“No,” I rasp. “I woke up first.”
He hums low in his throat. “Well, that’s absolutely my business. It’s a personal policy to never leave someone unsatisfied.”
At this, his thumb begins circling my clit. My body responds to the added pleasure by tilting my hips further. My hand falls away from his wrist completely. I reach behind my head, trying to grip a pillow, the sheets, the headboard, anything to find purchase. And then he’s abandoning his thumb for the heel of his hand, wrist curled and palm grinding against me.
I’m sensitive; so sensitive. Part of me needs the friction, needs the orgasm that’s quickly building—but another part of me is trying to retreat, some hidden instinct that doesn’t know what to do with this much pleasure.
“No you don’t,” Cupid grunts, barring his forearm againstmy hips to keep me in place. “Finish what you started.”
“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”
My fingers flex, head rolling to the side, pressing my mouth into the soft flesh of my inner arm. Grounding myself as I arch my back and take what Cupid’s giving me—letting him fuck me with his fingers, and fucking his fingers in equal measure.
And then, with an urgency I couldn’t stop if I tried, my orgasm spasms through me, skin stinging as I bite my arm to stifle the groan.
Slowly, tenderly, Cupid removes his hand, cupping my pussy and lingering for several seconds. With half-lidded eyes, I peer down my body and watch. My eyes follow his hand as he lifts it from between my thighs and holds it up in front of his face. I can see, vaguely, my wetness shining in the low light of the hotel. He shifts his hand back and forth, studying them, before taking them in his mouth and sucking them clean.
It’s at this point that I realize he’s still fully clothed, and so I am—if you count pants peeled to mid-thigh as being dressed.
I reach for him, loose-limbed, and run my fingers over the fly of his jeans. There’s a question on my face:You, too?
He looks at me with half-upturned lips. “Too late,” he says, guiding my hand an inch lower, where I feel traces of sticky warmth on the fabric. “You should have seen yourself. You would have come in your pants, too.”
The statement catches me off guard and rouses a laugh out of me. Once again, Cupid knows just what to say to ease the tension.
“I see myself all the time,” I say as I lift myself onto my elbows.
“Not like I do,” he responds.
And I don’t know what to say to that. So I do what I do best: run away.
I shimmy awkwardly back into my pants, slither off the bed, and pad to the bathroom. Inside, I lock the door behind me and press my back to the cool wood as I regain my senses.
That was bad. Bad, bad, bad.
I mean, it was good. Not just good. Great.
But the intimacy of it, the vulnerability—that wasbad. I let my guard down.
This has to be the last time, arrow excuse be damned. Only two days and some change to go before I win this bet, and my life can go back to its deity-free normal.
I twist the shower faucet to near-scalding temperatures and stand under the stream of water until the air in the bathroom is as foggy and waterlogged as my brain.
When I finally leave the hazy fortress I’ve created—away from Cupid, away from temptation, away from my own embarrassment—the room is dark and quiet. I tiptoe across the plush carpet and slip under the covers, as close to the edge of the bed as I can get, and lie on my side so only my back is facing him.
I feel the weight of the bed shift, and I hold my breath.Please don’t make me confront this. Please, not right now.
Instead, I hear Cupid shuffle around the huge four-poster. I’m still holding my breath when his touch ghosts lightly across the spot where my legs are curled up under the covers. Without a word, he makes his way to the bathroom. I watch him—hair messy and clothes rumpled—as he shuts the door, taking the light with him. My eyes squeeze shut as I exhale.
If I play my cards right, I can avoid Cupid for the next however many hours. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. It’s Vegas after all.
Isn’t it a rule of thumb that you’re not supposed to show your cards?
13
Felicity
When my alarm went off this morning, I bolted out of the hotel room like my life depended on it. My sanitydefinitelydepended on it, because I was about to go crazy from lack of sleep, tossing and turning over what happened with Cupid last night.
