Seven(35)

Arrogant, spoiled asshole. Thought she would make it easy for him. Always used to getting everything handed to him.

Well, not this. She might have lost the wager of the seven orgasms, but she wasn’t going to let him win this other game.

This game that meant so much more.

Smiling at him tenderly, she patted his cheek. Gazed up at his handsome face, her heart in her eyes. Said sweetly what she’d originally intended to say, “I reserve the right to veto any of your fantasies if they make me too uncomfortable.”

This time she was watching for it, and she recognized the disappointment that flickered briefly in his eyes at her words. Was impressed by how quickly he was able to hide it as he murmured, “Agreed.” He relaxed beside her on the bed, looking as drained and exhausted and worn as if he’d been through a battle. Then his lips twitched. “I’ll think of something good for both of us.”

She was instantly intrigued and rolled over until she was draped on top of him. “What are thinking? Anything good?”

He narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrows. “You’ll find out eventually,” he said snidely.

“Bastard,” she muttered. “Indulging in petty spite just because I wouldn’t tell you that…”

“That what?” His body tensed up beside her.

She sniffed, panicking a little over how close she’d come to slipping and saying what she was now stubbornly determined not to say first. Thinking quickly, she rephrased, “Just because I’m not swooning over your victory.”

He smiled in tired amusement, the intensity fading once more. “It was quite a victory, wasn’t it?”

“Pompous, bloody arse,” she mumbled, exaggerating an accent vaguely similar to his.

He choked on a laugh.

Then she smiled fondly. “It was an amazing victory. No one would ever believe me if I told them.”

He seemed to appreciate her praise because his eyes grew soft. His voice, however, was typically smug as he added, “One might almost say it was worthy of a sex god.”

“While I certainly appreciate his occasional appearance, I’ve never really wanted the sex god.” She put her hand on his pounding heart and spoke words that were as close to the truth as she was willing to voice right now.

Said, “All I’ve ever wanted was the man.”





The Aftermath




They lay in limp, replete satisfaction for a while. But eventually Amy began to feel too icky, so she got up and limped to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and stepped under the hot spray.

The water felt incredible, invigorating, and deliciously indulgent.

She’d rinsed off and started soaping up when the curtain opened and Owen appeared. He gave her a nonchalant quirk of his lips and stepped under the shower with her.

“Don’t hog all the water,” she grumbled, gently pushing him away from where he’d been blocking some of the spray.

He chuckled and didn’t resist her relocation of his body. Just grabbed the soap and started lathering up himself.

She was checking out the red marks on her hips and thighs, where she knew she’d have bruises in the morning, when Owen noticed her scrutiny.

“Did I hurt you?” he demanded, moving her hands away so he could look too.

“Don’t get excited. Just a few bruises.”

He frowned deeply. “You should have told me—”

“Don’t be stupid, Owen. You didn’t hurt me. We just made love. A lot. There tends to be evidence on one’s body.” She blushed a little—to her annoyance—at saying “made love” rather than “have sex,” which was the way they normally referred to their carnal activities.

But she didn’t regret saying it.

It was true. She knew it now.

His wet face still looked concerned as he turned her around and scrutinized every scratch, bruise, and mark on her body.

“I’ve got fair skin,” she said eventually, although she was touched by his obvious protectiveness. “Things show up more.”

“I suppose,” he agreed, his face relaxing. Then a familiar heat flickered in his eyes.

“Don’t say it. I can see what you’re thinking. Some sort of caveman impulse it starting to emerge at seeing how you’ve marked me.”

He gave her a teasing growl and pulled her into a kiss.

She kissed him back leisurely, too worn out to be passionate or sexy. And then she sighed in pleasure as Owen pulled away, turned her around so that her back was to him, and started to give her a backrub.

She let him massage her neck and shoulders, closing her eyes and moaning softly as her sore muscles loosened up. Then she relaxed even more as he began to shampoo her hair, his strong fingers against her scalp both sensual and soothing.