

  Amelia laughs softly, pulling out of his embrace and picks up her bag. “Good.”

  Alan turns to me and nods. “Drive safe,” he says, the look in his eyes reminding me that I’ll have his daughter in my car with me and that he values her life even above his own.

  What he doesn’t realize is that I feel exactly the same way.

  After I assure him that it’s not my intention to drive recklessly, we say goodbye, and Amelia and I haul our bags out to the car. Alan watches from the doorway as Amelia and I get into the car and buckle up, both turning and waving to him before pulling away from the house and making our way toward the highway. The second the house is out of view, Amelia reaches over and takes my hand, sighing as she rests her head back against the seat and looks at me.

  I can feel her happiness pulsing through her veins as she squeezes my hand, and I bring her hand to my lips for a kiss. “Just a few hours and we’ll be back in Seattle,” I tell her, briefly glancing at her before returning my eyes to the road. “How would you feel about going to my place tonight?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me where we go,” she replies, her voice low and husky, “so long as we’re alone to do whatever we please to one another.” She sits up and moves closer to me, leaning over the console to whisper in my ear while I struggle to keep my eyes—and the car—on the road. “Now, why don’t you pick up the pace so you can get started doing all the naughty things you’ve fantasized about these past few days.”

  Her words, as always, shoot straight through me as I commit the tenor, as well as what she’s said, to memory. The way she speaks and acts so openly ab
out sex always renders me incapable of speech right away. I’ve never been with anyone like her. She excites me more than any other woman I’ve ever been with, and I am so glad I chased after her all those weeks ago.

  There are several times while I drive along the highway that the sexual tension thickens the air enough to make me contemplate pulling over. I would give nothing more than to do just that, especially when I look over at Amelia to find her staring at me, her eyes bright and mischievous, but know that I can’t. Why not? Well, because we’d run the risk of a cop finding my Lexus on the side of the road, the windows likely fogged up while the vehicle rocks wildly. Not only do I not want to get fined for parking (is that what the kids are still calling it?), but with Alan being a well-known paramedic in Portland, there’s no guarantee he won’t hear about this.

  This is all I need to keep the car on the road and my thoughts on how I plan to expel all of this sexual energy that continues to thrum through every square inch of my body.

  “Do you need to stop by your place for anything?” I ask, hoping to strike up some kind of conversation in an attempt to keep my thoughts from wandering to what I have planned for the two of us back at my apartment.

  “Mmm…” She contemplates my question. “Nope. I think I’m good. As long as I can throw a load of laundry in at your place, that is.”

  “Of course,” I reply, glancing over at her. “I’ve got a private washer and dryer in my walk-in closet, actually.”

  She smiles. “How convenient.” A brief silence falls between us before Amelia sits up straight, turning slightly to face me a little more. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  I hear the serious lilt to her voice, and my eyebrows pull together, curious. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

  She pauses for a moment, seeming to think about what it is she wants to ask. “Has Stephen said anything to you? You know, about us?”

  Stunned, my gaze snaps to hers. “No, why? Has he said something to you?”

  “Kind of.” My eyes widen as she continues. “I meant to talk to you about this sooner, but there was never really a good time.” I nod in understanding. “He didn’t mention you by name, but the way he looked at us at the party when Julia was asking about my ‘mystery man’ and Dad was talking about your ‘hot piece of ass’”—we both laugh lightly—“made me think he suspected something.”

  “Well,” I interject, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “perhaps you’re reading too much into it.”

  “There’s more,” she tells me. “Remember when you came into the kitchen on Christmas day for beer?” I nod. “And Stephen walked in?” Another nod. “Well, he said some things.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  She exhales softly. “He said I didn’t have to explain my relationship to him or to anyone, but that we should tell Dad because our keeping it secret probably feeds his anxiousness over this entire thing.”

  I shrug, changing lanes to get around the person driving below the posted speed limit. “Well, I suppose he’s got a point. By sneaking around, it probably makes him think, on some level, that you feel what you’re doing is wrong, and therefore it only fuels similar feelings in him.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees quietly. “That’s what I gathered.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  Through my periphery, I see her shake her head. “No. That was about it.”

  “I think the fact that he didn’t mention me by name bodes well for his not really knowing,” I try to assure her, even though I’m not so sure; I remember the look in his eyes when he walked into the kitchen that day.

  “Yeah, it’s always a possibility,” Amelia concurs. “But I can’t get the way he was watching us out of my he—”

  “Listen,” I interrupt, bringing her hand to my lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, “you’re probably reading too much into it. I’m sure he was just speaking in a general sense. He’d have said something to me, too, if he had everything figured out.” I chuckle. “Not to mention, there’s no way Julia wouldn’t figure it out if he knew.”

  Amelia releases a soft sigh of relief, relaxing back in her seat. “You’re probably right.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I tease, leaning close to her.

  Unable to contain her laughter, Amelia reaches over and shoves me lightly. “You hard of hearing?”

