Cameron To Candy

Candy woke up feeling weird. Something was... off. She shifted slightly, squinting groggily into the darkness, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. And that’s when she realized it.

Marcus’s arm was draped over her, heavy and warm.

That, in itself, wasn’t new. They’d ended up tangled before, one of the hazards of sharing a bed in an arranged marriage neither of them wanted. That’s why Candy had insisted they buy the biggest bed possible. When none were big enough for her liking, Marcus had been forced to order a custom one.

Candy wanted as little contact as possible in the bedroom, and yet... here they were.

But this time? This time was different. Because Marcus wasn’t just resting an arm over her, he was cupping one of her breasts. Firmly. Like it belonged in his hand. Like it was the obvious place for it to be. Candy’s entire body went rigid. Her brain short-circuited as she processed the situation in pieces.

Yes. That was Marcus’s hand.

Yes. He was definitely asleep.

Yes. He was absolutely impossible to wake when he was like this.

And—

Oh. Oh, gods. He was hard!

Her breath caught. Her face flushed.

This was not happening. This was not a thing that was happening!

Ugh, she couldn't deny it. Here they were. She glanced down. His hand was still there. It was firm, warm... and now starting to knead slightly. Her breath hitched.

“Okay, okay, nope.”

She grabbed his wrist, trying to move it without waking him. No luck. His grip didn’t loosen.

"Marcus," she hissed; nothing. She shook his arm. Still nothing.

"Marcus, if you don’t let go of my tit, I am going to kill you."

He mumbled into his pillow, then—

To Candy’s horror—

He pulled her closer. Like she was some kind of stuffed animal. Like his body had fully decided she was its favorite thing to hold. And then...

“Oh Plinkelle, you’re so soft,” he murmured and nuzzled her hair.

Candy froze completely.

"Oh, hell no!"

Plinkelle?! His school-days crush?! He was dreaming of her while holding Candy and at full attention. This could not get worse.

Candy weighed her options.

• Option 1: Pry his hand off. (Already failed.)
• Option 2: Roll out of bed. (Risky. Might hurt herself.)
• Option 3: Just... deal with it. (Absolutely not.)
• Option 4: Scream and kick. (Tempting. Last resort)

Bracing herself, she carefully started inching toward the edge of the bed. Marcus grunted. His arm tightened. Candy squeaked. Not only was she not getting free, but now he was fully wrapped around her like a human blanket. A human, firm, very inappropriate blanket. She was trapped, and just to add insult to injury, he pressed his lips to her with a sleepy sigh.

"You have got to be kidding me," she whispered furiously. Then the last straw. His hand found her nipple, sending a streak of sensation down from her breast to her groin. She arched slightly and let out a little gasp. That nipple was now so erect she could cut glass with it. Stupid reactive nipples!

Okay, no more missus nice gal. She pinched his side, hard. Marcus made a disgruntled noise and... started dry humping her.

"Oh hells no!" She could feel his rock-hard member rubbing up and down her rear end. So gross! Time for the nuclear option. Candy wriggled her leg just enough to free her knee, and then she remembered her self-defense class. Low and swift. Taught for moments exactly like this, even if they never imagined this exact scenario.

She braced herself, angled back, and launched a sharp kick. It wasn’t graceful, nor was it elegant, but it connected. Marcus let out a strangled yelp as her heel made contact right where it counted.

“HOLY GLUDGE WHAT THE HELLS!” Marcus let out a strangled yelp. Candy, now tangled in blankets, having fallen on the floor, glared up at him.

"You. Were. Groping me!"

Marcus cradled his poor family jewels. "Huh?"

"You grabbed my boob. In your sleep. Like it was a damn stress ball."

He blinked, looked at his hand, then at her, and slowly, horrifyingly, realization dawned.

"...Oh shit."

"Yeah. Oh shit."

Marcus groaned and dragged his hands down his face. "I didn’t mean—"

"I figured. But I also didn’t mean to wake up as a woman, and yet, here we are."

Another groan. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

"I was asleep!"

"And very into it," she snapped. "You even called me Plinkelle." His soul visibly left his body.

"Can we not talk about this?!"

Candy glared. "Oh, we’re definitely talking about this."

Marcus buried his face in the pillow. "I hate everything right now."

"Not everything." She gestured at her chest. "You seemed very fond of these."

"Kill me," came the muffled moan.

Candy smirked despite herself because for the first time in weeks, Marcus was the one who was completely mortified. She had the upper hand, though it had come at great cost. She rubbed her sore breast.

"You’re sleeping in the guest room the rest of the morning," she declared.

"But... the runes! That’ll be a fine!"

"It’s only a few hours. It won’t trigger the report. And you’re paying for dinner out tonight."

"But—"

"As fancy as I want. Or should we talk about your dry-humping Plinkelle dream some more?"

Marcus rolled off the bed, "Got it. I’m going. Let me know what restaurant you pick."

"Damn right." Candy hopped up, threw herself onto the bed, and sprawled across it with a satisfied sigh.

In the guest bed, Marcus winced as he shifted to one side. Marcus, with his aching balls, mortified soul, and praying for the floor to swallow him whole, had groped his best friend’s feminized chest. He had moaned another woman’s name while hard and dry humping her arse. And he now found himself exiled to the guest room

“Plinkelle,” he muttered to himself, then groaned. “Gods help me.”

…He was never going to live this down.