Cupid, Be Mine

The following story was originally a freebie published in the Samhellion, when that e-zine was run by Samhain authors. The rights are, and have always been, mine alone.

Please be aware that there is explicit sexual content.

The new version has been slightly expanded and re-edited for the enjoyment of my readers. It remains a free read.

Please enjoy the following short, Regency-set, erotic story.



Cupid, Be Mine




The ballroom at Camden House was a sight to behold. Eschewing the usual potted trees and vases of hothouse flowers, the room was decorated with Grecian pillars twined ’round with evergreen branches. Amongst the limbs were dotted small white roses, along with glowing, pierced lanterns that cast patterned dots of light onto the adjacent walls, where the light from the chandeliers couldn’t reach.
Having been among those arriving in time to see the ballroom before the dancing began, Helena had admired the beautiful design chalked onto the floor of the room. Although done all in white—a subtle reminder of her host’s dislike for overt ostentation—it was nonetheless elegant, the arabesque pattern swirling across the boards, as though in anticipation of the dancer’s movements.
Now the pattern was smudged and fading beneath those dancer’s feet, and the atmosphere of expectation Helena had felt at the start of the evening had been partially fulfilled. Again in keeping with his air of restraint and dignity, their host had made the half-expected announcement and tolerated the riotous response to his news with the small tilt of his lips that passed for a smile. However, once the dancing started and he’d done his duty by opening the floor, he’d begun a stealthy retreat.
And thus, in the midst of the celebrations, Cupid slipped as inconspicuously as possible away from his guests in the ballroom. Helena, throwing caution to the wind, followed.
It was not their usual manner of doing things. He most often came, oh, so discreetly to her, rather than the other way around. But tonight...tonight was different. There was no more time for discretion, for waiting and wondering.
The long strides and proud carriage of the figure ahead sent a sweet shiver of desire trembling through her chest. Softening and warming her inside, it vibrated out to her nipples and down to the already damp flesh between her thighs. Something in the manner of his movements, the ease and grace, had entranced her from the very first. He had always been, to her, the embodiment of what a man should be—strong, responsible, noble of carriage and speech. Yet she’d also seen a hint, deep in his eyes, of passions perhaps not easily aroused but no less ferocious for being veiled.
She trembled, knowing now just how untamed those passions could be. Once unleashed they’d scorched and seared her, melting and reforming her into a woman who no longer cared to be a cool, English rose but only craved, with all her heart, another chance to lie in the heat of his desire. It was a thrill simply to watch him walk through the corridors of Camden House. She knew the civilized veneer and flawless evening clothes hid a body beautiful enough to steal her breath, yet powerful and skilled enough to leave her both slightly bruised and mindlessly sated.
He turned down a dimly lit hallway and Helena went around the corner in time to see a door ahead close.
Suddenly hesitant she paused, took a deep breath. With unsteady hands she tweaked the curls around her face, smoothed her gown’s gold tissue overlay. So much was riding on these coming moments and uncertainty hollowed her stomach, made her heart race.
It was no longer enough just to have his body, to be with him for those short periods of time, basking in his company, laughing and sharing the incredible physical communion. The pleasure he gave her, as wonderful as it was, as desperately as she wanted, craved, needed it, was insufficient.
“Stay the course, Helena,” she whispered, trying to find the optimism to believe all would come right, knowing there was no guarantee it would be so. Yet experience had taught her to go boldly forward even when everything inside screamed retreat. This must be done and tonight, with its aura of romance and happiness, seemed as good a time as any.
So, with one last steadying inhalation, another sweep of gloved fingers across her gown, she opened the door.
The small parlour was illuminated only by the crackling, popping fireplace. He was standing near a slightly open window, holding a lit cheroot, gaze fixed upon the frosty panes. Glowing flames wove strands of red into his dark hair and gave the handsome profile a harsh, almost demonic cast. The slight smile curving his beautiful lips seemed mocking.
She faltered—the certitude only just found fading away to be replaced with cold overwhelming fear. But it was too late to turn back. Pulling the well-worn cloak of sophistication and banter about her suddenly chilled shoulders, Helena stepped forward and smiled.
“I thought I saw you slip away, Lord Casterbury.”
Lost in thought, Elias only vaguely registered the sound of the door closing, but the low melodious voice brought instant recognition. Happiness flared deep in his soul as he turned to face his lover.
Firelight caressed Lady Helena Durham, emphasising her almost shocking silver-blonde, dark-eyed beauty. No matter how long the interval since last he saw her, whether two minutes or two days, the first glimpse of her always made his heart leap. She was perfection, and he let his gaze wander with lingering bliss over the softly aristocratic face, down the long smooth neck to the sweetly rounded body below. For six months he had been graced by her intimacy, yet he still could not quite believe his good fortune.
