Taming Cupid

by Emily Bishop

  Roxanne nods up at me, and I hold myself suspended over her deep gray eyes. I refuse to fall in. “I guess I thought you wouldn’t care,” she said. “Maybe you would even be upset.”

  My hands travel down Roxanne’s arms tenderly. “Roxanne, Roxanne, Roxanne,” I soothe her, sidling closer and swaying against her body in a rhythm. I swallow as my hardness brushes against her, and I know she feels it. I sense the mood of our embrace shift, even though neither of us says a thing. Neither of us move to advance. “I’m not the man you think I am,” I whisper against her ear. I see the gooseflesh prickle along the curve of her neck, and I thicken responsively. I know she’s getting wet. My eyes roll back slightly in my head. I want to be buried in her warm, sweet body. I want to hold her fragile frame together and give her more babies. All my babies. “I’m not the men you’ve had before.”

  “Oh, Blake,” she breathes, her neck loosening and falling open, highlighting the tops of her plump breasts. I push my hands up into the sleeves of her jacket and peel it off from the inside, my mouth taking hers. My disciplinary structure crumbles down around my head. Her skin is damp and clammy, tasting of the rain, and I love to feel warm against her. I relish the knowledge that I’m warming her now as the jacket puddles behind her, and one of my hands automatically scoops around and finds her breast. Even though the stress has made her lose a little weight, the pregnancy plumped her breasts up, and I’m as hard as iron in a matter of seconds.

  “Fuck yeah,” I groan, tearing her pajama top down and exposing her bare breasts. I’m shaking with the need to ravage her, to plant my oozing cock deep inside her, and I bow down on my knees in front of her.

  Her pale torso is immaculate. Her nipples are bright pink and hard, completely ready.

  I cover one of her nipples with my hot, wet mouth and tongue her vigorously. My other hand cups the other breast and moves over the nipple’s puckered ridges.

  Her hips buck forward, and my hand forgets her nipple, drifting down and shoving her pajamas completely to the floor, ripped and all. Now she stands almost totally naked before me, and I stay on her nipple, sliding over her slick sex with my fingers. I love her wetness against my dryness. The friction is perfect. I saw against her button with my rough index finger, and she shudders against my hand, knees buckling. Her fingers shovel into my hair and grip for balance.

  I’m going to get her naked and coming before we even get over to the bed. God, I love this. We’re animals.

  I stoop and gnaw on her pussy, relishing the sweet, salty musk between her lips. It’s like salted fucking caramel.

  The tip of my tongue scoops against her clitoris again and again, and I spread her thighs up against my face. I hoist her into the air with my hands and eat her like she’s a juicy slice of watermelon.

  I think it’s safe to say that we’ve both completely forgotten about all the cameras and microphones hidden around the room by this point.

  Chapter 12

  Roxanne

  “Stay away from the set, stay away from Blake, and deny your pregnancy…”

  I tell myself I’m not going to do anything crazy gross like pour all over him, but I think I’m going to. The way he has my thighs spread in mid-air really engages my entire pelvic floor, and I know the oncoming orgasm is going to be intense. Like a strong tide, I find myself dragged forward by the hot rush coming to a head between my legs, no matter how self-conscious I feel. My clit feels too good, and it overrides all other emotions. I grind almost involuntarily against Blake’s face, and my pussy opens up for him, raining juices. I shudder and moan and pump against his chin hungrily, my eyeballs deep in my skull. I love how strong he is. His grip never wavers, even supporting me in mid-air.

  Blake twists me and heaves me onto the foot of his bed. I bounce on my back and giggle, gazing up at the ceiling, thinking of how surreal it is to be in the bachelor’s suite, getting eaten out enthusiastically by the star of the sixth season. Candace would die if she could see this right now.

  His lips slather me, and he eats me out with such soul that I feel like he fucking loves me. It’s slow and then manic. Gentle and then rough. I froth and settle. He’s kissing my labia while I pant and claw at the mattress, tortured, wordlessly begging him to let me snap.

