Chapter 19
Felicity
There is a strange intimacy that comes from waking up with a semi-erect dick still inside of you.
At first, you don’t exactly notice it, because the sensation matches perfectly with a scene taking place in your dream—and so you must be dreaming the slight fullness between your legs.
But as your awareness returns and the haze of a deep sleep wears off, you start to wonder: What the hell is in my vagina?
Then, when you remember, oh, it’s a penis, you might become mildly horrified and alarmingly aroused, thinking about the sheer intimacy of such an act.
And when you give your pussy an experimental clench around that half-hard member and feel it start on the journey to fully erect, you may get a little wet and a lot horny.
Despite it all, in the back of your mind, you’ll be worried about getting a terrible infection.
All of this is to say, my morning started super weird.
With Cupid still lightly snoring, I slowly wrench myself away from him. His cock flops unceremoniously onto the bed, and I stumble in a daze to the bathroom.
What did I do last night?
I remember, of course. I can recall the entire night in painstaking detail. If asked, I could have given a play-by-play recount. Perhaps because I haven’t stopped replaying it in my mind since I began drifting in and out of wakefulness. Believe me, I did try very hard to forget about it, actually.
Not because I regret what happened; the exact opposite.
Because I enjoyed it. I loved it. The role-play, the sex, the intimacy of it. I have never felt so confident and content with a sexual partner as I did last night. Or as confused as I am this morning.
And for some crazy reason, I’m in a great mood. Not going to give that too much thought right now.
Instead, I turn the shower on and let my brain shut off. With the water at approximately lava temperature, I stand under the spray and let my skin turn bright pink. After a few minutes, I hear the click of the bathroom door handle. I don’t turn toward the sound.
Arms wrap around me from behind as Cupid joins me. The front of his naked body presses against the back of mine, holding me in a loose embrace. He presses a kiss to my neck. I tilt my head to allow him easier access—out of politeness, obviously. Nothing more.
We don’t speak at all. Almost as if we both know we’re in a dream, or dreamlike state, and neither of us is quite ready to fully wake up.
So without saying a word, Cupid reaches around me for the shampoo, urging my head back and lathering it into my hair.
He’s careful to keep the suds out of my eyes, and I’m careful to keep my eyes closed so I can pretend this is a fantasy and not real life.
Because if it’s real life, then I might have a problem.
The shampoo smells like coconut and hibiscus.
His hands in my hair feel like heaven. I let him rinse my hair and repeat the process with conditioner.
When my hair is done, we switch—my hands buried in his hair, his face pointed upward, eyes closed.
The hard planes of his body glisten under the steady stream.
He looks, for the first time, like a Greek god.
Next, Cupid takes the soap and washcloth in hand, scrubbing me clean in methodical, gentle strokes. I do the same for him.
We don’t speak until we’ve both dried off with the hotel’s big, fluffy towels and gotten dressed.
“Play hooky today,” Cupid says, grabbing the hairbrush from my hands and running it through my hair. I close my eyes and relax into the gentle massage of it. I know this will be the first and last time he ever does this, because I did the math.
I don’t respond to his plea. I’m too lost in my own thoughts.
Our three days are almost up.
Cupid visited me on Wednesday morning. We spent most of the day driving to Vegas.
Yesterday, I successfully avoided him until early evening.
I was so proud of that at first — or had at least convinced myself that I was.
But now it’s day three of our deal. We agreed to seventy-two hours.
While I don’t know exactly how much we have left in this, I know it can’t be very long.
I know it’s not going to be enough.
This is what leads me to ask: “Does the arrow’s effect wear off after seventy-two hours, or does something need to happen?” I’m looking at Cupid in the mirror as he continues to brush my hair. We make eye contact, and his face seems to shutter.
“What?” he asks disinterestedly.
“The arrow. Will it just…stop working when the time is up, like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage? Or will it take a while to…” I twist my lips as I search for the right words, and land on: “leave my system?”
“Umm.” His gaze looks past mine in our reflection. “That depends, I guess,” he says. “How do you—how do you feel right now?” he asks, putting down my hairbrush and walking toward the bed.
“You know,” I begin, “the usual, I think? For the arrow. All that stuff you told me about, before.” My hands twist in my lap.
