My waves won’t stop. I’ve never felt it go on like this before. The release seems like it might never end.
“Oh, my God,” he cries as he slaps his hand on the sofa.
Gradually the aftershocks subside, and I come back to my senses to find his head resting between my breasts.
He looks up at me as I start to giggle.
“What?” He sounds a little hurt, like I might be amused by his performance.
I point over his shoulder. “Look.”
Elsa must have felt vibrations from our movements because she’s now wide awake, standing there, staring at us, wagging.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to look her in the eye later,” he says, as our bodies rock against each other again, but this time with laughter.
10
SUMMER
Mmm, my bed is warmer and smells more delicious than ever. The sheets are rich with the scent of Owen, and of the two of us mixed together.
I reach across to the empty half of the bed. He got up a little while ago, while I was only five percent awake. I’d figured he was going to the bathroom and would only be gone a minute. But I guess not. And I must have fallen right back to sleep. I run my hand over the sheets where he was lying. They’re almost cool.
I scrunch up my eyes and stretch every muscle from the tips of my fingers to the ends of my toes. A lot of them ache from not having been used in the way they were used last night for quite some time.
I’d been unsure about letting a virtual stranger sleep next to me, but it would have been weird to make him stay on the sofa again after, well, everything we’d done on it. So, I invited him to spend the night in my bed.
Two more screaming orgasms later, I’d apparently gotten over my fear of a one-night stand. And here I am, with a man-shaped impression in the sheet and pillow next to me.
I can’t remember the last time I slept naked and the sheets touched all of me. Even with Alastair I would always wear a T-shirt and underwear. He always wore underwear, too, because, “What if there’s a fire?”
After the sofa episode, I figured if Owen and I created such brain-exploding fireworks together, I might as well make the most of him while he’s here. After all, he’ll leave today, and I’ll go right back to my celibate existence.
And I’m fine with that. Totally fine. I was fully prepared that this was all it was. One night of mind-blowing sex with a hot guy who then vanishes never to be seen again. Perfect.
It’s not like I’d want him to stick around. I’m sure he’d only become unbearable and annoying if I got to know him properly. I mean, he’s a soon-to-be-billionaire who doesn’t understand snow. Every part of him is wrong for every part of me. Aside from the naked part, obviously.
Actually being involved with someone has never worked well for me, anyway.
So, yes, this is absolutely the ideal arrangement. I’ll wave him off then snuggle back up with Elsa and my knitwear designs and be delighted to have the super-sexy memory.
I roll to the edge of the bed and reach down to stroke Elsa as usual. She’s not there. And now there are voices downstairs. She must have gone down with Owen. Maybe he’s finally realized how awesome she is and is chatting with her. For a deaf dog, she is an excellent listener. Lord knows, she’s often the only living being I talk to for weeks on end.
I lean up on my elbow and listen. Sounds like he’s on the—
Oh, my God.
Phone service.
The internet.
I’ve been sucked so deep into Owen World I almost forgot they existed.
I sit up and search the underwear drawer of my nightstand for something that’s the color it’s supposed to be. He might be leaving today, but you never know, and I’d hate for him to think every pair I own is terminally unsexy. Even though a thorough search would suggest it is.
Ah, there, right at the back and under everything—a black lace thong that I bought with a matching bra for my vacation to Hawaii with Alastair. What a washout that was. He spent the whole time on the phone negotiating a difficult contract, and we ended up flying home five days early because he said the only way to resolve it was in person.
I am never dating a workaholic again. Owen is a workaholic. Not that I’m thinking of dating him. Of course I’m not. It’s not possible. He lives on the other side of the country. And even if it were possible, I wouldn’t want to. Nope. Had my fill of workaholic moneyed Californians, thanks. They’re nothing but trouble.
