Chapter Five
Felicity lay back and let Dimitri’s strong hands stroke the tension from her thighs, and it was magical, the way the knots faded away under his ministrations. It wasn’t real, of course—it couldn’t be—but as unreal things went, it was fantastic.
She knew she’d wake up any second now, but until then, she was going to enjoy the dream.
His thumbs dug deep into her inner thighs, and she hazily let her knees fall open so that he could massage and massage, his fingers and thumbs working their way upward.
She was melting, quivering like a bowl of Jell-O, heat spiraling through her body.
It felt so real, except better than reality.
She was pretty sure she’d never been this turned on in her life, and he’d only touched her legs!
And dear god, the way his penis stretched out his Aladdin pants was mesmerizing.
She’d always thought penises were kind of silly-looking, as were those floofy pants, but she clearly hadn’t met the right pants or the right penis. Dimitri’s penis looked yummy.
That was how she knew it wasn’t real. None of this could be real.
Sex was awesome and she enjoyed it, but this slow build felt like all those flowery, extravagant words she’d read in books but never felt when she’d actually had sex.
She’d felt good—had demanded it—but she’d never felt transcendent.
Never felt like she was going to die if those magic hands didn’t touch her pussy.
Never felt like she was actually building to a capital-X explosion.
Of course, she was going to wake up before that happened.
Even her overactive hallucinatory state couldn’t imagine that up for her.
But maybe she’d wake up all slippery and hot, and the bullet vibrator in her drawer could take her the rest of the way to a real orgasm.
She could even make a lot of noise when she came.
Keep masturbating the rest of Naked Day (if even that part had been real) and yodel while she was at it.
Imaginary Dimitri’s hands had kept moving higher while she was making her post-dream masturbation plans, and now his thumbs were pressed right into the hollow of her legs, just shy of her trembling pussy, his fingers digging deep into her hips.
He stilled and looked at her, eyes glittering.
She felt serene, like a goddess, and she looked at him benevolently as he looked at her, and she realized his hands were shaking, vibrating against her, and she was shaking, too.
They were both quivering on the brink of something ineffable.
That was a perfect word, she thought dreamily.
Ineffable. Effable. Effing effable. She felt... effable.
And his eyelids drooped. “You’re still tense...Felicity.”
She let her eyelids match his. “So I am,” she murmured softly.
He smiled. “I can bring you some release,” he said in a voice like honey and gravel. “Mistress.”
Felicity bit her lip. “Can you?” she teased, quivering. She should tell him to use her name again, but in this exact moment, with his fingers so close to where she wanted them, the word mistress coiled around her like a ribbon of silken fire.
He gazed at her, eyes hot, his thumbs digging delightfully into the apex of her thighs. “Do you want it?” he finally asked, almost angrily.
Felicity breathed. In and out, and in and out, and in and out, and she watched his stormy face, and it just seemed so real, he seemed like a real man overflowing with hunger and why wouldn’t her dream just get on with it?
She’d never had a choose-your-own-adventure dream before.
But okay, she’d choose the only thing she could possibly choose.
“Yes,” she said in a voice that only quavered a tiny, tiny bit. “I want it.”
He groaned and let his head fall to her chest, and his thumbs slid in and in and dear god, had that noise just come out of her mouth? But she was past caring, because one thumb had unerringly slid to her clit and the other was sliding into her, thick and knowing.
She was already wet and ready, and she wanted this—god she wanted this—but she wanted more, too.
She wanted this dream to deliver everything.
So she let her elbows slide out from beneath her and set her hands to her own breasts, pinching her hard nipples and spreading her legs even wider.
Dimitri stared down at her with something like wonder, and then he ran his whole hand up along her wetness, and a sound came from her throat, something low and guttural and primal.
He laughed then, incredulous, and he twisted his hand, thrust more fingers inside her, swirling them in slow circles.
“More,” she sobbed, hands desperately massaging her breasts, and he bent and pressed a kiss to her quivering belly.
“Please,” he whispered. “I have to taste you.”
Oh, god. Did he mean...? None of her boyfriends had ever...
How could she dream about something she’d never experienced?
But she couldn’t stop, not now, not when she was dying for her dream orgasm.
Not even if it turned out she was having a vampire dream and he was about to sprout fangs and kill her.