I stare at them. “The, um, desire thing. A little lust, I guess. I mean, obviously,” I say, waving a limp hand toward the bed.
“You saw how I acted last night, which was totally out of character for me.”
I look at him, and he nods, eyebrows knitted together. Am I saying something wrong here?
“And I feel kind of warm, here.” I point to my chest, over my heart. “Like there’s a light pressure…but it feels nice. Not bad like heartburn or anything. Plus, I’m in a weirdly good mood, which is pretty unlike me. So I know your arrow’s working—”
My words trail off as I watch a smile spreading across Cupid’s handsome face.
“Oh, shut up!” I laugh, taking in his expression.
He holds his hands up. “I didn’t say anything!”
“Well, I know what you’re thinking,” I say. “And don’t get your hopes up. When the arrow’s effects wear off, I hope you know I’m not actually going to lose your stupid bet.”
Cupid’s smile falls just a fraction, a complicated look passing across his face.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” he says quietly.
“Maybe.” I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “But probably not. I mean, I get what you’re trying to do here, and I understand you’re in a bad spot. I know what your…Fates…told you. But how I see it, this experiment was flawed from the beginning.”
Cupid leans forward and places his elbow on his knee, chin resting in his hand. “How do you figure, Love?”
“Well, I already know that love is fleeting, right? It burns bright and hot, then it wears off. That’s kind of the whole problem.
So even though I feel this way now, I know in my rational mind that it’s all temporary.
” I tap a finger to my temple. “It’ll go away once your little love infection… thing…wears off.”
“See?” I say, facing him as I pull my hair back into a clip. “It was never really going to work on me.”
Cupid looks at me long and hard. Long enough that I swipe at my face, worried I might have something embarrassing there.
“Riiight,” he says. “Because of the arrow. And the time limits.”
“Exactly.” I smile at him. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it now, of course. I’ve already decided to, for the last however many hours.”
Cupid nods and shifts where he’s leaning against the bed, but stays quiet. I appreciate that he’s not trying to change my mind or tell me I’m wrong. Very magnanimous of him, since I’m pretty much telling him he’s less than a day from losing our bet.
“But back to my original question,” I say. “What happens when it wears off? Will it, like, wipe my memory?”
“Um,” Cupid says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Well, it—it’s different for everyone. So…I guess we’ll have to wait and see?”
His answer is vague and not particularly helpful, but I decide to shrug it off.
“Okay, I guess,” I say. I reach for my shoes and pull them on. “I trust you.”
Cupid grimaces.
What the hell is going on with him today?
Maybe I made him uncomfortable talking about this right after we slept together.
I mean, just because I don’t get emotionally attached and believe in all this nonsense doesn’t mean he won’t.
For a split second, I feel sorry for him.
Could he be catching feelings for me right now?
That’s sweet—but pointless. The arrow will run its course, I’ll win the bet, and everything will be back to normal soon.
“Anyway,” I say, in an effort to break the tension. “I’m supposed to be attending the last day of this conference today. Networking.”
Cupid flops back onto the bed and groans. “Boring!”
“But,” I continue archly, “I don’t want to risk running into…people I don’t want to see.”
He lifts his head and grins at me. “Hooky?”
“Thinking about it.” I return his grin.
“In that case, I’ve got an idea.”
“Is it ‘stay in bed and fuck all day’? Because that’s kind of where I was leaning.”
“Oh my, Love.” Cupid wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You really are obsessed with me, aren’t you?”
I open my mouth to protest, but he bulldozes ahead.
“However, no, that wasn’t what I was thinking. Anyone can stay in bed and have mind-blowing sex all day.”
Uh, is that true? Because I can’t say that’s one of my typical pastimes.
“But how often are you in Las Vegas with a devilishly handsome god?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Not very often,” I say, playing along.
“Exactly. Finish getting ready, I’ll meet you downstairs in the lobby.”
“What, why?”
“I’ve got a day to plan!” Then he’s gone.
Not through the door and down the hallway. He just…poof. Disappeared, once again leaving a single white feather in his wake.
I shake my head slowly as I bend to pick up the feather. I don’t know how I’m going to explain all of this to Janae when I get home.