Chapter 28: Bodies Restored
The first sensation was weight. A soft, heavy weight on her chest. Katy’s eyes fluttered open to the familiar cream-colored ceiling of her bedroom, the dawn light painting it rose-gold. She inhaled sharply, and the movement shifted the weight—her weight. Her hands flew to her chest, fingers squeezing the familiar, augmented swell of her breasts, the silicone implants solid and undeniable beneath her touch. A sob of relief caught in her throat. She slid a hand down the flat plane of her stomach, over the smooth skin, and down into the thatch of blonde curls. Her fingers met slick, swollen flesh. Her cunt. Hers.
A sharp intake of breath beside her drew her attention. Garrett. He was staring at his own hands, turning them over, his long, familiar fingers flexing. The sheet was tented over his hips, and she could see the outline of a fierce erection pressing against the fabric. He looked terrified.
Their eyes met. The connection was a live wire, buzzing with the memory of last night—the crushing weight of him on top of her, the feel of his cock sinking into a body that was now his again, the shared, glowing potion. It was all there, an impossible intimacy hanging thick in the air between them.
“Oh, god,” he choked out. He scrambled backward, almost falling off the side of the massive bed. He grabbed a pillow, holding it in front of his groin as he stood, his lean basketball player’s body tense and shaking. “Katy…”
“I know,” she whispered, her voice her own again, a little husky from sleep and disuse. She watched him, her heart hammering. The sight of his arousal, so obvious and desperate, sent a bolt of pure, illicit heat straight to the core she had just reclaimed.
He didn’t say another word. He just turned and fled the room, the door clicking shut behind him with a sound of finality.
An hour later, the tension in the penthouse kitchen was a physical presence. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the sleek, minimalist space. Katy, showered and dressed in a silk robe, sipped a latte, trying to still the tremor in her hands. Garrett stood by the window, his back to her, dressed in the jeans and t-shirt from yesterday. He held a glass of water, his posture rigid.
“We can’t,” he said, his voice low and strained, still staring out at the waking city. “What happened… it was the magic. The confusion. It’s over. Things have to go back to the way they were.”
Katy set her cup down with a sharp click. “Back to what, Garrett? To you pretending you never felt what it was like to be filled? To me pretending I don’t remember exactly what my cock felt like pushing into you?” The obscenity hung in the air, stark and real.
He whirled around, his blue eyes blazing. “Don’t! Jesus Christ, Katy, we’re cousins! It’s wrong. It’s fucking incest.”
“Is it?” she countered, standing and walking toward him. The memory of his body—her former body—arching beneath her was a phantom limb. “We’ve been inside each other, Garrett. Literally. We know what the other feels like from the inside out. What fucking line is left to cross?”
He backed away as she advanced, until the cool glass of the window was against his back. She stopped inches from him, her head tilted up to meet his gaze. She could see the pulse hammering in his throat.
“We got our bodies back. That’s all that matters,” he insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. His eyes dropped to her lips, to the V of her robe where her cleavage began.
“Is it?” she repeated softly. She reached out and laid a hand flat on his chest. He flinched, but didn’t push her away. She could feel his heart thundering under her palm. “You don’t feel it? This… echo? I can still feel you. Inside me. and me. inside of you.”
Her hand slid down his chest, over the tense muscles of his abdomen, and closed around the hard bulge straining against his jeans. He gasped, a sharp, ragged sound, and his hands flew to her wrists, but they didn’t push her away, just trembled there. “Katy, don’t,” he choked out, his hips bucking involuntarily against her palm.
“I love this cock,” she whispered, her voice husky and low, her fingers working to unbutton his fly. “I remember exactly how it felt, Garrett, thick and hard, stretching me open, fucking into that wet, tight pussy that was mine.” She freed his erection, her fist wrapping around the hot, rigid length, and she began to stroke him, slow and firm. “I’ve never felt anything so good.”
He groaned, a deep, tortured sound, his head falling back against the window with a dull thud. His resolve was crumbling, his body betraying him, hips pushing into her hand. “We can’t… it’s wrong,” he managed, but the words were weak, hollow.
“Nothing has ever felt more right,” she breathed, her thumb swiping over the slick head, spreading the bead of moisture. “This is the cock that was inside me, remember? You came so deep, I could feel it for hours.” She tightened her grip, speeding up her strokes, her other hand cupping his balls, feeling them draw up tight.
With a sudden, violent shudder, he ripped her hands away, shoving himself back from her. “No!” he snarled, his face a mask of anguish and self-loathing. He fumbled with his jeans, roughly tucking himself away, his breath coming in ragged pants. Without another word, he turned and fled the kitchen, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
He didn’t stop until he reached the guest room, slamming the door shut behind him with a force that shook the frame. The lock clicked into place, a final, desperate barrier.