Page 82 of Coveted By Cupid

“Who does it belong to?” I ask again, my voice firmer, letting him know my concern is not something he can brush off.

My biker—who may be a murderer—pauses another moment in quiet contemplation before shrugging. “Fuck it. It involves you. You deserve to know.”

“Involves me?!” I squawk, bewildered. “How?”

The warm brown of Cupid’s eyes goes dark, his face hardening. “Yes, you and the sick fucks who tried to take you from me, that’s how.”

My mouth flounders open and close like a fish out of water as my mind is consumed with thoughts and not being able to voice any. The only thing coherent in my muddled thoughts is…

He killed for me.

A pleasant warmth spreads through my body, confusing me momentarily before it dawns on me I’m not reacting the way most people would in my situation. Instead of being horrified that a man is dead, I’m relieved, pleased even. Moreover, I’m actually aware the only reason I’m not freaking out being in the presence of a killer is because the killer is Cupid.

How fucked in the head is that logic?

Sensing I’m in shock, Cupid stalks forward, closing the distance between us. I gasp when he cages me between the wall and himself, his breath coming out in hot waves across my face with how close he is to me.

“I’m only telling you because you deserve to know what happens to those who fuck with what’s mine,” he states, his voice raw and raspy.

He grips my chin between his calloused fingers, not hard, but enough to show me he’s calling the shots. The scent of antiseptic on his hand, close to my nose, has my already boggled head feeling fuzzy.

Cupid tilts my face toward his, forcing me to concentrate on him, and I dare not challenge his authority. His dark eyes probe mine, demanding my attention without him saying a word. It’s almost like I’m seeing the man I’m falling for transform into the lethal outlaw I suspected he was all along.

As menacing as Cupid appears in this moment, covered in dried blood and holding me hostage against the wall, I’m not scared of him. I should run for the hills, yet my legs remain anchored to the floor, not out of fright, but because, deep down in my marrow, I know this man will never hurt me. He had plenty of opportunities and never took them. Even now, caged between Cupid’s heaving chest at my front and the brick wall snagging at the clothes on my back, he isn’t hurting me.

Getting into my bubble?

Most definitely.

However, Cupid’s not harming me. He may be a murderous biker, but he’s my murderous biker. And part of me, a very dark and disturbed part I’m not sure I want to look at too closely, is delighted this man committed a felony for me.

Dare I say, I find Cupid more attractive knowing just how far he’d go to give me justice. The thought of this man doing the unthinkable in my honor has me growing wet between my thighs.

“The night I found you injured on the road, I captured one culprit before he could escape with his partners.”

My eyes widen. “You did?”

Cupid nods, his eyes never leaving mine as he searches for any sign I might freak out on him. But I’m far from panicking. I’m aroused.

Trying desperately not to show him how much his words are turning me on, I ask, “W—What did you do to him?”

“Questioned him about his intentions and where his partners in crime were hiding?”

Judging by the blood splatter on my biker, Cupid did a lot more than ask the creep questions.

“Did you…” I gulp, trying to control my racing heart from coming out of my throat, “…hurt him?”

Please say yes.

With not a flicker of hesitation or hitch in his voice, Cupid says, “Yes.”

I swear, my ovaries quiver.

“Is he dead?”

“Yes. And the others involved will meet him in hell soon enough.”

A wave of heat sweeps over me, making my insides clench hard. I bite off a whimper, but not fast enough before Cupid catches it.