Seven(7)

By: Claire Kent



“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.”

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