  “I’ve just never heard those words before,” I tell her. It’s the truth, but I’m really just teasing her in hopes of lightening the mood so close to home. “I think I like the sound of them.”

  “Well, if that’s all I have to do to get you excited…” Seduction haloes her every word; she’s playing a dangerous game, but thankfully the sign we’ve just passed says we’ll be in the city within a half hour.

  Not a moment too soon.

  We try to fill the remaining time in the car with topics as far away from sex as possible. Sure, my thoughts still occasionally drift to those of a sexual nature, but so do Amelia’s—she doesn’t admit to this out loud, though. I can tell by the way her breathing turns shallow, or how she nibbles on her bottom lip, and even by how often she shifts in her seat, pressing her legs together tightly.

  When we do finally arrive at my building, I park the car in its usual spot before grabbing our bags. Amelia and I ride the elevator to my floor, and I’m somewhat glad I’ve got my hands full with our luggage, because the way Amelia eyes me from her spot across from me has my blood burning with my desire for her. As we walk the hall to my door, Amelia digs out her copy of the keys so I don’t have to fumble with the bags that I insisted on carrying for her, and she lets us inside.

  The second the door is closed behind us, every reason to stay apart vanishes, and I drop the bags to the floor as Amelia rushes into my arms. Her lips are desperate against mine, her tongue firm and insistent as she weaves her fingers into my hair and holds me close. I take a step forward, trying to navigate our way down the hall and toward my bedroom, but we’re clumsy in our need, tripping and stumbling over each other’s feet and running into the walls.

  Frustrated and horny, I turn us, forcing Amelia’s back against the wall as I pull her shirt up her body and toss it to the ground. She’s panting when I break our kiss to remove her shirt, so I kiss a path along her jaw and down her neck, nipping the warm skin along her shoulder as I unbutton her jeans and slip my hand inside to find her wet and wanting.

  She moans, the breathy sound vibrating beneath my skin until it reaches my growing erection. My hand continues to move between her legs, and she meets my every stroke with a thrust of her hips. My name falls past her lips, soft and airy, before she places her hands on the waist of my jeans and undoes them, pushing them over my hips until they fall down my legs and pool around my ankles. Her soft, talented hand slips behind the fabric of my boxers, her grip firm and working with purpose.

  Unable to gain a full range of motion behind her jeans, I pull back, hook my fingers in her pants at the hips and tug them down. Unlike mine, Amelia’s jeans take a little effort to remove since they’re so damn tight—not that I’m complaining; they fit her body like a glove or a second skin, and I love looking at her ass in them.

  With a laugh, she kicks her feet free of her shoes and jeans, moving her focus to ridding my body of my shirt. Her hands explore the planes of my chest while mine thread into the lengths of her hair and bring her lips back to mine. This kiss is less urgent, but just as passionate as I take her bottom lip between mine and trace my tongue over it. As we deepen the kiss, my hands slide down over Amelia’s arms, and I feel the goosebumps prickle up beneath the pads of my fingers as I move to ensnare her hips and palm her ass over her little black panties.

  “Take me,” she pleads against my lips. “Right here.”

  My urgency to make love to Amelia returns in an instant as I all but tear her panties from her body and push my boxers down. I grab her hips, pulling her forward as I slide my hands down until I’m gripping her ass firmly. She gasps when I pick her up quickly, and h
er tits bounce behind her black lace bra as I position her legs around me and enter her. We moan simultaneously as the sensation rolls through us, Amelia’s arms wrapping around my neck and pulling my face toward her neck. After a minute, our hips find a rhythm, and we work toward the mutual goal of our release. The sound of our skin slapping together as I increase my speed makes the pulse in my erection grow, and I soon find myself balancing along the precipice of my orgasm.

  The volume of Amelia’s cries mount, jolted and bouncing off the walls of my condo, as I work to bring her to the edge I’m barely teetering on. “Owen,” she cries. “Oh, god, Owen.” Over and over again, she says my name, and I feel the hold on my climax beginning to waver.

  Keeping one hand securely on her ass, my other climbs the soft curves of her body to her right breast. My fingers dip behind the lace, pulling the cup down and exposing the supple skin to me, and I palm it, manipulating her taut nipple and making her arch her back toward me.

  “Oh!” she shouts, her fingers twisting almost painfully into my hair. This is all the encouragement I need, and I crush my lips to hers again as I continue to pinch and tweak her breast while thrusting into her manically.

  I pray she’s close, because my vision starts to blur around the edges, and every square inch of my skin hums with the anticipation of climax. When I feel Amelia’s body tense against mine, I know she’s there, and I double my efforts, pushing my hips up into her and squeezing her breast a little harder. It doesn’t take long before her legs tighten and clench around me, and I finally let go.

  My hips still after a minute, and I press my forehead to Amelia’s sternum as she runs her fingers lazily through my hair, from crown to nape. She continues to tease the hairs along my neck and groans, satisfied. Her legs trembling around me, I carefully withdraw from between them and lower her to the floor.