Tears were streaming from her eyes in her attempt to stifle everything she was feeling—the overwhelming pleasure and the deep emotion. She couldn’t force back any of it. Couldn’t keep her body and mind and heart from reacting to who this man was.
And soon he’d be out of her life for good.
Physical and emotional exhaustion had finally caught up to her, and Amy felt like she might shatter into pieces beneath him.
With a miserable groan, he pulled out of her, a little too soon for the move to be comfortable for either of them.
She turned over and buried her face in the pillow, needing to hide from him—hide her tears, hide how completely he’d turned her inside out.
“Amy,” he asked gently, his physical need apparently forgotten as real concern edged his voice. “Love, are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she choked out, turning her head once she’d controlled herself. Her shoulders were shaking a little, but she wasn’t really crying. “I guess this is what six orgasms do to a person.” She gave him a smile that was almost sincere.
He drew his brows together as if he wasn’t quite convinced. “Is that all it is? Say the word and we’ll stop. If it’s too much or if you’re not liking it—”
She shook her head. She did kind of want to stop, but not because she wasn’t enjoying this. She was just so afraid that one more orgasm would be her complete undoing. Afraid all her defenses would then be leveled, that she wouldn’t be able to hold anything back.
But stopping now would be cowardly, and she’d never been the kind of person who would run away when things got hard. So she grinned at him. “I knew you were afraid you couldn’t do it. Trying to quit while you’re ahead? Afraid you’re not going to win?”
He stroked her cheek, where a just-fallen tear was lingering. “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.