Just a Number (7 page)

My stomach rumbles, so I head the twenty feet to my kitchen and look through the cupboards and fridge for something to eat. Finding nothing, I decide to head out and grab some take-out from the restaurant on the corner.

The sight that greets me as I pull open the door surprises me, and I wonder if I’m dreaming, because there’s no way this is real…

“Owen?” I ask in disbelief.

He smiles and holds up a large brown paper bag. “So, I was sort of in the neighborhood and figured you probably hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I got dinner for two and came right over.”

“H-how did you get my address?” I stammer.

“Your dad’s address book.” He pauses, furrowing his brow nervously. “That’s not creepy, is it?”

I laugh. “Maybe a little, but I think I can overlook it.” I take the food from him and nod him inside as I turn toward the kitchen and set it down. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what exactly are you doing here?”

“Honestly?” I nod, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth nervously. “Watching you walk away was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He pauses, pulling me into his arms, and my breath shudders. “I know I’m not exactly in the best situation right now with my separation, but I need you to know that I’ve never felt this way before.”

“It’s probably just my youth,” I quip, making Owen laugh. “It makes you feel young again.”

“Regardless, I couldn’t just give it up.” He pushes my hair away from my face, his fingers lingering below my ear and making me swoon. “I’d like to explore whatever this is.”

Even though I’m sure that now is not the time, I have to ask. “And what about my dad? If he finds out…”

Owen shakes his head and smiles warmly. “Why don’t we worry about that when the time comes? Let’s just enjoy right now.”

I nod, and not another word is spoken between us as he lowers his lips to mine, carries me to my bed—our food forgotten for the moment—and makes love to me for the next two hours.

Yes, while there were several reasons that this was never meant to work, there are so many more that prove it can.

10. Wrong Feels So Right

W
hat the fuck are you thinking?

It’s a question I’d been asking myself with every mile I put on my car racing for the city.

Chasing after Amelia.

She stirs in my arms, the light from the streetlamps outside pouring through her apartment window and over us both. Even though it’s almost midnight, I’ve been unable to sleep. Perhaps my adrenaline is running high after having more sex in these last few hours than I’d had in the last six months of my marriage.

Amelia moans softly, exhaling a soft breath over my chest, and I smile. She looks so peaceful. So innocent.

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.

I raise a leg beneath her to roll us over, but Amelia has other ideas, placing one of her hands on my chest and holding me down—okay, so she’s not using a lot of strength, but I grasp the idea behind the gesture. I’m not completely dense—even though most of the blood in my body is rushing in an entirely different direction than toward my brain right now.

“God, Amelia,” I murmur against her plump lips, pulling her hips forward again. The friction of my cock sliding between her slick folds drives me wild, and my eyes roll back as I revel in the sensation.

She moans, swiveling her hips counter-clockwise before lifting them and sliding her hand from my chest to between her legs. Her fingertips brush the tip of my erection, causing it to pulse with need, and I can’t take the anticipation anymore.

“I want you,” I tell her gruffly.

She hums, kissing her way along my jaw before raising her head to look me in the eye. “You have me.” Her hand surrounds my length, sliding over it with ease as she guides it toward her entrance. “I’m yours to do with what you please.”

Before she can ease herself down onto me, I lift her slightly. “Condom,” I whisper, my voice strained.

Amelia tucks her hair behind her ear again and nods. “Okay. Yeah.” She leans across me, her tit nearly grazing my nose, and reaches into her bedside table where she keeps what I kind of hope is an endless stash of prophylactics, because I don’t want to leave this apartment unless we absolutely have to.

Breathing heavily, she scoots down my body, coming to rest on my thighs as she positions the condom and rolls it down over my length. Once it’s in place, I sit up quickly, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her back toward me until we’re aligned again. Our eyes lock as Amelia slowly lowers herself onto me, and we both groan with satisfaction when we’re joined once more.

Home
. It’s the only way I can describe how I feel when we’re together, so how can it possibly be as wrong as I keep thinking it is? It doesn’t even matter how we’re together; just being in her presence is the most natural thing in the world. Like breathing.

I draw one of her perfect nipples into my mouth, flicking my tongue over it before grazing it with my teeth, and she mewls above me, her arms tightening around my shoulders to hold me in place. Her movements are slow and precise at first, using her legs to move up and down my length, and then she speeds up, her brow furrowing and her moans growing louder as she closes in on her orgasm. “Owen,” she pants, resting her head on mine, and I lift my face from her breast to crush my lips to hers, swallowing every sound that breezes past them.

Her legs begin to tremble on either side of me, and I assume she’s exhausted them, so I move to roll us over when she shakes her head. “Mmm…no,” she mumbles, pulling her lips from mine. “Lie back.”

Never one to say no to watching a beautiful woman ride me to climax, I do as she says. She adjusts her legs so she’s kneeling and places her hands on my chest, lowering herself to kiss me softly while she finds her new rhythm. This new position has me going slightly deeper inside of her, and I can feel my orgasm building as each one of my muscles tightens and my toes curl. I’m so close, and the need to come becomes the only thing on my mind.

I wrap my hands around her hips again and begin guiding her a little faster and harder against me, the new depth and level of friction pushing me even closer to the edge.

“Oh, god…” she moans. “Owen…I’m going to…”

Her ability to form a coherent sentence has been momentarily disabled, but, to be fair, so has mine. “Amelia,” I groan, lifting my hips off the bed slightly, meeting her thrust for thrust. “You feel…amazing…”

“You too.” Her body begins to tremble above me, and I know she’s struggling to hold her orgasm back. “
Soooo good
,” she moans slowly, one of her hands wrapping around my wrist and pulling it from her hip.

I’m confused at first, but as she guides it up her body and to her tit, I understand what she wants. I palm her tit—
hard
—putting a little more focus on her hardened nipple as she continues to ride me. Her moans fill the room, and she covers my hand with hers, squeezing her breast in tandem with me as she calls out my name over and over and over until her body begins to quiver through her orgasm. She’s so vocal, and not just the usual hums and moans that I’m used to from my ex. No, Amelia is loud and enthusiastic about what I’m capable of doing to her body.

She drags her free hand down my chest, curling her fingers until her nails scratch me lightly and leave red lines in their wake. The minute she reaches my stomach, I sit upright, moving my hand from her hip and into her hair as I kiss her almost desperately, chasing after my own release.

Her hand is still sandwiched between us, so close to her pussy, and I crave to feel her come again as I do. “Touch yourself,” I command softly, and Amelia’s hand inches lower until she’s able to slip her fingers between her thighs. It turns me on even more to watch her do what I’ve asked; Gretchen has always just sort of laid there, never one to put in any effort or try something new. This was definitely different, and it drove me wild with desire for her.

She continues to rock above me, and when I feel her fingertips brush my cock as it slides out of her, that’s it. The surface of my skin prickles and my muscles tense, curling my fingers and toes as my orgasm rips through me.

Panting, she removes her hands from her body and collapses on my chest, her hair splaying across my sweat-slickened skin, and her labored breaths causing goosebumps to rise up all over. My hand trails lazily up and down her back, and I can feel her heart pounding in time with mine as we lay here, still wrapped around each other for a few more minutes before I excuse myself to use the washroom.