Seven (7 page)

But her erotic words had a very good
effect. Owen’s arms flew up from the bedcovers, and his hands settled
bruisingly on her hips. “Come,” he rasped, heat wafting in waves from his body,
even though his hot gaze was now masked by his lids. “Come, love, come.”

The “love” almost distracted her. She
almost leaned over to kiss him. But she’d have a really hard time faking this
so shamelessly if she was actually kissing him so she caught herself just in
time.

She'd better step it up a notch and
get to her fake orgasm more quickly.

“Yeah,” she gasped, starting to
bounce over him as if she were fucking him, his cock sliding lusciously against
her flesh. “Yeah, Owen, yeah. You’re so hard, so good.” She was panting now,
from effort as much as growing desire. She tried to think of something creative
and sexy to say. Couldn’t think of anything but porn. But that always turned
men on—and Owen was certainly not immune to some blatant ego-boosting. Hoping
the words wouldn’t make her giggle, she continued. “So hard,” she panted, “So
big. Your cock feels so good. So big.”

That actually helped her. The irony
distracted her enough to keep control of her rising sensations.

Owen's eyes opened just slightly, and
he was now watching her through the thin slits. For a moment, she was afraid
she’d overdone the porn-speak and he’d caught on, but his hands were still
grasping her hips tightly, urging their motion. And his body was still hot and
tense.

Men were fooled into thinking their
partners had climaxed all the time. It seemed to her like they should pay more
attention, but she supposed if they were excited enough, the artificial could
easily be confused with the genuine.

And—despite his better qualities—Owen
was still just a man.

Just to be safe, however, she gave
his cock a few pumps with her hand, each time pushing it more firmly against
her clit. When Owen moaned helplessly and tossed his head, she felt safe again,
so she started up her routine once more.

Her arousal hadn’t built back
up—mostly because of her attempt to keep from giggling—so she was able to
concentrate more on faking it than on keeping herself from coming. “Good,” she
gasped erotically, “Yeah, baby, I want to come. You’re going to make me come so
hard.”

Owen was still watching her and,
although his eyes were too narrow for her to read their expression, she was
pretty sure he was into this. He had managed to keep his body still, however,
just as he’d promised so she finished up her fake orgasm with no interference.
“Yeah,” she cried, jerking her whole body the way she did when she came. “Yeah,
yeah, yeah!”

On the last “yeah,” she thrashed over
him for an appropriate span of time. Then slumped to the side, releasing his
still hard cock.

She’d been hoping he’d find her
performance so sexy that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from coming but
apparently she wasn’t that good or he wasn’t that far gone yet.

He was holding himself rigidly still
beside her, breathless and perspiring. But he hadn’t lost control.

No problem. She’d still win. Because,
with any luck, he would think she just had one more orgasm left before they
reached seven.

But he would be wrong.

Owen continued to lie perfectly still
for a few minutes, while Amy pretended to be recovering herself.

What she was really doing was trying
not to sneak her hand between her legs and bring herself to the waiting orgasm
that had been started and interrupted more than once now.

After a while, she sighed, trying to
look defeated. “That was six. I guess it’s not as impossible as I thought.”

Owen’s head was turned to the side,
and he was just watching her silently. It was an intense, assessing look that she
had no way of interpreting, but it was starting to unnerve her.

And worry her.

“What?” she asked finally. Although
if she did it again she'd rephrase a few of her passionate cries, she'd still
done a really good job faking the orgasm.

He didn’t answer. Just eyed her
closely.

Feeling uncomfortably self-conscious
and getting more and more sure that she hadn’t fooled him, she rolled over to
the other side of the bed. “Let me recover a few more minutes,” she told him
with a valiantly determined nonchalance. “Then I’ll be ready for you to try for
number seven.” She glanced at his naked body, complete with new sweat and both
old and new fluids from her body. “Maybe you can go get a damp towel or
something, since you’re not looking entirely fresh.” She tried for her
characteristic teasing tone, “If your erection doesn’t keep you from walking to
the bathroom, that is.”

