Seven by Claire Kent

“Love,” he murmured, his voice so tender that she
almost started crying again, “I think we’re both winning.”
    She’d thought she had recovered her
determination and was ready for anything, but apparently that wasn’t even close
to being true.
    Because the endearment sounded real.
Like he really meant it. And it was all it took for Amy to lose it completely.
    “Damn it, Owen.” The words came out
of her mouth before she could stop them. “Why the hell do you have to keep calling
me that?”

Seven
     
    Amy couldn’t believe
she’d asked such a question, couldn’t believe the words had actually slipped
out between her lips.
    And now she lay beside Owen waiting
for his answer, trembling and tense and almost strangling on the terror that rose
inexorably in her throat.
    For a fleeting moment, she thought
she saw something trapped in his expression as he reacted to her impulsive
question, but she didn’t even have time to consider or verify whether that was
what she saw because the expression disappeared as soon as she registered it.
    It was replaced by a look of blank
surprise. “It’s a normal endearment, isn’t it?” he asked, eyeing her with
casual curiosity. “Would you prefer honey or sweetie or pumpkin pie?”
    And—as simple as that—the danger was deflected.
Amy wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or crushed by how easily, how
indifferently, Owen had avoided saying anything meaningful.
    She couldn’t help but be a little
disappointed, even as she was relieved that she hadn’t ruined everything. She gave
a chuckle that was just a little forced. “Pumpkin pie?” she repeated, making
her voice sound amused although a heavy weight had settled in her gut. “I think
I’d laugh hysterically if you ever called me that.”
    He quirked his lips and wiped away
the last trace of tears from her cheek. “Then I’ll see if I can work it into
the repertoire, if only to see your reaction.” He was watching her face
carefully as he added, his voice taking on a more earnest tone, “But,
seriously, Amy, what would you prefer me to call you?”
    She would prefer him to call her “love”—and
mean it. Call her the most important person in his world. Call her his
girlfriend, his partner—for the rest of their lives. Maybe someday even call
her his wife.
    But she wasn’t any of that. She was someone
he fucked on the weekends. And presuming any more than that basic truth would
only keep breaking her heart.
    Looking him straight in the eye, she
teased, “Pumpkin pie definitely tops the list.”
    It wasn’t brief disappointment in his
eyes, no matter how much she wanted to see it there.
    She had to pull herself together. Had
to accept what Owen was willing to offer her. It wasn’t insignificant. Just
this afternoon, he’d given her the most intensely pleasurable experience of her
life. She could be satisfied with that. Accept it for what it was. Not ask for
or expect things that only happened in silly fantasies.
    Concentrate on the sex. Just on the
sex. The sex was incredible. How many women would kill for what Amy had in bed?
    She closed her eyes briefly, assessed
how her body felt. She was tired and sore and still tingling and sensitive in a
number of places.
    But she was definitely up for one
more orgasm.
    “You ready for number seven?” Owen
asked, his hand gently brushing her messy hair back from her face.
    She was ready, and she was going to
use her last orgasm to regain the reasonable control over her world she’d
almost lost this afternoon.
    So she gave up on their wager. She
hated to lose, but winning just wasn’t as important as saving her heart. And if
it took coming one more time to make her appreciate what she had—and to not
yearn for something more, something that could never be hers—then she was
willing to suffer through one more orgasm.
    But she couldn’t make love to him.
Couldn’t do anything that would soften her, deepen her, make her want things
that couldn’t be