Seven(9)

By: Claire Kent



“What is that smile for?” she asked, although she had a feeling she knew.

“Now you’re exactly in the shape I want you,” he murmured thickly, erotically.

“Naked?”

“Hot and wet and ready for me.”

He was absolutely right, but she wasn’t in the habit of admitting such a thing. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He cocked an eyebrow and trailed one finger from her lips down her neck, along the curves of her breasts, and then down her belly to her groin. The light touch was sensual torture, and she couldn’t keep her hips still as he got lower.

Then he slid off her panties and finally used his finger to part her intimate folds and expose her to his view. The air against her arousal made her gasp.

“Definitely hot and wet,” he said with another smile. He pressed his finger lightly against her clit before sliding it away.

She whimpered. “Oh, God, Owen, please.”

“So you are ready for me?”

“Yes.” She arched up when he stroked her very lightly again. “Please.”

Finally, he lined his erect cock up at her entrance. “That’s what I thought. Now. I believe I have a challenge to fulfill.”

“Good luck,” she mumbled, mostly because she felt like she hadn’t been putting up a very good defense. She gasped in pleasure as he started pushing inside her. She felt her wet pussy cling and give way to the width and length of him, and she bent her legs up until her knees were high on either side of his hips. “You’re definitely going to need it.”

His face was tense and strained as he visibly tried to control whatever his need was—his need to thrust, to let go, to fall toward his own release.

She made herself hold still, because she knew he needed her to and because she did trust him—even though she hadn’t realized it to this extent before.

After a minute, Owen was breathing evenly again, and he lowered himself over her body even more, one forearm resting beside her head and shoulder and his fingers occasionally playing with her brown hair. He tangled the fingers of his other hand into her hand, which was resting near her head, her arm bent up, and she tightened her fingers around his, holding his hand in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

When she felt his lower body come down on her pelvis, Amy sighed and pulled her knees up toward her chest. With little trouble, she positioned her legs so that her calves pushed against the outside of his upper thighs and her heels just below his butt.

He pulled back slowly and thrust the first time, and Amy whimpered with pleasure in response. Her clit was rubbing against his pubic bone, and his cock penetrated her at exactly the right depth. Not deep enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to make her feel exquisitely tight and full.

“That’s perfect,” she whispered, gazing up into his hot eyes. Her face twisted as he thrust again. “Perfect.”

He always seemed to be really into their lovemaking, and often he was fast and hard and urgent. But today—although his eyes were intense, almost wild—his motion was steady and leisurely. Amy rocked beneath him, trying to match his tempo. But as the pressure swelled up beneath her belly, the pumping of her hips became faster and more erratic.

“Soon,” she gasped, struggling to free her hand from his so she could claw at his shoulder. “God, Owen, soon.” When he wouldn’t release her hand, she gave up trying. Let him pin her down with his hand and the weight of his body. Let him give her this pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, love. You’re getting so tight. Tell me when.”

Her climax rising startlingly fast, Amy groaned and tossed her head. “Soon,” she breathed again. “Coming. God!” His thrusting never wavered in speed or depth and, combined with the way his body was rubbing against her clit with every thrust, it took her right up to the edge.

About to fall over into release, Amy arched up and cried softly, “Yeah. Now, now!”

It happened. Just not what she wanted to happen.

At her breathless cry, Owen froze completely and then withdrew until his cock was barely inside her.

Amy wailed, “Owen!”

He was sweating and breathless, but he watched her with fiery possessiveness. “What?”

“I was coming.” She squirmed beneath him, trying to get friction in any way she could. But he had withdrawn too far and she couldn’t get close enough to rub against him. “I was almost there. What the hell are you doing?”

“Fulfilling the challenge,” he answered succinctly, tightening his fingers around hers.

“I don’t think the challenge was supposed to involve being mean.”

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