He didn’t actually look as urgent as
he had earlier—something must have distracted him—and Amy felt a tightening in
her chest at the knowledge of what that something might be. She prayed he’d do
as she’d instructed. The stickiness was becoming excessive, and she needed some
space to pull herself together.

And maybe while he was there she’d
make quick use of her fingers so she wouldn’t be quite so desperate when they
got to number seven. No—six. Owen would only think it was seven.

Hopefully.

She turned onto her side with her
back to him so she wouldn’t have to look at his thoughtful face. Then she heard
him roll off the bed and stride toward the bathroom.

She started to relax, hoping once
again that her plan was going to work. It wasn’t a great plan—there were a few
obvious drawbacks—but faking had been a longstanding practice that worked on
most men much of the time. And since she’d never faked with Owen before, he
would have no practice at sorting out the real from the pretend.

There was no reason why this wouldn’t
work. She could excuse the unusual porn-speak by saying she was just trying
something new to see if it turned her on.

Smiling to herself, she imagined his
face when she told him she’d cheated. He was going to be so incredibly mad.
Furious. Seething.

Amy could hardly wait.

Then she let out a little squeal when
his arm snaked around her waist without warning, as he lowered himself onto the
mattress and moved to spoon her from behind.

“You can’t really think you would
fool me like that,” he murmured, his lips at her ear.

All the tension left Amy’s body, and
she slumped back against him. “Damn it,” she grumbled, knowing there was no use
in arguing now. “You’re so obnoxious! Why can’t you be as gullible as other
men? I thought I’d done so well.”

“You did,” he assured her, mouthing
her shoulder and sliding the damp hand towel across her belly and then down
between her legs, giving her tantalizing little touches as he stroked the rough
fabric across her skin. “You arched and shuddered and moaned exquisitely. And
kudos for the creative use of my cock.”

Amy wrinkled her nose and tried not
to shiver at the feel of the cool, wet towel against her heated flesh. “Well,
it was worth a try, and I had a good shot at making it work. What did I do
wrong?”

She suddenly felt Owen’s teeth
against her skin, and it caused another shiver to start low in her spine. “I
was already suspicious. And as soon as you started talking about how big and
good my cock was, I knew it had to be fake.”

She huffed. “I do think your cock is
nice and big—and it does very good things to me,” she said matter-of-factly.

He chuckled, sending the vibrations
throughout her body. “That’s nice to hear. But I know better than to believe
you’d shout it out in the heat of passion. If only because you wouldn’t want me
to get a swollen head.”

Faking had been a decent idea, but
she hadn’t thought things through enough—it would have been better if she’d had
some prep time and had been able to rehearse a little first.

Sighing, she admitted, “Your head is
far too swollen as it is.” She tried to pull away from him, mostly because the
sappy tenderness was returning in full force as he gently cleaned off her body,
despite her resolve to be mad at him for finding her out. “Well, since that was
a flop, I think I’ll run to the bathroom and clean myself up a little bit more
before we start up again.”

“Why bother?” he asked, refusing to
let her get away from him. “You’re not going to stay clean, you know. You have
two more orgasms left.”

She looked at him over her shoulder
and got a little thrill from how possessive his expression was. “That’s your
swollen head talking. I’m not holding my breath, though.”

He gave her nipple a teasing little
tug between his finger and thumb, causing her to suck in her breath and hold
it. “Aren’t you?” he murmured.

“Smug bastard,” she muttered. “Thinks
he can just…”

She never completed her mutter,
because her mumbles transformed into a shocked squeal as Owen flipped her over
onto her back, parting her legs until he was kneeling between them.

Gazing up in startled delight, she
just about melted away at the sight of him. She loved him so much—no use to
deny it any more—even when he was infuriatingly smug, presumptuous, and a
know-it-all.