She’d read those books, too. “Yes,” she hissed, desperate for whatever he meant. “Please.”
Dimitri laughed again in what sounded like disbelief, then ducked his head down and delicately flicked his tongue across her, because obviously he did mean, and she totally could, and oh god he needed to do it again now, and he did, another delicate taste, and she was making those sounds again, those sounds that couldn’t be her, they were animalistic and sexual and deep, as he tasted and sipped and savored, and she was going to scream if she woke up now, and it wasn’t until he chuckled, rumbling deliciously against her that she realized that she had said that out loud, but then he slung his arms under her thighs and unleashed his tongue, strong and thick and rough against her, and now she was screaming, she was exploding, a supernova, her hands lashing out to grip his thick dark braids.
They were softer than she’d expected. Like silk.
“Do you want more, my mistress?” he gasped against her, but he didn’t wait for an answer, just hooked his hands behind her knees and pressed them up and out.
She was embarrassed for a whole two seconds before his tongue was on her again, and she had no clue what he was doing but it was intense and magical and it went on and on, he moaned into her and she laughed, and when she came again, her whole body convulsed before relaxing into the carpet.
Or maybe oozing. Oozing felt like the right word, now that she knew what words were again.
Holy shit that had been a good wet dream.
And now it was time to wake up.
She watched hazily as Dimitri sat back on his heels, wiping her come from his face. He was panting, his shoulders shaking, and she vaguely noticed that there was a spreading wet spot on the front of his silky pants. Real attention to detail, this dream world.
“Now,” Dimitri said on a gasp. “If you’ll just wish me f—” His voice cut out abruptly.
Felicity’s afterglow was beginning to fade, and a vague disquiet started to sink in. “What was that?”
“My apologies, Mistress. I have chosen my wording poorly.” He cleared his throat. “Now that I have brought you to the pinnacle of pleasure, as you wished, is there anything else you wish for?” He smiled in a hopeful, puppy-dog kind of way.
“Wished.” Felicity sat up sharply. She had rug burn on her butt. She was starting to feel sticky and gross and sore. Dreams didn’t have stickiness. Dreams didn’t have consequences and— “Oh, god. This is real!”
Dimitri smiled, his teeth sparking white. “I have told you it is real.”
“You’re real.”
“Yes.”
“A real genie.”
“Yes.” There was a hint of impatience on his face now, and that clinched it.
“Oh god oh god oh god.” Felicity rolled to her feet and ran into the kitchen, where there weren’t any kitchen towels, of course.
She’d never bought any. Instead, she grabbed the trash bag off its cabinet and held it up in front of her as a shield.
“I really just hung out with you naked. I let you— I made you—”
Dimitri stood, eyes wide, and reached out toward her. “Mistress, I—”
“You said you were a slave!” Nausea gripped her stomach, which was still trembling..
“I am indeed yours to command.” His expression was unreadable, but she decided he must be furious. He had to be, after what she’d done.
“I asked you, my slave, to give me a footrub, and—and—and I made you have sex with me! On the floor!”
“I gave my full consent,” Dimitri said, and now he looked confused. “You cannot make me—”
“It’s not consent if there’s an uneven power dynamic,” Felicity said, feeling like she was reciting from a pamphlet. She probably was. “Consent isn’t possible in a situation like that. Oh god. I’m a monster.”
“No, Mistress! You are all that is good and kind and—”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought it was a dream. I thought—”
“Mistress.” Dimitri’s voice was suddenly firm. “There is naught to apologize for.”
“But I—you—it’s wrong. I should never have asked for that, even in a dream.”
“But Mistress—”
“I won’t ever do it again.” She raked her hair back from her face and stood up straighter, careful to keep the garbage bag between them. “I don’t want a sex slave. I don’t want a slave at all. It’s cruel and unusual, and I won’t do it. I won’t wish for anything else.”
Dimitri gaped at her, something like horror on his face, for a long moment.
Then his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line.
“If you do not desire me as your slave, all you need to do is wish—” His voice cut off again, as if a door had slammed on his vocal cords.
He rolled his eyes in frustration. “Felicity,” he began again.
“I refuse to wish for anything. Anything!”
They glared at each other in silence. Finally, Dimitri sighed. “Do you wish for— Shall I return to my bottle?”
Felicity sniffled. “Is it like a jail cell?”