Page 27 of Captured By the Cupid

As she sashays toward the door with her aroma still perfuming the air, I fantasize about various ways to punish her nipples. My fantasies shrivel when she flips her curls and opens the door with a mischievous little smirk. A smirk that will not last following this tour. After she sees my realm in allits gruesome glory, she will fall into despair and beg me for a distraction.

Pointless to imagine other ways to discipline her.

I willnotbe keeping her.

Once I usher into the hallway, I groan low in my throat and rub my eyes. “Really, Cres…” I address my jester as she practically flits up to him while he plays his latest song. “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart?” Should have known he was eavesdropping on earlier events in our room. Gods, I just thoughtourroom.

“Don’t worry, Crescendo.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, and if stone could fucking blush…“He won’t be breaking this girl’s heart anytime soon.”

Crescendo flicks his eyes to mine with a squeamish expression as if hesitating to speak. I give him a blank look before he clears his throat and turns back to her.

“Perhaps I was not playing it for you, my Lady.”

I growl.

And the Butterfly dares to turn and stab a finger at me. “Be nice.”

“If you just gave me a command, little one, I’ll thrust you up against the nearest wall and take more than my hand to your plump little ass regardless of my jester’s presence. Cres would be all too thrilled to watch the show.”

She pales and side-eyes him. He simply shrugs and bounces his bells. “True, true.”

“Be nice…please?” she rephrases, batting those fine moth-wing eyelashes at me. I have no defenses when she loops her arm around him and leans her head on his shoulder. “I like him.”

Bloody hell of red velvet! If they bond, I’ll never get her the fuck out of here. He’ll follow her, trailing her heels like a faithful bitch, playing whatever song she desires. Bad enough he does it with me.

“Can he come with us, Archer?” She tugs him down the hall, already deciding.

“Archer?” Crescendo quirks a brow before throwing me an inquisitive look over his shoulder.

I advance toward them, snatching her curls and yanking her back to me. She inhales sharply as I spin her around so her luscious breasts are plumped against my belly. And I do not hesitate to palm her sore backside—roughly—leering down at her as she whimpers.

“He may come, Aria, but you will remain with me the whole time.” I cup her chin with my other hand and rub my thumb along her bottom lip, appreciating its quiver. “Cres may play lovely little tunes, but the maddening Mozart is shit at protection.”

“Aww, you say the sweetest things, Er—” I cough loudly, preventing him from betraying my name. “Archer,” he corrects, nodding firmly.

“Is all that clear, little Butterfly?” I drop my thumb and savor how she gulps and nods frantically. “Good.” I give her another swat before harnessing her arm into mine and keeping her close. “First stop. The Gardens of Gloom.”

Aradia’s breathcatches in her chest as I lead her through the melancholic mist and into the gardens.

Compared to the dim gray surroundings, her spirit is effervescent. And her expressions, her emotions, are far too quixotic as she tugs on my stony arm, straining to see theflowers with Crescendo playing Evanescence’sImaginaryin the background. Fitting. But she’ll wish to escape this garden.

She doesn’t belong here. Soon, she will understand.

I let her get closer to the thorn-laden blooms with their haunting magic, preparing for how their sorrow will creep into her soul. With branches like skeletal fingers, the trees reach for her, desiring her glowing life force as everything and everyone here does.

It is not dew trickling down the petals. They weep nectar—nectar formed of the essence of tears from a lost soul. A lost soul that bound themselves to the eternal blossoms here, desiring their growth. They bloom in bruise-like colors of velvety black, midnight indigo, and deep violet. A gloomy garden of bruised souls.

When she leans closer to a cluster, the flowers sense her presence. Parting her lips in awe, she listens as their tearful centers tell tales of tragedy, of broken promises and broken hearts, rejection and missed chances. A gasp leaves her mouth before she touches her fingers to her lips.

Soon, she will retreat, wither against my chest, seeking my comfort. She remains close, fingers still touching my stony palm.

My pulse kicks up with the thought of her crying upon my chest, unleashing all those delicious woeful emotions before I sweep her away to bed and feed the need of her body to placate her soul. Despite the emotional banquet she gave me during the bedroom spanking, her ample bottom nudges my pelvis as she’s bent over to admire the blossoms…

Gods, she can’t last becauseIwon’t last.

Any moment now…

Some burst illusions of ghostly figures, of lovers frozen, images of heartbreak. Tears glisten in her eyes, and I imagine what those tears will look like when she unravels while impaled on my cock. Her spirit is too fragile, too sweet for this place.

---