After their cool and formal greeting earlier at the receiving line his eyes had been drawn to her again and again, like a compass to north. Her golden overdress stood out in the sea of pink, red and white gowns worn in honour of St. Valentine’s Day. Lushly embroidered with dark-red, intertwined hearts at neckline and hem, the design was sophisticated, worldly, and suited the wealthy widow.
Looking up to voice a compliment, he met her sparkling gaze.
For a moment he couldn’t move. The night drew closer, the music and laughter from the ballroom fading into insignificance beneath the flash of emotion in her eyes. A tendril of smoke from his cigar arose between them, wreathing her in a mysterious mist before dissipating under a cold, impatient puff of breeze from the window. Helena shivered.
“Lady Durham, forgive me.”
He made to throw the cheroot out into the night, but she forestalled him with a gesture. “Do not forego your pleasure for me, Lord Casterbury. After the announcement of your sisters’ betrothals it is well deserved, to be sure. Did you come in here for a quiet gloat?”
Ignoring her invitation to continue smoking, he disposed of the cheroot and pulled the window shut. Bowing low, he mustered as much severity as he could to say, “I would never be so ill mannered as to gloat, my lady.”
“Then you are unusual indeed, my lord.” Lady Durham rose from her curtsey and walked past him to rub at a frosty pane with one gloved finger. A hint of perfume wafted lightly behind her, surrounding him, magical and arousing. He would know it anywhere. Once he’d asked her about it and learned it had been formulated just for her by a French perfumer. Sweet, wild, unforgettable, with tones of vanilla and tuberose, it suited her implicitly.
The urge to touch her was almost overwhelming but, having six sisters and a fashionable mother, he was cognizant of the intricacy of ladies’ toilettes, their dislike of having hair or clothing mussed, so restrained himself. Instead he set about lighting candles around the room. Even so occupied he couldn’t stop his gaze from constantly drifting back to her as she spoke.
“Most men, having achieved what you have, would feel it their right—nay, their obligation—to gloat. Four sisters already married and the final two both now affianced to worthy men!” Mischief shone in the look she sent him over her shoulder. “Even your brother, once the despair of every matchmaking Mama in society, is happily settled. No wonder the ton have declared you to be the embodiment of Cupid himself.”
A wave of embarrassment rose in Elias, and he grimaced. “A silly appellation. I was quite annoyed to hear of it.”
Lady Durham chuckled, the soft, light sound sweeter than any music to his ears. “I found it amusing, especially tonight. Is St. Valentine’s Day not supposed to be Cupid’s busiest evening? Yet here you are without occupation, having successfully accomplished all your goals.”
Drawn to her side, Elias positioned himself so as to see her profile. Soft curls called for release from pins and combs so they might flow over her body. The sweet clarity of cheek and jaw and throat begged for his lips to taste, arouse, devour, and then use them as pathways to further pleasure. Her heavy-lidded eyes, dark and unfathomable, looked swiftly at him and away again, her breath hitching on an inhalation.
Desire—wild and sweet as her perfume—exploded in his stomach, quickening his heartbeat and stiffening his prick, but he kept his voice level, matter-of-fact. “My only goal was to fulfil my responsibility to my family. ’Tis ridiculous for the ton to ascribe any god-like attributes to the manner of my achieving it.”
Lady Durham turned to scrutinize his face, her expression veiled. Yet her gaze seemed determined to probe for every securely hidden secret he might hold. “But ’twas such a lofty ambition, you will agree?”
It had been an overwhelming objective, but he would not admit as much—not even to her. Strange to look back now, to recall the immense weight of the charge put on him at the age of only seventeen by his father’s death. The lightening of his spirit now he had discharged the duty to his sisters, his mother, was almost palpable.
Injecting a hint of humour into his voice, he replied, “No greater ambition than that of any man given a family to care for, so comparing me to Cupid seems to be refining rather too much on the matter.”
“True, my lord.” With a light laugh she moved away from his side, and he turned to watch her walk toward the fireplace. The sway of her hips and undulating path of her heart-bedecked train enticed him to follow, but he held his position. “Your physique is, shall I say, rather too well-developed to be the young Cupid.” The amused tilt of her lips, the smouldering shadows in her eyes instantly ignited an answering flame in his belly. “And wings could prove to be more of an impediment than an advantage.”
Immediately he knew what she referred to, only just stopped a harsh groan of desire from breaking from his lips. If he had wings the previous night Helena could not have knelt, naked, pressed against his back, her moonlight-shaded hair falling over his shoulder into his lap. They could not have watched their intertwined reflections in the mirror above her dressing table as she wrapped a thick tress around his cock. There would be no sublime sensation of satin-cream flesh behind, silken sin before, as she took him to the brink of orgasm.
“Indeed, wings could prove problematic,” he replied. It was all he could manage through the confluence of desire and longing clogging his throat.
Helena’s smile widened, but her gaze drifted from his to settle on the flames as she pulled off her elbow-length gloves and set them aside. “Yet, although you seem determined to make light of your accomplishments, I thought you might turn your skills to finding me a husband.”
For one long moment, unable to move or breathe, Elias Camden, tenth Baron Casterbury, ceased to exist. What lingered after the loss of self was first a cold mass, horrified by the very thought of what she asked. When the icy shock faded all that remained was a primitive urge to drive the thought of any other man from Helena’s mind.
