Page 74 of Captured By the Cupid

My lips part. I flex my hand, almost expecting her to throw herself at my feet. And fantasize about what she would look like.Her eyes flick to my cock, and she nods, permitting me to free my shaft. I gift her the luxury—as if my engorged and suffering member grants her strength to continue.

With a tearful smile, she turns. Back to us, she moves down the staircase until she collects the balls. And begins again.

I’m not the only one who needs to adjust…and stroke.

Her muscles are strained. She stumbles again, gripping the railing and wondrously keeping those balls inside her aching, spasming sex. And then, she pauses, curving two hands along the banister, tilting her head as if studying the polished obsidian.

Then, our exquisite, impossible, and enthralling girl swings her chin to us with her lips pressing into a crafty smile. Oh, I recognize that mischievous gleam that can match my own. And remember the first time she pranked me.What strange and lovely thoughts do you have, my Butterfly?

“Eros?” She summons me.

I nod with an approving smile.

“You said to descend the staircase. But you didn’t specifyhow. So, with all due respect, my Lord God of Love and the First Bearer of the Scepter of the Universe,fuck you!”

My smile turns into a carnal grin as she flips me off, straddles that gods-damned banister slicked from her sweat and transferred fluids, and slides, screaming and walloping like a banshee the whole way.

Clever, beautiful Butterfly.

Hunger and adrenaline course through my veins as I watch her descent. My nerves are ablaze.

You’re mine, Aradia. For eternity.

A jubilant scream escapes her lips, echoing my own emotional release. She’s gliding down the banister with a near celestial grace, not merely descending but emerging into a realm of newfound freedom. It’s as though she sheds mortal constraints, wearing the skin of the brightest star in the heavens.

As she nears the end, she catapults herself from the railing, a breathtaking twirl through the air. Fearless in her spirit. My heart races with hers, an unseen connection pulling me to her, chemical and spiritual over sexual.

Until she collides with…him.

“Eros!” Himeros proclaims, but I’ve already beat a whirlwind with my wings, thundering down in one fell swoop.

Bloodcurdling terror grips me—it’s not just any deity she collides with.

Her eyes struggle to lift beyond her mortification and naked vulnerability.

“I beg your pardon, little mortal,” his voice, silky and resonant, reaches my ears like a haunting chant.

In the blink of an eye, his hand lowers to steady her, but with one great beat of my wings, I slam right into the godly invader, who had to choose this moment to embrace the epitome of impropriety.

“Himeros! Pothos!” I growl with my stony hands gripping the god’s throat, pinning him against the wall.

My brothers wrap Aradia in a robe before carrying her down a split-off corridor.

“What the hell are you doing here, Hades?” I demand.

“Hell is right, Eros.”

All the muscles in his face are tense as he balls his hand into a fist, but he breathes deeply, slowly, relaxing those muscles and lowering his shoulders. Polite bloody beast. His damned energy is already pulling all souls in the castle until they fill the grand lobby and staircase like a gods-damned sanctuary at mass.

“Fuck, Hades!” I throw my hand in the air toward the souls, my horns and wings hardening. “The one time you decide to drop by. Do you know how long it’s going to take me to herd all your damn stragglers? They’ll follow you right to the bloody Gates of the Underworld.”

“If it grieves you so much, I could send Thanatos to help,” he offers.

I rub my eyelids. “Leave Thanatos the fuck alone, Hades. People deserve to die with some dignity before they’re ushered to the Underworld. Besides, you’re only saying that because it would delay deaths around the globe, so you can sneak off to see Persephone.”

He shrugs. “What can I say? She is the eternal bloom in the garden of my heart!” His eyes always light up when he talks about her. Not that I blame him, but I can blame him for his droning monologues, which are in frightful need of an update. “She is the pomegranate seed of joy that—”

“—planted in the soil of my existence,” I cut him off, raising a hand as I finish, “blossoming into everlasting love. I know, I know.”

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