To protect herself and try to get herself under control again, she rolled onto her side with her back to him. Screamed an urgent, mental lecture at herself.
Just a few hours ago, she’d be priding herself on having her life so under control. It was almost laughable now.
“Amy?” Owen asked, confusion evident in his tone. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said lightly, pleased that her voice sounded so unaffected. “I just got hot and needed some space.”
She heard a frown in his voice when he replied, “It’s not very hot in here.”
Keeping her back to him would just raise his suspicions even more, so she flopped over and stared at the ceiling. “The room isn’t hot. I’m hot. Can you blame me? I just had five orgasms.”
He scooted over until he was pressing up against her side. His voice was irresistible, and she didn’t dare to look at his face. “I know you did,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her cheekbone. “They were beautiful. And you have two more to go.”
He slid his hand over to rub her belly slowly, his touch soft, gentle, and soothing. Amy closed her eyes, felt tingles of enjoyment in her fingers and toes. Felt far more intense tingles in her heart.
This was stupid. She had to protect herself better than this. Why, oh why, didn’t he just fuck the daylights out of her and then roll over and go to sleep like a normal man?
She swatted his hand away and shifted her body so that a few inches separated them. “Owen, stop. You’re all hot and sweaty.”
She saw him frowning when she glanced over to check his reaction. He said, “You’ve been perspiring rather heavily yourself.” He flicked a finger over the dampness in the hollow of her neck.
“Not as much as you have. So stay on your side of the bed. I’m hot and I want some space.”
She didn’t want space. She wanted to burrow into Owen and never come out.
Still frowning, Owen eased a hand under her shoulders and pulled her toward him, until she was trapped between his arm and his chest. “Tough. You don’t get space after that kind of sex.”
Her cheek was now smashed up against his collarbone, and her hand had instinctively settled on the upper part of his free arm. “That seems rather selfish.” Best to sustain the characteristic banter that had always allowed them to avoid the vulnerability of intimacy. “To completely disregard my preferences.”
Owen tightened his grip on her. “I don’t think they are your preferences. Since when have you not wanted to cuddle?”
It was a good question. She always wanted to cuddle. It was Owen who sometimes didn’t.
So why did he have to be in a cuddly mood today?
“Well,” she replied, thinking fast, “I don’t normally have five orgasms, do I? So you should expect things to be different than they usually are. I’m hotter than normal, and you’re sweatier than normal.”
Things were different. Her defenses were very, very weak at the moment. She was clinging to him, even as she told him she didn’t want to be in his arms. She loved how their skin was sticking together with the slick dampness. Loved how every part of her body that was pressed up against him was warmer and meltier than the rest of her.
Loved the feel of his body—the brush of his fingers on her bottom, the hardening of his bicep under her hand, the faint caress of his lips in her hair.
He chuckled. “So I would have expected you to be cuddlier than normal.”
“Well, I’m not.” She was lying through her teeth. She could barely tear herself away from him—he meant so very much to her—but she wasn’t going to lose herself in the man she was just fucking on the weekends.
So she jerked out of his arms and rolled to the edge of the bed. “I told you I don’t want to cuddle.”
Her tone was so biting that she glanced sideways to make sure he wasn’t angry. And because she checked, she caught a flash of something that almost looked like pain.
Like she had hurt him.
“Sorry,” she said immediately, feeling like an ass. “Nothing personal.”
She was making a total mess of everything, when all she’d wanted to do was win the damn bet.
Owen gave a half shrug. “If you’re hot,” he said matter-of-factly, “you’re hot.” His lips twitched and the fleeting, wounded expression disappeared.
Amy couldn’t help but snort at his response, relief easing the anxiety. She gave him a slanting look. “Well? I’m waiting for the inevitable bad pun.”
“You’ll have to keep waiting,” he said with exaggerated condescension. “If you don’t want to cuddle, then I don’t want to make bad puns.”