  His tongue slithers gingerly into every single cranny, reaching deeper than any man ever cared to. He hits spots so precisely, he’s almost more machine than man, and I curl over his head, cradling him between my legs as I lose my mind. I’m definitely going to come. This is too good.

  I cry out Blake’s name for the entire empty property to hear. I hump his face and spasm, and find myself vividly remembering our first kiss. It was so tender and deep, cradled against his chest on the rim of that fountain, and I come hard, surrounded by the memory. I come so hard that even Blake lets out a muffled groan from between my legs.

  My neck seems to be stuck in a craned position.

  A loose, half-stupid smile is on my lips. I don’t want to let myself believe that this is real life. My entire body is filled with migrating warmth, like a cluster of fireflies got loose inside me. Blake Berringer, the gorgeous, mysterious stranger who saved my life that night five years ago, just wants to play with my body and bring me pleasure again and again. I have his baby inside my body right now. And he says that he wants to be with me. I want to be with him, too. Forever. Jared is nonexistent here.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Blake breathes, climbing out of his shorts and displaying a monstrously rigid erection for me.

  I brace the base and stare up at him meaningfully. I let my lips fall open slowly and take him into my mouth while I continue to cringe hungrily around his manhood, not breaking eye contact. It is a beautiful thing, and it tastes so sweet, just like all of Blake’s skin. I stroke his organ with my mouth easily because I love it and I want it so badly. I want his cum down my throat. I’ve never been like this before: sex-crazed.

  My eyes close, and I whimper, playing him soulfully. His thighs tremble and shudder, and he humps and cries out in a thick, low voice that barely sounds like his own. He sounds like an animal.

  Normally, a cock of this size would be too big for me, but I’m so aroused that the back of my throat is more open. It’s fucking amazing, and I even moan about that, too.

  “God, I’m so hot,” Blake breathes, pumping deeper down my throat. “Touch yourself,” he pants. “Touch yourself for me.”

  So nasty. What a great idea.

  My fingers obediently trail between my thighs and spread my slick pussy lips open. They pound with arousal, and my middle and index finger immediately go to my clit. My eyes roll as I toy with my own wet slit while Blake rides my mouth closer and closer to orgasm. I feel it in the hitch in his hips, and my own thighs tremble for him. I want him to come. If he comes, I think I’ll come. He’ll lose ribbon after ribbon down my throat, and I’ll pour all over my hand.

  I know he must be thinking the same thing because we loosen up and move with more speed together, becoming one. I know that he’s close. I can feel his closeness as if his orgasm is mine. It’s cosmic, and I’ve never before experienced such sensual awareness of another person’s body.

  At the very last second, my clit is so swollen and so desperate, I think the nub itself might pop, and his prick has never felt bigger than it does right now. He suddenly yanks out of my mouth and I whine, like candy was torn away from me. “What?” I say.

  “Not like that,” he gasps, like that decision took the same amount of effort as a 5k.

  He twists my voluptuous, upturned ass toward him and slaps it hard, making the whole thing bounce. “Mm,” he relishes. “That’s what I’m talking about. One of those American booties.”

  He hunkers down behind me, and I feel his teeth skim over the thickness of my ass, like he’s beating into a peach. I whimper and press into his mouth, wanting more. I want him. Stop teasing me.

  “Shh,” Blake soothes me, rising up onto his knees behind me. My body stiffens in eager anticipation as his
bare cock knocks heavily between my thighs. His head slips over my swollen pussy lips, collecting their nectar, then shoves through them. I see stars and collapse face-first onto the bed. Oh, god, it’s perfect. He’s perfect. My toes curl inward, and my mouth opens to ingest some mattress.

  He rears back and thrusts into me fully. I don’t know how to describe the sweetness that shoots and spirals through my system every time he enters me to the hilt. I’m so wet and so perfectly contoured to him, Blake grips my elbows and pulls me into my center like a folding chair, almost bisecting me.

  And then he pumps into me again, mercilessly.

  I know he must be doing those breathing exercises and mind tricks, because right now, I’m losing my mind. I don’t know how he is just pumping into me like this. My eyes roll, and I drool; I want to ask him to marry me. I seriously want to ask him to marry me. I’m so in love with his cock.

