by Jade Eby
She better be, if she’s smart.
“And although I told my one friend in the police center about my own possible meeting with Cupid, I don’t think he believed me. Why would he?” She ceased with the pacing. “I barely saw him. Truthfully, I’m not even sure he was even in the room when I. . .well. . .when I walked into the kitchen where. . .he’d probably been killing my husband right there.”
She hugged herself tighter. “I felt something in that room. It was thick and hot and cold at the same time and. . .”
“What?”
“Alive. Electric.” She covered her face with both hands. “I’m sorry. I know I sound insane. Besides, I haven’t slept. Tonight was a mistake. I’m surviving off of my fifth cup of coffee. We should probably do this again.”
Asher got up from the ledge, not liking where the conversation was now going. Funny how when she’d been slowly revealing him as a killer it had rattled him, but her possibly leaving . . .that fucking outraged him.
“Maybe, The Cove is exactly what you need.” He took his time walking to her as if rushing her way would cause her unease. “Let’s get you some food, an appetizer or if you have enough energy the five course meal I had planned for us. There’s dancing inside and amazing music. They only hire the most celebrated artists.”
“I’m sure they do, but this Cupid thing and everything else—preparations for Neil’s funeral and—”
“Let’s have you sit down.” He captured her hand. It was warm against his skin as she curled her fingers around his. Energy sparked wherever she touched, shooting wickedness up his arm and down into his groin. “Let me take care of you. If you’re even too tired to walk, I’ll lift you up and carry you in my arms.”
In that moment, he crouched down to get ready to pick her up.
“Oh no.” She backed up. “I’m fine. I just—”
“Yes, emotional wreck, mourning ex-husband, obsessed with Cupid’s killings, and only running on coffee. You’ve listed a lot of problems, but you’ve forgot your biggest problem.”
She looked into his eyes. “What’s that?”
“It’s been a long time since someone’s taken care of Diana.”
“I’ve always been provided for by Neil.”
Asher might’ve stared too long at her, and even licked his lips right before he said, “There are ways that a real man can tell when a woman has not been taken care of properly.”
He closed the distance between them, but didn’t alarm her, by taking her into his arms, which he’d craved. “There are signs.”
He tucked some of her hair behind her ear, just for an excuse to touch her, to feel the silk of her skin for a few seconds. “It’s in the way she walks, the way she moves her lips to speak.”
He bit his own bottom lip. “It’s in her scent.” He inhaled her, and Diana’s eyes widened. “It’s in the subtle sound of her voice, the way she looks away. . .”
She frowned. “Are you trying to say that I need to get laid?”
No, sweet one. You need to be fucked, so bad that you walk away from this investigating path. You need some dick to keep you busy.
Asher’s cock grew in his pants. He did a quick check to make sure his jacket would hide it. “You need to be provided for.”
“By you?”
“There isn’t anyone else offering.”
“How do you know?”
Because if anybody else offered to take care of you right now, they would be wearing an arrow in their chest. For now, others can stay away from you, until I’ve had my fun.
“I know what you’re doing, Asher.”
“You do?” Curiosity glazed over his eyes. “What am I doing?”
“Distracting me.”
“Distracting you from what?”
“From being tired.” She removed her hand and backed up. “I must apologize, but I have to go. Too much has happened. Goodnight, Asher.” She turned around and walked away.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” She headed to the balcony door. “Maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow.”
“I don’t want lunch. I want dinner, now.”
She stopped and glanced at him. “Stop pouting like a baby. You’ll get lunch tomorrow. I’m out of it tonight. I would be worthless for any more conversation.”
“Maybe I’m done with conversation. Perhaps I want something else now.”
“I’m definitely too worthless for that. And I’m a bit offended you think I’d give you what you want after one evening of wining and dining.”
“Fine, Diana. Leave if you must.”
She blew him a half-hearted kiss as if the gesture was only meant as a joke. “Fine.”
“Additionally, I will be counting lunch as our second date,” he called after her. “And will be hoping to get to second base at least.”
“You’ll be counting by yourself and holding your own balls and bat at the end of our second meeting, then. Let’s try to remember that I’m a widower. It wouldn’t be nice to take advantage of me in this emotional state.”
But I will, sweet one, over and over again.
“Wait, Diana.” Asher called out before she opened the balcony’s doors. “You never answered my question.”
She turned. “What question?”
“Why did you name him Cupid?”
“Oh,” she sighed. “I figured that would be obvious. He kills with a bow and arrow, and all of his murders deal with some form of broken love.”
And then she walked away, left Asher right there, baffled, and even more intrigued.
Seven
Diana
Later that evening, Diana returned to her empty home, dressed in that elaborate gown, and exhausted from the whole day.
Asher Bishop.
Cupid.
Neil’s murder.
There were too many thoughts circling Diana’s brain and she couldn’t settle on which of them to focus on. She wanted to think about Cupid and the onslaught of facts she’d learned in the last day, but Asher’s blonde hair and blue eyes sliced through everything Cupid-related.
