Page 62 of Coveted By Cupid

Searching for his own release, Cupid rubs his cock against my slick stomach.

Wanting to help him feel good, I grip his dick in my hand, my fingers barely wrapping around his girth. The imposing size of this man is enough to make any woman weak at the knees. My fingers slide over his Jacob’s ladder, stirring a guttural groan from Cupid. He juts his hips forward, panting and chest heaving.

“Show me how you like it,” I whisper against his lips, wrapping my hand around his sack and gently tugging downward.

“Fuck, Butterfly.” His eyes roll close on a deep moan. “You’re undoing me.”

His big hand clamps around mine, contracting my grip on his hard length. “I like it tight like your cunt.”

Holy swoon! The words coming out of his mouth are enough to undo me. If I hadn’t already had an orgasm, I would right now.

Together we pump his stiff cock with him controlling the speed and the tension. Watching this powerful man coming undone to my touch has my inner slut giddy and my pussy contracting once more.

With a few strokes, he releases his hot load across my stomach and over our hands. His hips jerk out of my grip as he comes and his cock jumps between us.

Exhausted, Cupid rests his head against the shower wall, holding me tight to his body and panting to catch his breath. I wrap myself around his body, purring contentedly against his chest.

We’re startled apart when we hear a booming voice in the next room. “Cupid! We’re here with dinner. Food’s going to get cold if you don’t get your asses out here soon.”

My man sighs. “That would be Oaks.”

A rush a heat blooms on my face. “Do you think they heard us?”

He snickers, kissing my temple. “Probably. You’re loud when you come.”

Mortified, my hands cover my cheeks. “Oh, my God! Am I?!”

With a boisterous laugh, Cupid smacks my ass and exits the shower. “Take your time, Butterfly. I’ll keep our guests busy until you’re ready to join us.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

VANESSA

After the humiliation of having others overhear us passes, I speedily dry off and throw on leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Underdressed? Maybe, but I figure my concussion is reason enough for dressing leisurely.

Nervous about meeting Cupid’s friends, I redirect my focus on towel drying my hair, pinning it in a clip on top of my head, and taking ten steady breaths to calm my nerves before heading out of the bedroom to meet the VP and his ole lady.

A goliath-sized man with tree trunk thick thighs and arm muscles bulging out of his shirt is the first person I see. I recognize him as the man who was with Cupid outside Buck’s garage the day we met. He must be Oaks—Cupid’s right-hand man.

The biker stands in the middle of the living room with his back to me, talking with Cupid.

“Can I please be present when you give it to Vanessa?” he pleads, his hands steeple together like a prayer.

“Fuck, no,” Cupid says, shaking his head with a grimace as he sets down some drinks on the dining table. “You only want to be present to record her reaction and the fallout where she rages at me, Oaks.”

What are they talking about? What does Cupid plan to give me that could upset me?

The VP shrugs, not denying Cupid’s accusation. “Who wouldn’t want to be present for that action? It’s not every day you get your ass handed to you by a woman. Most chicks outside of the biker community wouldn’t dare challenge one of us.”

A tall, statuesque woman with the most luscious auburn hair down to her waist, stops setting dishes and food around the table. Silverware clatters noisily against the table where she drops it when she turns to face the biker. The way her eyes narrow on who I assume is her partner, it’s obvious she takes offense at his words.

“Excuse me?! Have you forgotten your wife wasn’t affiliated with bikers until we got together and that I hand you your ass on the regular when you step out of line? You better correct yourself or I will,” she clips, looking like she is ready to throw down if she doesn’t like his answer.

Panicked, the massive biker throws out his hands in front of him like a shield. His deep voice suddenly turns squeaky. “I mean, present company aside, Marlene. Most women aren’t as tough as you, baby.”

Marlene tsks her tongue with annoyance, returning her attention to setting the table. “Bullshit. Women have no choice but to be tough, even when they don’t want to. We’re stuck in a society dealing with asshat men who undermine all we do because we don’t have dicks swinging between our legs. You’re assuming we’re weak based on our anatomy alone. Let me tell you something. Our bodies may not always measure up strength-wise, but most of you wouldn’t last a day in our shoes. You’d snap like a pretzel stick under the pressure.”

Oh, I like Marlene. She doesn’t take shit and serves it back piping hot.