Seven

by Claire Kent

  She chuckled. “Nope. I’ll be making some definite moves.”

  “All right,” he agreed slowly. “But I’ll be watching for any cheating, so don't try anything.”

  “I'll be watching too. I know perfectly well that you're not above breaking rules if it means you get to win. Just because I’m the one getting the orgasms in this situation doesn’t mean I’m completely at your will.” She was acting like she was explaining her desire to take control, but she was really just trying to dispel any suspicions. “Plus, I like to be on top.”

  He gave her a dry half-smile. “I know you do.” He relaxed his body and linked his arms behind his head. “I’ll be a good boy. So it’s your turn to ‘go to it.’”

  Suppressing her glee, she crawled over until she was straddling his hips once again.

  She’d intended to just do the normal astride-thing while she put her plan in motion, but she was hit with another idea when she lifted his erection. She watched his face as she gently ran her fingers up and down the hard length of him.

  He was watching her intently through half-closed lids, and his jaw clenched as she massaged him.

  She played with the head a little. Saw when he winced very slightly. Then she stroked down to cup his balls and felt a thrill of power when she heard him release a quiet, helpless groan.

  After she’d caressed him gently for a few minutes, she decided he was in a suitably receptive and non-thinking state.

  Levering her hips forward, she kept one hand on his cock and raised the other hand to her lips. She slid one of her fingers into her mouth, sucking on it hard—knowing that Owen was still watching her.

  His eyes blazed as she slid her finger in and out of her tightened lips, and she heard him make a low, guttural sound.

  Satisfied that he was paying attention, she trailed that one finger back down her body—skating along her neck, making a detour to twirl around one nipple, skimming farther down her belly, and finally settling between her thighs.

  His eyes had followed that one finger, and Amy felt a hot exhilaration flood her as she fingered her own arousal. Her flesh was warm and swollen and sticky and a little sore, but it astoundingly seemed to crave even more friction.

  Leaning forward with one hand splayed on the mattress for support, she sunk that one finger all the way inside her and pumped it in and out, mimicking the motion she’d generated in her mouth.

  Owen groaned again and closed his eyes. “That’s incredibly hot, baby, but you’re not going to make me come like that. Even if you get yourself off with your finger.”

  Amy wasn’t worried. This had still been a very encouraging start.

  She pulled her finger out of her pussy and raised it again to her mouth. Saw Owen bite his lip when she slid the finger back into her mouth and tasted her own arousal—mixed with some lingering traces of Owen’s.

  It wouldn’t have taken very much self-stimulation for Amy to come again. She was already very close from his mouth a few minutes earlier.

  But her plan wasn’t to have another orgasm.

  Her plan was to fake one.

  It could certainly be considered cheating—although they’d never laid out definite rules, so cheating was purely subjective—but at this point she didn’t mind stretching a bit to win the game. She figured if she faked one orgasm, Owen would be satisfied and would let his control slip on the last one, thinking he had won. Then she could inform him that she had faked one of the seven and that he hadn’t won after all.

  He would whine and complain about fairness and honesty, but the fact was that he would have lost.

  Her brain was slightly befuddled from her previous orgasms, but all of this made perfect sense to Amy. She couldn’t be sure of making him come again unless he was lulled into thinking he’d already achieved the victory.

  So fake one orgasm—win the game. She thought it was a very good plan.

  Amy wasn’t a fan of faking orgasms. In fact, she thought it was a very stupid thing for women to do. Why would they want to trick men into being satisfied with their shoddy techniques, instead of encouraging them to find different techniques that actually worked?

  But this was a highly unusual situation, and she thought that womankind might forgive her for faking it this one time if it meant achieving victory over one very arrogant specimen of masculinity.

  But, as she pulled her finger out of her mouth—saw Owen’s fiery expression—she realized that she’d have to be careful.

  It would really suck to intend to fake an orgasm and end up coming for real.

  She’d been holding Owen’s cock lightly in one hand, and now she drew it up until it was flush against her arousal.

  Eyeing him from under her lashes, she reached her free hand down to spread open her folds, and then she rubbed her heated flesh against his hard cock.

  “Amy,” Owen choked, fisting his hands on either side of his body as he stared at her masturbating against his erection.

  “You just lie there,” she told him in almost intoxicated delight. “That was our deal, remember?” His shaft was rubbing deliciously against her clit, and her hips started jerking a little as she started to really respond to the sensations.

  The muscles in Owen’s arms and legs tightened even more, and he arched his back a bit, groaning from the sight of her and from the stimulation on his cock. “This one counts,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “My cock will have been in play when you come from this.”

  “I suppose,” she agreed, feigning reluctance. “I’ll give you this one—but you really should be grateful I'm making it so easy on you.”

  "But don't think I'm going to come from this," Owen added, with a sudden burst of rough sound as she briefly tightened her grip on his cock.

  "Uh huh," Amy agreed, really, really hoping he would come.

  As she felt pressure well up quickly from the focused friction, she reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to come for real.

  This one was fake. And faking it was going to win her this game.

  “Yeah,” she moaned throatily, trying to position herself in the most flattering way but still allow him a good view of the proceedings. “Yeah, Owen, good.”

  It was good, but she hammed up her pleasure a little in preparation for her fake orgasm.

  Owen didn’t seem any the wiser. His whole body was damp and tense now as he watched her rub his cock insistently against her clit.

  Her hips picked up speed—not all of it part of her strategy—and she reminded herself again that this orgasm wasn’t for real. “Yeah,” she gasped her head falling forward now and her hair spilling down over her shoulders. “Yeah, Owen, so good, so hard, so hard.”

  She saw that he now had squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away from her. She felt a thrill of power that almost matched the thrill of pleasure and possession that was already washing over her.

  If she got him far enough, maybe she could come for real—since, if he climaxed again before her seventh orgasm, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be up for another go in time.

  He definitely seemed to be losing control. And so was she. She had to work not to squeeze his erection too tightly, since her body had become demanding and urgent as she worked them both up toward orgasm.

  “Owen,” she groaned, “God, Owen, I want to come like this.” It wasn’t really a lie, although she mostly said it for effect. For some reason, she couldn’t remember the kinds of things she normally said in the heat of passion so everything she said sounded slightly artificial—making her feel like a bad porn star.

  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?”