Though she would have to dress up in chic black garments, respectable but still fashionable black heels and stand over her late husband’s grave in just a few days, Neil did not occupy the space in her brain as she thought he would.
It was easy to move him lower on the list.
Diana wished she’d listened to her gut a little earlier. Divorced Neil before he could tarnish the Carson name and bring her down with him. All things considered though, Diana knew she was getting a good deal out of his death. Money, attention, and pity. It looked good for her. Gave others something to focus their attention on, while she investigated Cupid.
Cupid, Cupid, Cupid.
He was an elusive little fuck.
She’d investigated, interviewed, and written about hundreds of murder cases during her news career.
None of them confused her like Cupid had.
She wanted to be disgusted with him.
Fear him.
But, deep down, she regaled him.
Celebrated the fact that he had balls big enough to do what so many were not willing to admit they wanted to do.
She wasn’t even sure what she would do if she ever got a chance to meet him face-to-face. Kiss him? Pat him on the back with a “good going, mate?”
Diana shook her head while she stepped out of her designer gown. The chances of meeting Cupid were slim and would happen only if he was caught and then what could she do for him? Nothing more than help his tarnished reputation in the media.
She stepped toward the shower, letting the nozzle spew and spurt before the steam rose in waves toward the ceiling. The slate grey walls shone with a dewy glaze and it was in that moment, Diana thought the craziest thing.
How many times had Neil fucked someone in here? Who else had the pleasure of being in my shower, with my husband?
She stepped into the scalding water. Droplets hit her skin like ice picks.
What Neil had d
one, no longer matters. Get over it. He’s dead, and with them, all of his mistakes. He’s dead and none of his mistakes carry weight, unless they were related to Cupid.
And there it was again.
All roads lead back to Cupid.
Diana shivered as she remembered the feeling of stepping inside her kitchen. The way the air felt torched with electricity. It had to have been Cupid. There wasn’t another explanation for it.
Asher hadn’t thought she was crazy. She expected to see it in his eyes, the pity and disdain one feels for recent widows. But not Asher. He seemed to believe her. And she saw nothing like pity in his eyes—she saw fire. Little wisps of blue flames that burned right through her. He smoldered for her.
And she couldn’t deny that she liked it.
It’d been a very long time since Diana Carson had felt wanted—in the way a woman should.
She was gorgeous, yes, smart and witty but that was all so surface level.
Men stared at her, wanted her, yearned for her, but none of them craved her. None of the men she’d met, including Neil, had looked at her like they needed to satiate a hunger. She wanted a man to pursue her like it was a primal necessity. To ravage her slowly, surely, and then completely as if they would never have another like her again.
These were the fantasies Diana kept hidden in the furthest reaches of her mind.
Until Asher Bishop spoke and they fluttered to the surface like whispers of long forgotten secrets.
“You haven’t been taken care of, Diana.”
Water cascaded down her face and as she turned to grab her soap, a noise came from her bedroom. A small, imperceptible swoosh. Like shoes on carpet.
She ripped open the shower curtain but she saw no one. “Hello? Is anyone out there?”
No response. She heard no other sounds except the
drop,
drop,
dropping of the water stream.
She shook her head.
I’m losing it. I haven’t slept or ate or closed my eyes once and this is the price I pay. And what the hell did I expect, if someone was in here? If they were in my home, then it was someone sneaking or planning to hurt me. I doubt they would’ve screamed back hello. God, I need to get a grip.
Wrapped in an oversized grey towel, she patted herself dry and the fabric lingered on her skin. There was a sensuality to it that had her stomach doing flip-flops. It was as if Neil’s death had flipped a switch in her. The lingering pangs of desire she’d kept quietly at bay were now begging for release.
Tonight, I sleep. Tomorrow, I look for you Cupid.
She crept into her bed, the worn-in Egyptian cotton tickling her bare flesh. She hadn’t slept naked in years! Not even when Neil decided to share it with her. She felt like she was newly divorced rather than recently widowed. The death of their marriage made sense.
The absence of Neil’s life hadn’t quite sunk in.
She clapped her hands and the lights shut off.
Silent minutes flew by.
Restless ones.
In the darkness, she tossed and turned against the coolness of the sheets for what seemed like hours. Her brain filled with images of men with holes in their chests, of Asher Bishop’s charming smile and of Cupid’s bow and arrow striking Asher in the heart. The image was so visceral, she sat straight up, clutching the space above her own heart.
And then she saw it.
A flicker of movement outside her window on the balcony. A swoosh of the curtains. A tiny clank of something on metal.
She rushed to the window, but of course, there was no one on her balcony. No man in a suit or one piece. No bow and arrow pointed at her. She moved away from the window just in time to see someone dressed in black turn the corner. She couldn’t be certain if it was a man or a woman. A teenager or adult. She didn’t even have enough time to see what he was wearing - just that it was black.
She laid back down and wondered if this was the end.
