Pressing the heel of my hand against her clit forces a tangled cry from her. Behind the mask, I finally notice her eyes are a chocolate brown as they flash with need. Each stroke of my fingers quickly pulls her to the edge of her first orgasm. It’s quicker than I expected but better than anything I could imagine.
I wonder how many times I can get her to come for me tonight? Not that it's a test, but four seems like a reasonable number.
Each passing second, she grows wetter, until my palm is slick with her. “Can you take one more angel?” I ask asI place my free hand along her neck, my thumb pressing under her chin, forcing her to look at me.
“Yes, please,” she whimpers.
That’s all it took. That simple fucking word. I feel like I’m strapped onto a rocket about to be launched into space. I don’t know what it is about that word but it twists my insides and makes me feel important. Like I’m the only one who can give this to her, something she desperately wants and is willing to even beg me for.
I add a third finger into her already tight channel and her pussy flutters around me. Clamping down and sucking me in as if it craves the stretch.
Psyche moans, guttural, raw and so fucking needy it makes my cock weep inside my pants.
I force her head to stay up and she keeps her eyes locked with mine as the room fills with the wet sounds of her as I pump in and out of her with a building pace.
When her thighs begin to tremble I know she’s close. Her breathing picks up, stalling every few seconds when I curl and hit that spot inside of her that forces her eyes to squeeze shut.
“I think I’m going to—” she pants out.
“I know, Sweet Girl. Can you give me one right here?”
I’m not sure if she’s registering me at all, as she loses herself in the moment.
“Eros, I’m going to…” Her sentence cuts off with silent scream as she falls off into an abyss of ecstasy.
I don’t stop, I don’t let up. She rides my hand without abandon, wildly bucking her hips as she cascades along with the climax tearing through her. A deep rose blush crawls across her chest and her hands latch onto my arms, fingers digging into my skin, and it’s fucking beautiful.
After a moment, she drifts back down, and her body sags slightly but stays up right as I pull my hand from her.
Carefully, I lift the bottom of my mask just enough to slip my fingers underneath and pop them in my mouth. I don’t think I could’ve stopped myself even if I wanted to. The need to have her taste on my tongue is powerful and too much for me to resist.
She tastes exactly like I want her to—musky, light, and all woman.
“You are unreal,” I say as I unwillingly slip my fingers from my mouth. I invade her, pressing her chest against mine, I walk her backward until her knees hit the bed and then let her fall back.
“One down, but I need you to give me at least three more.”
February 2
I’m walking on cloudnine coming into work. I spent all of Sunday swathed in a cocoon of bliss, and zero thoughts about work or the upcoming week or even the Cupid Ball. I can’t remember the last time I took a Sunday—or any day, for that matter—tomyself.
Multiple orgasms apparently seem to be the secret to a soft life. Someone should alert the news outlets.
There’s only one thing threatening to pop my perfect bubble, one thought lingering in the back of my head—he hasn’t texted me. Not that I’m waiting around for the moment his name appears on my screen. He was so insistent on exchanging numbers that I just assumed I would hear from him soon, but nothing.
With the sun still fighting to peek above the horizon, I slide into my desk to start the day. The office is always quiet this early in the morning, perfect to leisurely scroll through emails. Within twenty minutes, I reach the bottom of my inbox, there's a soft stream of sunlight filtering in, and my coffee has gone from scolding to perfect. Maybe this week won’t be so bad, regardless if Eros has called or not.
My computer chimes, and when I glance at the incoming email, I recognize the sender immediately. I’m not superstitious; I’ll step on a crack, walk under a ladder, and I couldn’t care less if I break a mirror, but maybe I should reconsider. One thought about everything working in my favor and now I’ve been kicked head first into jinxing myself.
Cupids’ Charity Ball is in less than two weeks, and while I may have slacked off on some of my duties, I booked the vendors months ago. So why is Veronica from Party RentalExpress emailing me over the weekend with the subject linePhone Call Request?
My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip as a lead weight drops in my stomach when I pull open the email.
“Oh no,” I finally say into the emptiness that is my office. “No, no, no.”
One perfect weekend ruined by an email. It’s barely eight in the morning, but I immediately pick up the phone. Crossing my fingers as if the small act holds some magical power over party orders, I wait for her to answer. With each ring, my mind spirals further out of control until I feel the beginning prick of tears behind my eyes. Luckily, Veronica answers before I do anything rash, like actually cry when I don’t even have all the facts.
“Hi, Veronica, it’s Harper from Cupid. I know it’s early but I got your email and wanted to touch base.”
