That’s when I recognize the source of my insomnia isn’t adrenaline-based, but my guilt that is resurfacing. My gut wrenches and turns as I go over—yet again—all the reasons I shouldn’t be here right now, and while I don’t regret what’s happened between Amelia and myself in the least, that doesn’t make it any less wrong.
Alan—her father—is my best friend. I’ve been reminding myself of this fact a lot over the last few days…not that it’s been helping. I’ve known the man since we were kids. I was his best man at his wedding, and was at the hospital to congratulate him and Samantha the day Amelia was born. I was a big part of her life—she called me Uncle Owen up until seven years ago, for fuck’s sake. I’d babysat her, protected her as though she was my own, and watched as she grew into a young woman.
And now, I’m sleeping with her.
We haven’t discussed telling him yet, but somehow me telling him that I decided to take his advice to “find some hot young thing to help me forget about Gretchen” probably isn’t going to go over too well.
Suppressing a groan, I run my free hand over my weary face. I’m fully aware that I’m twenty-two years older than her, but I’m more aware that if her father were ever to find out, not only would our friendship be over, but he’d likely hunt me down and hide my body somewhere it would never be found. With his line of work comes connections to the police and hospitals; I have a feeling he knows how to make shit like that happen.
Seriously, what the fuck are you thinking? I ask myself again.
She moans softly, still fast asleep. “Owen.” My whispered name on her lips is like a drug I can’t get enough of, and suddenly, for every reason I can come up with that we shouldn’t be together, there are two for why we should.
Con: Amelia’s father is my best friend.
Pros: She’s equal parts sassy, funny, and infuriating while being extremely easy to talk to, and she makes me deliriously happy.
Con: Amelia’s father is a proud, responsible gun-owner. He owns guns. Plural.
Pros: I’ve never felt this alive in all my life, and even with our age difference, Amelia understands me more than any other woman ever did.
It’s that reasoning, as well as all of her other little quirks and traits, that set my mind at ease like they had earlier that afternoon when I made the conscious decision to chase her back to the city.
Her fingers curl lightly over the skin of my chest, tickling me slightly and sending a tremor of desire through me. When her legs start to stir beneath the blankets, her knees pressing together slightly as her hips shift toward my thigh, I stifle a groan. If I was a betting man, I’d gamble everything on the odds that she’s having another sex dream.
She moves her hips forward again, this time, the smooth skin of her pussy brushing against me, and my cock stirs. I roll my upper body toward her slightly and cup her face, stroking my thumb over her cheekbone as I bring my lips to hers. “Amelia,” I whisper softly against her mouth, kissing her once. “Baby, you’re having a dream.” I kiss her again, and her eyes flutter open.
The left side of her mouth twists up into a devilish smirk, and she brings her hand up to wrap around my wrist. “Am I?” she asks, arching an eyebrow teasingly.
“Weren’t you?”
When she giggles, it does something to me—fills me with so much joy and excitement—and I find it more than a little infectious. Before I can do or say anything, Amelia quickly straddles me, placing her hands flat on my chest as her pussy makes contact with my raging erection. She leans forward, her nose brushing the length of my neck until her lips ghost the shell of my ear. “Maybe it started out that way…” Her teeth catch my earlobe, causing a surge of desire to shoot through me until I ensnare her hips in my hands and pull her against me roughly, making her whimper. “But I could tell it was a dream.”
“Oh yeah?” I question. “How so?”
She snickers, lifting an arm to tuck her hair behind her ear as she moves her face until it hovers over mine. There’s an impish glint in her eyes when she says, “Well, given my experience over the last few hours, it was far too good to be real.” Teasing notes lace her words, but I pick up on some sort of challenge in them.
“Is that a fact?”
Nodding, Amelia moves her hips against me, spreading the increasing wetness between her legs along my dick. “Yup,” she whispers, popping the ‘p’. “Care to prove me wrong?”
She’s trying to get a rise out of me, and it works. With a guttural growl, the fingers on my right hand curl into her hip while my left hand comes up to cradle her face, and I kiss her hard and deep, our tongues sliding languidly over one another as her hips continue to rock above me. Every nerve in my body is alive, currents of electricity flowing through my veins, and my desire to claim her as mine ignites.