Perhaps it had been Cupid, checking on her. Making sure she was doing fine. But she wasn’t sure he was that sentimental.
Wouldn't he be more occupied with his next kill?
Then maybe it was Asher.
Yes, I’m going insane.
She laughed, right there in the darkness, in the middle of her cold, lonely bed. A man like Asher wouldn’t hide. He’d make sure she knew it was him.
But her skin prickled with the idea of it. That Asher, with his full lips and dripping charisma would come to see her.
She giggled as tingles moved from her fingers to her stomach and landed at her most sensitive part. Asher was right—she hadn’t been taken care of properly. She hadn’t been touched or fucked or treated like a woman in a very long time and she ached to feel it then. If only for a minute.
Her fingers moved of their own accord.
Down,
down,
down until her perfectly manicured finger tip rested against her clit.
It was unnatural for Diana to touch herself this way. Most often, she’d relied on Neil to satisfy her basic needs and when he failed, her vibrator did the trick. But that night, she’d wanted to feel it all. The touch of her own fingers moving inside of her. The rise and fall of her desire as she explored herself.
Yes. Take care of me, like you said you would.
She imagined Asher standing in front of her, naked.
How would his chest look against the glint of moonlight? Was he a smooth shaver like many of the rich men had become or had he retained his mark of manliness?
Her gaze roamed down imaginary Asher’s body, taking in the deep v of his lower abdomen.
“Show me, how you’ll take care of me.” She hesitated before glancing as his cock.
She wanted to savor it.
“Show me.” She pushed her finger inside of herself, deep enough to feel a sharp pain and then a waterfall of pleasure.
“Yes, Asher.” The deeper she explored, the wetter she became. A warm slickness smeared all over her fingers. She alternated her speed from fast, twitchy probes to slow, thrusting thrusts.
Her voice came out in a sensual whisper. “Yes.”
Only then, once she’d hit a level of desire she wasn’t sure she could come back from, did she glance at the imaginary Asher’s cock.
“Fuck yes.” She wasn’t a woman of exotic fantasies and unrealistic eight-foot dicks. She saw that he was average but thick. Not really long, but stretched out enough to please her every desire.
“Let me show you what a man does to a woman that he wants to provide for,” the imaginary Asher groaned.
That thick, cock throbbed in front of her and she reached out to grab him, but pulled away when she hit the spot inside of her that drove her crazy.
“Jesus…” Her breathing increased with the desire coursing through her.
How had she never taken the time to do this before? Who needed a man when fingers were just as magical?
Asher’s cock came back into focus and she so desperately wanted him then. She wanted to pull him into her mouth and suck his entire length, until he moaned for mercy.
She wanted him to fuck her from behind, his balls slapping against her ass.
She wanted him to taste her, every juicy bit she had to give.
Diana groaned as she came, her body wracking with mini-seizures. Her muscles tensed as she let the last part of her orgasm release and then she felt it.
The explosion.
The disorder of pain and pleasure, greed and gluttonous lust.
It all numbed her.
Made her shattered into nothing.
This zero state where she didn’t really exist in the world,
Just on this plane
of
Sweet,
glorious,
nothingness.
Eight
Cupid
Through the window, Asher stood on Diana’s balcony and watched her fall asleep. He’d come here out of the sheer urge to see her for a few more minutes. Breaking into he
r condo had been easy. Neil kept no real security, just some old guard at the entrance gate that had been sleeping when Asher climbed the gate and crept by.
His visit was only supposed to be a few minutes. Nothing more. A quick look, and then back over the gate, on the bike, and racing down the road.
But then she took off her clothes and stepped into the shower, and Asher could no longer think of why he would leave so soon.
Are you satisfied, sweet one?
How beautiful she slept after such a hard core orgasm.
Had she known he hid in the shadows, with his gaze hungry and plastered on her bare body? Did she sense the energy in the air, the same cold waves of power that sparked over his skin as she fingered herself?
He’d gripped his cock the whole time, at the first utterance of his name from her lips. He’d rubbed the throbbing tip, and yearned so badly to rush in and take care right there.
But he couldn’t.
There was confidence in the hunting of a man, and then there was. . .
just plain old crazy.
Scaring the shit out of Diana as she masturbated in the shadows of her bedroom, would be insane.
No.
He waited.
studied the groove of her body as it writhed in pleasure,
and he hoped. . .
prayed that he’d be able to caress her exactly the way she touched herself.
Diana. Diana. Things are certainly going to change.
Nine
Diana
Lunch on Ovid Island was as much an affair as dinner. If you belonged to the right crowd that is.
Diana took her spot beneath a creamy white umbrella, the frosted glass table set with matching daises, plates and linens. The waiter asked her what she would like to drink.
“I think I’ll take a lemonade,” she said, speaking lightly. The day before had been long and tiresome and though she’d done well to tire herself out with pleasure, a weary sensation dragged her down and kept her movements a bit sluggish most of the day.