She particularly loved when he looked
at her like this—as if he couldn’t get enough of her, as if everything she did
made him want her even more, as if she was his.

She
was
his. And she wanted so
much for him to be hers.

But that had never been in the cards
for them. It had been off-limits from the very beginning.

Even though he might be kneeling
between her thighs, erect and naked and hotly possessive, it didn’t necessarily
mean he felt anything like love for her.

She was so distracted by her thoughts
that it took her a minute to realize that he had lifted up one of her legs
until her foot was level with his face.

Feeling a little awkward with her leg
in the air but also more aroused as the move stretched her completely open
before him, Amy squirmed against the mattress. She could feel the cool air of
the room against her wet pussy. “Owen,” she said. “What do you think you’re
doing?”

He practically scorched her with the
intensity of his gaze. “Giving you another orgasm,” he answered hoarsely, his
desire and urgency having evidently returned as the brief diversion was
forgotten. “A real one, this time. Don’t you want another one?”

“Yeah,” she whispered truthfully,
whimpering a little when he started to tongue the arch of her foot. “I want
another one.”

She did want another one. More than
she’d thought possible after coming five times already this afternoon. But when
she heard how tremulous and needy her voice sounded, she made herself continue,
“But that doesn’t mean you’re actually up to giving me one.”

He chuckled warmly and edged forward,
sinking down on folded legs until he was sitting on his ankles, and his cock
was in the vicinity of her groin. “You’ll never give me even an inch, will
you?”

“Nope,” she breathed, trying to keep
her voice from shaking. Owen had lifted her other leg as well so her ankles
were propped up against his shoulders. “Not even an inch. Everyone else gives
you what you want, but I’ll never do that. My job is—”

She cut off the words abruptly—not
because Owen was fingering her deliciously but because she realized what she
was saying. She had been about to say something stupid about what her role was
in his life, as if she held a special place there.

"Your job is what?” he asked,
splaying his thighs out a bit more as pulled her hips up into position.

She let out a soft whine as he held
her legs apart, lined himself up, and then slid slowly inside her, her body
starting to bend in half as he leaned forward. “Job,” she gasped, trying to
think clearly when all she was aware of was his hard substance filling her
completely, then sinking in even deeper. “To…to…”

“To what?” he demanded, in quiet
insistence, pushing farther forward until her knees were nearing her shoulders.

To take care of him. To comfort and
support him. To challenge his cool entitlement to the world. To share his life.

All of this she wanted to do. All of
this felt like her job.

And only hers.

But he’d never agreed to give her
such a role in his life, so she could hardly just announce it out loud. So she
pulled together a few scrambled thoughts and choked, “To make sure you don’t
always get your way.”

He stared at her intently for a few
moments, as if he were trying to figure out what she was thinking. Then gave an
ironic half-smile. “Love, you certainly do a good job with that.”

She was feeling a mushy thrill from the
endearment—which somehow sounded more real than it used to—when he leaned
forward all the way, pressing her legs up against her chest.

The whine she gave this time wasn’t
entirely from pleasure. She felt a little raw from all the times they’d had sex
already in the last two hours, and he was now very, very deep. The pleasure was
mingled with discomfort. “Owen.”

“Too deep?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “Usually
it’s good like this, but after all the…“

He pulled his weight off her and
raised himself again until he was sitting once more on his ankles, thighs
parted to make room for her hips. He was still fully sheathed inside her—her
ass lifted slightly off the bed—but the penetration was decidedly more
comfortable. “Better?”

She nodded, and he raised her hips a
little more, changing the angle of his entry.

“Good?” he asked hoarsely, holding
himself rigidly in check.

“Good,” she assured him, squirming
against him in an attempt to get some friction. Her muscles were already
straining from trying to hold her lower body up, but this would definitely be
worth a few sore muscles. “Let’s see if you can manage number six.”

Recognizing a dare when he heard one,
Owen began to thrust, letting out low little grunts with every slow lever of
his hips.