We talk about nothing and everything. It’s the perfect distraction.
I feel light. Giggly and easy-going—so unlike my usual self. This day that started soweirdhas ended up being pretty wonderful. I know, begrudgingly, this is thanks to Cupid’s company.
After eating dinner and polishing off not one, but two, bottles of bubbly, my nerves have all but dissipated. In their place, I feel a buzz—more than the alcohol or the flutter of butterflies low in my belly. A crackling undercurrent runs just beneath the surface of my skin. I wonder again: is this the arrow, finally taking over? For a moment, I think of asking Cupid. But I lose my nerve, afraid it could burst the comfortable bubble we’ve created here.
We face each other on the bed, heads propped on hands. Casual, comfortable. Cupid just told a joke that almost made me do a spit-take, and his cheeks are pink from laughter, andthe crinkles around his eyes accentuate his smile.
I spent most of the day trying not to notice how beautiful he is; now I can’t do anything but notice. His handsome face, the line of his body, the warmth of him draw me in. Slowly throughout the evening, we have drawn closer on the bed: two magnets of opposite poles, pulled together by an invisible force. An inevitable attraction.
With him so close, and with me so serene in his presence, I trick myself into believing I can reveal anything. I’m safe in this pocket just outside of reality.
And, of course, there’s the arrow.
More than an inconvenience in this moment, the knowledge of the arrow is a balm. Because it’s an excuse for what I’m about to do. My get out of jail free card: functioning under the influence of Cupid’s arrow.
So with that flimsy justification locked and loaded, I leap feet-first.
“Don’t you want to know what I was dreaming about?” My eyelids flutter as I speak the words aloud, not daring to land on Cupid until they’ve fully escaped by mouth. “Earlier, in the car?”
Cupid’s throat works, and my eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I didn’t think it was any of my business,” he says in a low voice.
“Really?” I ask.
He nods once.
“Would it change things if I told you thatyouwere in the dream?”
Cupid blinks at me. “I suppose,” he rolls over onto his back and tucks his arms behind his head, “in that case, it would be my business.” He keeps his line of sight trained on the ceiling.
“So…” I copy his movements, settling back onto the soft mattress, looking up rather than directly at him. “Would you like to know?”
Once again, he gives a single nod—an action I catch only in the corner of my eye.
“I dreamed I was asleep in the passenger seat…and you woke me up—” I swallow before continuing. “You woke me up with your hand on my thigh, like this.”
I glance at Cupid. His head is turned toward me, eyes glued to my hand gliding up my leg. The rest of him is stock-still—even his chest doesn’t move, as if he’s holding his breath.
“And this.” My hand travels to the outside of my thigh, following the curve of my hip and stopping at the crease where hip meets thigh. “Then you let your fingers play at the edge of my panties—”
I undo the zipper on my pants and wiggle them down, revealing the soft, lacy fabric underneath. “Just like this.”
My fingers dance across the lace, dipping beneath the elastic and brushing lightly against my clit. I hover there for a moment, nearly forgetting myself as I trace mindless circles where I’m most sensitive.
When I hear Cupid’s soft intake of breath, I let my legs fall open wider.
Breathily, I go on: “But it wasn’t enough.” My hips tilt to get a better angle. “So you slid a finger in, like this.” And I slip a finger into my entrance, arching into the action.
I’m vaguely aware of the rustle of fabric and squeak of the bed frame, but I’m too absorbed in my fantasy to give it any thought—until I feel the mattress sink beside me.
My eyes flicker open. Cupid is kneeling by my left hip, gaze drinking me in as I slowly fuck myself. His eyes are moltenlava; my skin burns beneath him.
“Like this?” he rasps, slipping a hand under the delicate fabric, pressing it firmly against my own. Cupid’s touch forces me to apply a new level of pressure, and I moan at the increased sensation.
“Almost,” I whisper, placing my other hand on top of his. “But more like this—” And then I’m slipping my own finger out of my wet cunt and guiding his to my entrance. He presses his other hand lightly to my lower belly, holding me there as he pumps his fingers in and out at a leisurely pace.
I lightly grip his wrist, not fully ready to give up control of this moment. Cupid follows my lead. My eyes flutter closed as I fade into the sensations and let myself lose the last of my inhibitions.
After several moments, the mattress shifts again, and I feel hot breath against my ear. “Tell me, Love—” Cupid whispers, “did I make you come in your dream?”
