Page 26 of Captured By the Cupid

“Now, little Butterfly, you will place the tip of your index finger beneath your swollen little clitoris and lift it.”

An arrow of lust shoots through me. It burns as I touch it, and I know I’ve never felt it so wet in my life.

“Good girl. Now, thrust your hips and rub that pleasure bud for me. Back and forth, that’s a good Butterfly,” he commendsme, but my pussy spasms again as I slowly, achingly work the swollen clit back and forth and circle my finger upon it, keeping my touch as light as antennae settling on a petal. “Now, thrust your other fingers into all your rich, wet heat and fuck yourself with them.”

“Archer, for the love of holy ghosts!” I moan the half-protest half-plea even as I slide two of my fingers.

A dark chuckle rumbles behind me, resonating into my back. “Pump those fingers in and out, yes, fuck yourself with them.”

Wetter than ever, my sheathe clenches the fingers almost as soon as they sink in.

“Tell me how much you desire to come, how much you need it,” he growls, centering those deeply hooded eyes upon me, and I almost buckle from their gravity, from his energy. “And do not stop playing with your engorged clitoris.”

“I-I…” I squeeze my eyes, soaked with hot streams of tears that flow down my cheeks. Everything is burning up. My blood, my skin, my nerve endings, every iota of my flesh smolders with molten liquid. “Please…” I finally unleash the begging whisper.

“Come, Aria.”

Every muscle in my pussy clamps down. Wailing and sobbing, I slam my eyes shut and come so hard, I’m convinced I shatter into golden stardust as the orgasm rips through my blood. Stronger, harder, greater than any climax I’ve ever experienced. And longer! My inner muscles convulse so hard and long, I end up bucking my hips against the mirror, wetting the glass with my juices as I fuck myself with my fingers until I’m floating into oblivion.

And when I come down, I’m relieved that he catches me.

“Truly lovely, little Butterfly,” he murmurs while spreading me upon the bed, and I hardly care that he pries my thighs apart and inspects my pussy but takes no prisoners. The stardustlingers, casting warm tingles all over my skin, and that’s when I notice my arms, my skin.

It’s glowing. Incandescent. Like fireflies are shimmering in my pores. What in all ever-loving saintly spirits was that?!

14

I will not be keeping her.

EROS

Transcendent.

Beautiful is far too weak a word for how she shattered for me.

It’s not uncommon for me to feed upon mortal essence and energy—except, never in Purgatory.

My original motivation was simple. Fuck her. Feast upon her passion and pleasure. And purge her from my system.

It would have only broken her body and filled her with more longing and desire for unchecked pleasure.

Now, I’m stealing samples of her soul and nibbling little doses of her emotions. None are a master of building up and breaking down as I am. I wonder if there is a way to do this without shattering her soul. But I doubt it.

Not that I’ve ever cared about the souls I broke in the past. A distasteful but sometimes necessary process for a demon like me.

It shouldn’t take long to fracture this girl’s soul, considering how extreme her emotions are and how responsive she is to myministrations. Once I break her, then I will fuck her. Hell, by the end of this tour, Purgatory’s darkness will sweep into her soul with such a storm of sorrow, she may very well beg me to take her back to bed and bury my cock deep inside her sopping-wet channel.

For now, I survey her as she avoids my gaze while selecting a dress from the closet. Oblivious to the butterflies tickling her, she shivers, causing her ample bottom to jiggle, drawing more attention to the smoldering bloom from my hand. I love the way her skin glows with a deeper pink luster to mirror her hair. She won’t be able to sit down at all today.

No panties, as I’d specified, she slips into the celestial dress, and I admire her choice of a rich violet color. The deep sweetheart neckline shows off an abundant amount of cleavage—she has much to spare—and the off-the-shoulders, sheer sleeves of wispy fabric. Ribbons, flowers, and lace adorn the gown. Despite the low neckline, her nipples are appropriately concealed. Her legs, on the other hand, are bare up to her knees, but the ribbons dangle prettily to her calves, and they swish whenever she moves.

Fuck, she’s too bright for this place. It will ruin her.

“Much better, Butterfly,” I commend her, admiring her sweet blush as she faces her reflection while I finger the gossamer-like ends of her curls, falling like spiraling ribbons.

She meets my eyes. “Are my nipples to your satisfaction now?”

“Brat.” I swat her ass through the fabric, thrilling in her yelp.

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