By: Claire Kent

He leaned down to kiss her, and the kiss was soft and sweet enough that it relaxed her a little. “Trust me. I’m not just being mean. It will be worth it. I promise.”

She snarled but didn’t argue. She did trust him, and she intended to be a good sport. That is, until she was convinced he was just being nasty, and then she’d start being nasty back.

After another moment, he penetrated her fully again, lowering his weight back over hers, renewing the friction on her clit as he started moving his hips.

Amy moaned hoarsely as Owen began to thrust, trying to regain the momentum she had lost. She squeezed his hips between her thighs and gasped, “Damn it, Owen. Now I have to start over.”

He’d straightened his body some, so his eyes could run over her body, from her face to her jiggling breasts. “I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

She made a few helpless mews of frustration as she felt her orgasm rising again at her center. “You don’t look sorry. You look like you‘re enjoying my misery.” On principle, she fought a little more against the grip on her hand, but she was beginning to feel a kind of unexpected thrill at being completely at his mercy.

And the truth was—she wasn’t actually miserable.

Although she was starting to lose the circulation in her fingers.

She supposed she should be impressed that Owen managed to scowl despite the situation. As he pumped into her steadily, he rasped, “You think this is easy?” He stifled a groan when Amy squeezed him hard with both her thighs and her inner muscles. “Fuck, Amy, you feel incredible.”

Well, that was always nice to hear, and she wasn’t too far gone to not feel a little mushy. But the mushiness quickly transformed into impatience as he lowered more of his weight against her pelvis, deepening the stimulation on her clit.

She bucked up involuntarily, although he was pressing her down too hard for her to get very high. “Oh, yeah. Like that.” She pumped her hips, feeling the sensations begin to crest once more. “Owen, please!”

With his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscles in his cheeks quiver, Owen sustained the steady, luscious rhythm. “Coming?” he asked in strangled voice.

She tried to arch beneath him, stretching the line of her torso out even more. Her nipples were chafing against his chest, and her hips were thrashing desperately. “Oh, yeah,” she cried, her voice much louder than usual. “Oh, yeah!”

And then—damn it!—he withdrew again, halting her orgasm right at the last second.

He didn’t appear to be enjoying it either. He was practically wheezing from the effort it took to control himself. But Amy was in far worse shape than he was. She’d been so close to coming. So exquisitely close.

And now she wasn’t.

“Fuck you, Owen!” she raged, through clenched teeth, shuddering violently and pumping her pelvis up in a futile attempt to find release. “Mean, mean, and cruel.” It wasn’t her cleverest of insults, but her mind was barely functioning.

He lowered his face until it was burrowed against her neck. “It’ll be good,” he promised again, his voice muffled by her damp skin. “I promise, love, it will be good.”

“But why all the torture? You’re supposed to give me seven orgasms but you won’t even give me one.”

“I will,” he murmured, pressing little kisses now up and down her throat. “I will. This will make it easier later. Trust me.”

The sweet kisses were almost as powerful as the sensation of his cock moving again inside her. Amy thought she would melt as he continued to nibble a line up her jaw and toward the side of her mouth. “Owen, please,” she begged, as the pleasure started building more quickly this time. “Please now. I want to come.”

His face hovering just above hers, he met her eyes and murmured again, “Trust me.”

She did. She trusted him in this. Wanted to trust him in everything. Just didn’t know if he wanted that kind of trust. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah.”

He kissed her, and it was wet and clumsy on both sides, but it left Amy overwhelmed by more than just physical pleasure. When he pulled away, he accelerated his tempo, driving his cock into her with faster, shorter strokes.

Tossing her head back and forth on the pillow, she squeezed his hand, which she still held. “God, Owen, yeah. Please, this time.” She writhed between his body and the mattress, jolts of pleasure coalescing into one powerful force. Her breasts and clit were rubbing against his hard body, and her thighs were once again squeezing desperately around his hips. She cried out loudly. Wasn’t even embarrassed.