Page 7 of Captured By the Cupid

Holy fucking hearts, I know that scent. One quite common for mortal women to unleash butnotwhen I’m in this form. Hunger and desire pulse through my veins at the scent of the lavender and honey of her sex. Wild honey. White floral under notes. Arrows and assholes, I’m ready to explode! One last gust, then I must seal those senses, or risk making a mess of my pants.

When I flare my nostrils and lower my eyes to her creamy thighs, where the blue ends of her skirt lay, she rises, lurching into a run. The fuck?

No words. No pleas from her lovely lips. No attempts to explain. With emotions overflowing from her essence, she runs.

Oh, sweet darling.

This little Butterfly wishes to play with the God of Love?

I’ll show her the Beast.

First,I play with her.

By the time I’m ready to capture this Butterfly in my net, she will be weak and compliant. I let her get as far as the maze of crypts, savoring how she squeezes her little body through the gap in the gates. She huffs and puffs like a baby dragon, and the sharp points of the iron filigree tear more of her dress and slice open her skin.

I’ll give her marks for determination…and pain tolerance since all she does is wince. The gates would easily bow to my command, but I enjoy seeing her bleed. Hmm, all the things I could do to make this mortal scream my name—in pleasure and pain as only the God of Love could. Her bottom should be as pink as the blushing rose that is my symbol.

It’s simple to track her between her pounding heartbeat and ragged gasps. Even without them, one whiff of her scent is all it takes to find her. Somewhere along the way, she tugged off her boots, so she could run quicker.

How…quaint.

The wraiths watch from the shadows, drawn to her essence. Not that I blame them with that mortal blood trickling down her back and side, where her dress has torn to show more lily-white skin. They won’t dare hunt her when I’m here…tracking her. No being alive or dead would get between the demon God of Love and his prey. They open their mouths in silent screams of torment from how a human crosses their path—one perfumed in the delectable scent of mortality, the tempting fragrance of unbridled emotions.

Poor little soul. She’s utterly lost, oblivious to how the crypts move. Not that she could ever hide with those pretty florid curls bouncing all over the gray landscape.

I beat my wings, then angle them, slowing their pace and swooping down upon the rooftop of the crypt she’s passing.

She stops, gasping from my shadow. She looks up, knits her brows as if criticizing my audacity of hunting her. Tapping my talon against the stone roof, I leer down at her, daring her to run again. One glance, and she takes off, flitting around the corner of another crypt.

I shake my head and snort, uncertain of whether it’s fear or willpower driving her. My snort turns to a chuckle at her cursing from a dead end. She doubles back. I follow as a silent phantasm. Concealed within the shadows of a nearby arched opening, I observe as she pauses to catch her breath, her blood-coated palm pressing upon the nearest wall.

“Running through these crypts—with a gargoyle…on my…tail.” She takes quick gasps between her words. “Because who needs cardio when you have a real-life, low-budget horror film with a supernatural stalker chasing you?”

I bite my tongue to contain my rumbling chuckle. Fuck, I curse when my cock twitches again. Not that it ever went fully down, but it at least gave me some breathing room during my flight.

Playing with her more, I pass by the crypt alley where her back is turned to me. She spins around, but I’m already atop the next crypt.Yes, little Butterfly, I am the one you catch out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn…nothing is there.

Oh, she will feel my essence, thanks to the pheromones I just unleashed. They should reach her any—

“What the—oh noooooo…” she moans, doubling over as her blood thickens and heats to a slow, molten river. “That isnotfair! Whateverthatis, you should call up Baccarat because they’d kill for it,” she yells.

Thank you for the compliment, Butterfly. But all cologne companies have taken their notes of inspiration from me.Of course, the curse could rob me of my dick but somehow spared my pheromones. Some cruel joke. And yet, not one company in the global society of arrogant stupidity that is Earth can get my likeness right.

As adorable as Psyche found it, the bastardized cherub symbol has been the bane of my existence. And grows worse every commercialized year.

IhateValentine’s Day.

Other gods get beasts and thunderbolts while I get a diaper-clad toddler with stubby wings shooting glorified darts.

More juices drip from her center until they slick her ample thighs. Overwhelmed by my vaporous love potion, the girl staggers down the path, squeezing back tears, and I can tell she’s trying to hold her breath.

I swoop down onto another roof, driving her to the right. A low dark chuckle rumbles from my throat, but I should end this soon. After all, she’s still bleeding.

But halfway down the next path, she stops.

Holding onto the gothic spire of the crypt a few paces behind her, I lift a curious brow as she drops her hands, heaves a few breaths, and finally turns. Her chin lifts. And those mystical eyes lock onto mine. The fuck?

I cock my head at the same time that she balls her hands into fists and stomps her way to me. Mud cakes her dainty bare feet, and her dress nearly has more rips than fabric. Not one iota about her screams intimidating. But my cock has turned into a damned battering ram, ready to escape, plundering, invading, and writing my seed into her womb so her body knows who owns her.

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