  After driving deeply into me and sending me through a tumbling, helpless series of orgasms, Blake flips me onto my back and reenters from the front.

  “Sex like we’re an old married couple,” I tease breathlessly.

  “Yeah,” Blake replies. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners, and he ducks his head to come closer to me. Droplets of sweat trace down his neck. He whispers to me, “Yeah, just like we’re an old married couple.”

  He bows over me and kisses me, long and slow. His dick becomes long and slow, too. He enters me one fraction at a time, so I vividly feel every inch of him, and I have to tear my lips away from his so I can moan.

  “I can’t look at you without wanting to come,” Blake growls against my ear. I shudder responsively. “I want to come on you. Want to come inside you. Come with you. Come everywhere.”

  He gazes into my eyes, and we hold this moment together. Even the sex seems to fall into the background, and it’s really just him and me. He slides so slowly and fully. I cringe around his textured girth as his base comes flush with my entrance. The rhythm is a deep, slow ride, but it can’t last forever.

  The heat intensifies as his hips hitch harder. He pulls away from me, balancing on his knuckles to drive into me from a new angle, new leverage giving him a swifter thrust. My brains are rocked out.

  He twists my hips and slaps a palm down onto my ass cheek, which tingles, and I whinny. He grips me and pulls me back, slamming into me. The thrusts reach a fevered pitch, and he roars. I feel his cock pop and spasm, filling me with reams of his seed. My eyelashes flutter. I want to go again.

  I prop myself up on my elbows and realize I’m gazing into the LA Billionaire Bachelor Mansion master bedroom camera A.

  I completely forgot this wasn’t just a regular house. A real moment.

  “Fuck,” I gasp. Blake is softening but still inside me, and I’m still coated in sweat and lightly shuddering, but my mind is razor sharp now.

  “What?” Blake pants.

  “We forgot something.” I walk on my knees to the headboard, wedging my slick breasts against the camera lens as I disconnect it from behind. “There,” I breathe, rolling onto my back and beaming up at Blake. “Security got a free show.”

  ***

  I wish I could say that I awake slowly alongside the future father of my child, stretching lazily, legs flung over one another, beaming. I wish I could say that we stay melted in each other’s arms until we are covered in sunlight.

  But the bedroom door cracks open with force, and I jolt up, clutching the sheets to my chest instead. My heart is hammering. My hair is sideways, and my face is half-mushed into whatever shape the pillow indented into it.

  My first genuine, semi-solid thought—because it is early in the morning—is that this is some winged, fantastical dream version of Jared, here to kill us both.

  My nightmares steadily loosen their grip and I blink. No... no. It’s not Jared.

  It’s Candace.

  She stands in the bedroom doorway, proud and mildly judgmental, which doesn’t really mean anything. That’s kind of how she always looks. She’s dressed professionally, but that doesn’t mean that there will be filming today...I hope. Because I’m on the set totally nude with the bachelor.

  Brilliant, self. Turn off the camera in the headboard and then forget to sneak out before morning. Genius!

  Candace sighs. “I figured,” she mutters. “Come on, Roxy. You can’t be here.”

  I throw a leg out of bed but feel an iron grip clamp down on my hip. I glance over my shoulder to see Blake glaring at Candace with deadly dominance.

  “She stays,” he commands.

  “Really, it’s okay,” I peep. I don’t want to be the reason for a showdown between these two. Someone would die.

  “Come with me, Roxy,” Candace says again. “Loverboy won’t miss you too long.”

  Blake slowly loosens his hold on me and allows me to slip from beneath the blankets. I hurry into clothes, and Candace turns her gaze respectfully toward the wall as I dress. Blake glares after us, weighing whether or not to follow, but lets us go.

  Candace guides me down the hall of the mansion, then down the stairwell. “I know I can’t keep you two apart,” she sighs.

  “No,” I agree.

  “I really wish you two jackasses could have waited,” Candace mutters. “Did you have to get pregnant right in the middle of my goddamn season?”

