Page 31 of Coveted By Cupid

Unwilling to entertain his absurd question, I wag my finger at him. “Don’t get any crazy ideas. I’m not ready for kids.”

He pushes off the door, creeping toward me with a heated gaze. “What’s going to make you ready?”

“Minimum? Being done with my graduate program,” I answer flippantly.

“Which happens when?”

My stomach dips. “Mid-May.”

“Pretty sure a baby takes longer than a month to bake. Plenty of time to adjust to an alternative lifestyle,” he says in a low, soothing voice, attempting to put me at ease. “You don’t need to take anything. No Plan B. No birth control.”

“And condoms?” I ask, shrinking back. “You’ll wear condoms?”

“Sure, if I remember. Fair warning: I plan on forgetting.”

“Cupid,” I warn, my palms out in front of me like I can stop him from advancing.

“Think of the environment and all the plastic we’ll not be dumping into it,” he murmurs, moving closer to me. “Besides, you feel too good for me to wrap up again. If it happens, it happens.”

“Stop it,” I say weakly when he presses me against the wall, feeling my will crumble to dust around my feet. He’s quickly infiltrating my thoughts, making me want things I never considered before.

“No, I won’t,” he says, cupping my face in his big, calloused hands like I’m something worth treasuring.

“We don’t know each other,” I argue, taking a last stand. “You’re going to leave here and forget about me as soon as you’re out the door like every other guy before you.”

“No way in hell I could forget you, even if I tried.” He tilts my face to his, leaning in.

“This is fast,” I whisper, my heart racing the closer his lips come to mine. I feel my body subconsciously lean toward him, wanting him to kiss me and being powerless to control my urges. “We’re moving too fast.”

“Yeah, but it’s okay when we both want it.”

“I don’t even know your name,” I protest, my voice coming out all wispy.

“Elio. My name is Elio Amor.”

His road name suddenly makes a hell of a lot more sense, and he has struck me.

“Cupid,” I murmur, hypnotized.

“Psyche,” he says back, and then he kisses me.

Every rational thought I had is gone, shattered into smithereens along with my last wall of resistance around my heart. I don’t know what’s happening, whether these feelings we’re experiencing are real or not, but I’m willing to see where this leads us.

Things are turning hot and heavy when Rod Zombie’s Dragula plays somewhere in my apartment.

Cupid groans with annoyance, breaking the kiss and leaving the bathroom.

Is he really leaving me high and dry?

Stunned, I slip on my robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and follow him back to the bed where he fishes his cell out of his jeans.

He answers the call with a clip, “What?”

I hear chatter on the other end and loud music playing in the background, possibly a bar or club.

Cupid pinches the bridge of his angular nose. “What do you mean the Mercy Ravens are at my bar?”

There’s more chatter, coming faster before Cupid looks at the ceiling with a heavy sigh.