Seven(26)

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?”