Page 38 of Coveted By Cupid

Sure, guys have texted me complimentary hellos before, but usually they’re overzealous in affection or followed by a dick picture. But Cupid’s was simply…sweet.

Unsure what to respond with, I ignored it.

As hopeful as my little heart was that what we have could grow into something substantial, my brain kept reminding me to be cautious, to think rationally for my future, and to pick up Plan B at the pharmacy on the way to lecture. I had a long day ahead of me, and I couldn’t let thoughts of Cupid cloud my judgment.

Fate was working against me, though. Dwelling on Cupid had me running behind, and I decided to pick up the emergency birth control after my hours interning at the counseling center before work. A few hours later wouldn’t hurt—I hope.

Throughout my lectures and hours interning at the counseling center, Cupid would send me other brief texts.

Most were cute…

I miss you already. Can’t wait to see you.

I’m sleeping at your place tonight. I need to hold you.

Can’t wait to see your pretty face again and get lost in your hazel eyes.

…and others were downright filthy to the point my underwear was saturated.

I’m hungry. Can I eat you out again?

Your pussy was so tight. I can still feel you clenching around my cock.

My dick is so hard thinking about you.

When I hadn’t replied to a single text from him, Cupid fired off a warning text as I finished my hours at my internship for the day.

Stop ignoring me, Psyche. I can see your read receipts.

Well shit. I curse my stupidity for not turning off my read receipts when I had the chance.

My fingers hover over my cell’s keyboard, unsure how I should reply as I walk to my shift at the deli. I carefully draft a text, reading it over half a dozen times before hitting send.

Sorry for not responding sooner. It’s been a busy day and you keep distracting me.

He reads my message immediately. The dancing dots bounce on my screen when he types his reply.

Distracting how? Good? Bad?

I reply right as I’m passing the drugstore a block away from the deli.

Both. I’m trying to focus and you keep sending me sweet and dirty nothings.

He replies.

Not nothings. All promises. Are you wet from reading my messages?

I blush reading his text, gnawing on my lower lip. Part of me wants to ignore him, but I think that will throw him over the edge after having finally caved to responding to him. Another part wants to be honest. Maybe then he’d understand how distracting his messages are for me.

I decide to be candid with my response.

Soaked.

Something inside my core tightens, like I can hear him groaning all the way in Loveland and it’s telepathically connected to my clit.

Fuck, Butterfly. Send me pictures.

Giggling like a schoolgirl flirting with her crush, I walk into Deli Delights and head to the back of the restaurant where there is a small locker room we have to store our belongings. I shove my backpack into my locker cubby before replying to him.