Page 60 of Coveted By Cupid

He leans forward, rubbing his nose against mine. “Then I guess we’ll be sick together ‘cause I’m not letting you leave my side. Do I make myself clear, or would you like a demonstration?”

“A demonstration would be nice,” I say with saccharine sweetness, fluttering my eyelashes.

Surprised by my reaction, he pulls back an inch. His eyes dart between mine, trying to get a read on me. His confusion transforms into a frown once he realizes I’m teasing him. “You were baiting me, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” I say with a victorious smile, running my finger down the center of his abs. “But I still want that demonstration. Bathe me, shower boy.”

My biker is having a hard time fighting the smile on his face from forming. “You’re a brat.”

“I’ve already told you, I’m not a brat.” And then I stick my tongue out at him.

With a shake of his head, Cupid takes me by the hips, moving me backwards into the shower jets blasting from the tiled walls. The hot water cascades over my head and down my body, washing away the grit left on me from the night before. I release a deep moan, enjoying the heat and spray on my aching muscles.

“That’s it, Butterfly. Relax and let me take care of you,” he coos against the shell of my ear, leaning in to kiss the crook of my neck.

I shiver where his lips press against my already sensitive skin, warm tingles of pleasure spreading through my body and lighting a fire deep inside my core. His gentle touch makes me crave more of his attention, and I lean into him, seeking more.

Unfortunately, Cupid pulls away right as I’m ready to climb him like a tree and seat myself on his growing cock. He reaches for my bottle of shampoo—mine, from the looks of it. He must have unpacked it for me earlier. The fact that Cupid knew I would appreciate my shower supplies over his manly ones and put them out for my use has scored him big brownie points.

He pours a generous amount of shampoo into his palm, lathering his hands. “Head back.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say automatically. It’s one thing to have him make me lunch or help get me settled, but having him provide personal care is a foreign concept to me.

Ignoring me, Cupid turns me until my back is to his front. “I want to. Be a good girl and tilt your head back for me.”

Good girl?! If it were any other man calling me that, I’d tear him a new one. However, Cupid calling me a good girl has my pussy quivering with need.

Obeying, I drop my head back, closing my eyes as he carefully works the shampoo through my hair. He gently massages my scalp, using his thumbs to make small circles around my head.

“Feels so good,” I praise in a mumbled voice.

“Good. You need some tender loving care after what happened yesterday.” He works his thumbs down to my neck and shoulders, making my knees nearly buckle with how relaxed I am. I lean against him for support as he works the knots out of my sore muscles, releasing little groans of gratification past my lips.

When my neck and shoulders have been worked through, Cupid moves me back under the water to rinse my hair. I half expect him to jump right into washing me down, but I’m pleasantly surprised when he reaches for my conditioner and squirts a small amount into his hand. As he did with the shampoo before, he works the conditioner into my hair before rinsing it away.

By the time he adds soap to the washcloth, I feel boneless, more relaxed than I’ve been in months.

Slowly, Cupid drags the washcloth over the flushed skin on my shoulders, lathering me in soap suds. He moves the washcloth lower, scrubbing my back and over the cleft in my ass. Tracing the curve of my ass with his fingertips, we both groan.

“Your peach is fucking juicy,” he says in a ragged whisper. “I want to bite it.”

Cupid sinks to his knees behind me, running the washcloth over my backside and down my legs. When the water has washed away the suds, I feel his mouth and hands on my ass. He bites my tender flesh, making me hiss from the sting, before kissing and licking away the pain.

My eyes roll closed again, and I grab onto his hands where he grips the tops of my thighs, letting out a tiny moan.

When Cupid has me wound tighter than a coil ready to spring and seconds away from throwing my ass back in his face, he stands, spinning me around to face him.

I pout, unhappy that he stopped what he had started. “Why did you stop?”

Those kissable lips of his quirk up in the corners, but he doesn’t answer me, focusing on his work instead.

Cupid gives me the same treatment on the front of me, starting at my collarbones and working his way down over my breasts, past my stomach, and down my legs, thorough and gentle with how he handles me. Each pass of his hand across my body has me rubbing my thighs together.

He rushes the now soap-less washcloth through my slippery folds, as if he knows neither of us will handle touching me there without fireworks going off.

“You’re a tease,” I accuse with a sulk.

The potency of his fiery gaze when his dark eyes meet mine has me gulping. “I’m no tease, Butterfly.”