  My cheeks color. “I know.” We are jackasses. We could have waited. He didn’t have to plunge into me raw the first chance he got. Even now, though, weeks later, the memory of it still sends a shudder down my spine. No regrets. “But I wasn’t the one who told the press I was pregnant. I didn’t tell anybody, except my roommates.”

  “The homeless ones?”

  “They’re not homeless. They live with me.”

  “It’s practically the same thing. Total financial despair. Never trust poor people with valuable information, Roxy.” Candace pinches her nose and tries to relax. “Well, what’s done is done. This completely avoidable disaster has happened, and there’s nothing to do now but damage control. Walk with me, Roxy.”

  She continues doing breathing exercises, reminding me of Blake, as we march into the production building and toward her office. “Did you learn that from Blake?” I wonder.

  “Lamaze,” Candace lies. I’ve never heard her breathe like that a day in her life. We enter her office, and she gestures for me to sit. “Here’s what we’re going to do!” Candace announces excitedly, sauntering over to her side of the desk. “You’re going to deny that you are pregnant. You don’t look pregnant. For all you know, you’ll lose the baby anyway.”

  I gasp. “Candace!”

  “What?” she blurts, blinking at me. “It’s true! Anyway, deny the rumors, say that you and Blake are good friends, and you’ll always treasure what you had in Greece, et cetera. Very classy. The paparazzi will lose interest in you if you become irrelevant, so stay the fuck away from this set, and stay the fuck away from Blake in every respect. I’ll keep him away from you, if you can uphold your end of the bargain.”

  “I don’t know that I can,” I answer in all honesty. “I think I’m in love with him, Candace.”

  Candace scowls at me like I just told her that I think there is a possibility that gravity is just a shared hallucination. “You don’t need to stay away from him for-ev-er,” she clarifies loudly. “Just stay away from him for the rest of my goddamn show. How about a little respect for our attempts to run a serious business here? Right?”

  “Right,” I admit. This place was my paycheck not too long ago.

  But I guess nowhere is my paycheck now.

  In fact, unless I actually start asking Blake for child support while I’m still pregnant, I’m not going to be able to make rent.

  “So, stay away from the set, stay away from Blake, deny your pregnancy, and give me another month to wrap this up. Then you’re free to hold naked photo shoots with Time Magazine, or whatever your heart so desires.”

  “I can do that if you give me something,” I wager.

  “Of co
urse. Of course, you can. All right. What do you need?” she asks.

  “I need you to help me get another job,” I tell her. “Mr. Montana fired me after all this insane press coverage. He said you might be able to find something else for me, and I think he was right.”

  Candace tsks. “I don’t know,” she says. “No one wants the eye of a media storm on their staff. Not him. Not me. No one in Hollywood Studious.” Her shoulders slump. “But that is what we’re stuck with. Let me think. I’ve got to dredge up all your skillsets from memory now.” As she paces, she opens a cabinet and flicks a file to me. “That’s the folder that Jared might have seen, by the way. You should take a look at it and see if there’s anything you want to change or protect or whatever. Again, might have seen, and we’re not even sure that it was Jared. The man in our footage is masked.”

  I skim the information and, when I hit the line that says ADDRESS, my heart suddenly loses about twenty pounds of strain.

  “The address is outdated,” I breathe. “This is the address where I lived for the first year that I worked here.” My glowing eyes meet Candace’s. “He can’t find me with this.”

  Candace can’t smother her own grin. “Thank god,” she says. “Thank fucking god.” She taps her desk thoughtfully and adds, “You know, there’s this indie bar downtown, and it’s got low lights and lots of older people, really chill lounge,” Candace suggests. “They have live music. You ought to apply down there. It’s a completely different atmosphere, and they’ve taken in a lot of strays over the years. I’ll talk to the owner for you. Put in a good word.”

  Chapter 13

  Blake

  “She is not Sir Blake Berringer’s girlfriend.

  She was not a regular contestant.

  Everything that has been published lately is pure conjecture, or coincidence, completely unrelated to the show My Billionaire Bachelor…”