I allow myself to worry, for just a second, that this was a huge mistake. But if I’m being honest, I know I would make the same mistake a thousand times over just to feel like I do right now.
18
Felicity
Without opening my eyes, I can tell it’s early morning, but the period of early morning that is almost not early morning. Where it’s too late to be truly nighttime, but the sun hasn’t risen enough to justify calling it morning.
It makes sense that I’m caught in this liminal moment in time, because just like the morning, I am not quite myself.
I think something possessed me last night.
Yes, that has to be it. This is the only explanation. The person who did all of those things my body did…that couldn’t possibly have been me.
That was some sex-crazed demon version of Felicity. A confident, sensual, commanding reproduction of the real Felicity who somehow broke free of her chains and showed her face when she wasn’t even welcome.
Oh, that version of Felicity? I don’t know her.
Except when I pry one eye open and peek out at the room in the dim light of early morning, everything looks the same. I look down my body. Same breasts, same soft belly, same pale arms and legs—except for the additional tan arm and legdraped over my side.
All evidence points to last night’s version of Felicity being me.
But how could that be the case when I’ve clearly fallen victim to some mysterious form of body snatcher that makes me a domineering sex goddess who rides the face of a near-stranger?
And who is this alien still in control of my body who’s rubbing her ass against said stranger’s rigid erection as he spoons her.
That’sdefinitelynot me. Because why would I be reaching my arm behind my back and taking Cupid’s thick cock in my hand, squeezing and stroking it while he sleepily begins moving against me?
I wouldn’t roll onto my back and watch him wake up slowly, eyes blinking open, framed by dark lashes, as he becomes aware of my touch.
I would never fondle my breasts and twist my nipples, making myself writhe as I lazily palm my bedmate’s testicles and cause his back to arch off the mattress.
That’s just not something the real Felicity would do.
It’s some sort of dream—it must be—where an alternate version of me unwraps a condom and wordlessly urges Cupid on top of her. Who wants him to kiss her gently and longingly, to make her body pliant and malleable as she spreads her legs beneath him.
She gasps, this other me, as he enters her unhurriedly, inch by inch, and whines when he keeps that same excruciating pace, and I think:Who the hell is this?
I would never wrap my legs around Cupid’s back and press him deeper into me, or hold his face in my hands as he maintains a languid rhythm that makes my body sing.
And I wouldn’t hold his gaze as we moved together entirelyin sync, foreheads pressed together gingerly, breaths intermingling.
There’s no chance—none at all—that I would whisper his name quietly, like a prayer, as we climaxed in perfect unison.
And under no circumstances would I have insisted we keep our bodies entwined, Cupid still buried inside me, as we drifted back to sleep in each other’s arms.
It wasn’tmedoing those things; it was Cupid’s stupid arrow.
I just want to keep the record straight.
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 tofullyerect, you may get a little wet and a lot horny.
