Satisfaction Guaranteed(29)

Because her moans are. Her cries are. Her sounds are the stuff of legend. Her noises are unlocking my pleasure, and her own seems to be hurtling through her. “Oh God, I’m coming.”

Her cry starts loud, then shoots even louder. She’s all ohhh God and yes, yes, yes, and it’s fantastic how vocal she is.

Really, it is.

Except my suspicions are confirmed when she lets out a long, over-the-top, glorious sigh as she slumps down under me, like she’s sated and blissed out.

She just faked an orgasm.





22





That’s a first.

At least, I think so.

For a hot second, I travel through time. As I head to the restroom to toss the condom, I revisit ghosts of my sex life past.

Kelly from college, with the trumpet-like orgasmic cries.

Lilah, who lived in Chelsea and writhed like she was a belly dancer when she came.

Sonya, whose O face was the poster child for O faces.

They were all epic comers.

Weren’t they?

Wait.

Have I been Sally’d in the diner by them all? Have all men everywhere been Sally’d every time?

But as I stare at my reflection, I shake my head. Nah. Because here’s the thing with Sloane.

I knew instantly.

I wasn’t fooled.

Sloane faked it, but she didn’t fake me out.

She went too far. She overacted, oversold her climax, and I wasn’t buying it. That’s not something anyone else I’ve been with has ever done.

I shove away thoughts of exes and focus solely on Sloane’s non–Academy Award performance.

But why did she try to pull off the act?

She didn’t like it?

No way.

Maybe I am too cocky, but I don’t buy that. We were both into it, every step of the way. From the bar, to the elevator, to the room, to the bed.

When we switched positions too.

And besides, I felt her, I touched her. She was into it. She’s one of the most responsive women I’ve ever encountered.

Yet, she didn’t fly over the edge, and she definitely wanted to.

I turn on the tap, splash some water on my face, and turn it off. I grab a towel and dry off. I have a plan.

This is a problem, and I’m going to treat it like I would a poodle who’s not “acting like himself.”

I can’t exactly ask the patient what’s wrong. But I can deduce this—since Sloane deliberately faked it, she must have a reason.

I need to get to the bottom of that.

And I know how to do it.

I’ll take a lesson from her playbook.

I’ll fake it too.

I’ll pretend I believe she came like a world-class orgasm-er.

I return to the bed, ready to conduct my recon.

She’s stretched out on her side, her head propped in her hand, her blonde hair spilling over her fingers and falling down on the bed. “Hey,” she says, her voice a little sleepy-sexy. Is that a ruse too, the post-sex gravel in her tone?

“Hey, beautiful.” I lie next to her, and the second I touch the mattress, her hands are on me, traveling up my chest and down over my hip.

She’s a frisky one.

I note that in my mental spy journal.

Spy Log Detail One: eager beaver.

“That was . . .” she begins, trailing off, and I’m half-tempted to fill in the sentence with snark. That was quite a performance! Will there be another show tonight? But that approach won’t glean any intel. Going along with it will.

“Amazing,” I supply.

Her hand spreads across my chest. “Yes, totally amazing.”

“Like you’d hoped it would be?” I arch a questioning brow.

She smiles, a dopey, happy grin. “Yes, Exactly.”

Spy Log Detail Two: she definitely wants me to believe that O was real.

I loop my arm around her, tugging her close. “Damn, woman. I have dreamed about you for years. To finally have you was incredible.” I press my lips to her cheek, her eyelid, her nose. Then I kiss her mouth, in a soft, lingering way that promises deeper kisses to come.

“It was, Malone. It was totally incredible.” She adopts a cheeky expression, raising her eyebrows and dancing her fingers across my chest. “Can we go to Tahiti again tonight?”

Spy Log Detail Three: She wants to screw again. That makes me think she liked the sex. Or at least liked it enough.

I scoff. “We’re still here. We need to take full advantage of all the amenities.”

Her fingers travel down my stomach. “So . . . how long do we stay here? All night?”

I look at her and tuck a finger under her chin, fishing for more clues. “Is that what you want?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, I want you to kick me out.”

I gesture to the door. “See you later, woman. I’m going to enjoy this king-size bed all by myself.”

She swats my elbow, climbs on top of me, and grabs my wrists. “Take that back.”

Spy Log Detail Four: The woman is playful AF. She’s got to be into me.

I slide my arms above my head so she falls onto me, her breasts temptingly near my face. I raise my neck, suck on one delicious nipple.

She lets out a sexy sigh.

Spy Log Detail Five: she seems turned on again.

She starts rocking against me as I lavish attention on her. When she pulls away, she slides down my body, straddling my growing length, rubbing against it, letting me know she’s still wet.