“So you have decided to re-enter the marital lists, my lady?”
She had been unable to look at him as she made her outrageous request and now, with a plummeting heart, Helena was glad not to see his face. The cold, detached tone of his question told her everything she needed to know. Once, the day after they made love for the first time, Elias had proposed. It was, she was sure, done out of a sense of honour rather than any true feelings on his part. Already enamoured with him, unwilling to chance another loveless marriage, her refusal had been an amused invitation to continue the affair—as long as it was without promises or expectations on either part.
Now so in love she could hardly bear it, Helena realised her first instincts had been correct. No matter the ease they experienced being together or the ecstasy found in each other’s arms, Elias had no interest in taking her to wife.
Being right had never hurt so horribly before.
As he came to stand beside her, resting an elbow on the mantelpiece, pride alone kept the slight smile on her face, the amused lightness in her voice. “The thought has occurred to me.” She gave a careless shrug, trying to seem unconcerned, even as her skin prickled with awareness and her heart wept in agony. Drawing a breath redolent with his essence into her lungs further inflamed her shameful desires. Strange to think them shameful only now his disinterest in her beyond the bed was clear. “And I think Papa would be happy to see me settled once more.”
“Ah, yes, I’m sure the duke would like to know his daughter is in good hands. But that begs the question, my lady—what are you looking for in a husband?”
You, Elias, only you.
“I hardly know.” Aware of his gaze on her face, she finally raised hers to meet it, forcing the smile to stay on her lips. His eyes looked different, darker than their normal sky-blue hue, glassy, as though fever had taken hold of him. Stumbling slightly over the words, she continued, “You...you are the expert, Elias. What do you think I need?”
ME.
The word roared through his mind, his heart, his soul, but he clenched his teeth and kept it from finding release into the air. Instead he stepped closer to trace the curve of her lips with his forefinger, wanting only to die, drowning, in the dark maelstrom of her eyes.
“You would entrust me with such a delicate task?” Keeping his voice steady and cool was the most difficult thing he had ever attempted or achieved.
Helena’s lips quivered beneath his touch, the smile fading, her tongue slipping out to touch his burning flesh. “Of course.” It was but a thread of sound, and deep inside he exulted at the evidence of her arousal. “I believe you know me better than anyone.”
Closer yet he moved, forcing her to tip her head back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. Her breasts brushed his chest with each shallow breath, hers or his. “I know you more intimately, perhaps.” He let his finger slide down to pause on the racing pulse at the base of her neck. “Should I use that knowledge as my guide?”
“If that will serve, my lord.”
Helena heard the desire in her own passion-drenched words, and burned anew. Her intention had not been to seduce, or be seduced. But if this was the last chance to be with him she would push all scruples aside and grasp it with both hands.
“It will, I think.” Lightly, lightly, he teasingly swept the swell of her breasts above her décolletage. “You are a woman of impulse, of whim, who is wont to seize any opportunity that takes her fancy.”
“How can you say that, my lord? On what evidence do you base that hypothesis?”
He chuckled and moved his hands to her shoulders, sliding the small sleeves down her arms, as her heart thundered in her ears. Bending his head, Elias proved neither stays nor shift were an impediment to marauding lips. Pushing both aside he lifted her breasts free of her bodice, brushing his thumbs across the tight, aching tips. His satisfied groan as he circled first one then the other nipple with his tongue almost took her beyond all restraint. Instinctively her hands rose to his hair, fingers tunnelling into the thick, silky mass.
“Our first carriage ride, when I had no intention of seducing you, but you made it impossible for me to resist.” Elias sucked her nipple between his lips, just as he had sucked her throbbing clitoris that night. The memory made her shudder—drew a low moan from deep inside. “You offered yourself so sweetly, even knowing we chanced discovery could not stop me from taking you.”
Laying back on the carriage seat, spread open for him, was the most natural, most necessary thing she had ever done. So suddenly, so completely had she wanted him, no bounds or mores of society would have stopped her. Ready to be taken, prepared for the invasion of his thick, hard cock, she had not expected him to kneel between her thighs and possess her in a different way. The hot slick slide of his tongue across her flesh, the commanding tug of his lips, had thrown her immediately into orgasm. “I didn’t think...” you could make me feel so much, so soon—that I would fall in love with you.
“My point exactly,” Straightening to his full height, Elias spread broad palms over her buttocks and drew her, unresisting, against his body. “You act on instinct, without thought.” With a tilt of his hips he drove his cock over her gown, along the centre line of her stomach. Shuddering, Helena clutched his arms for balance. “You need a man who can curb you.”
Stung, she reached up, tugging at his perfectly tied cravat until it fell away. Going up on the tips of her toes she nipped his neck, made him shudder in turn, and Helena gloried in knowing just how to heighten his excitement. “So I need a firm hand on the reins?”
Elias chuckled, but there was no warmth in the harsh sound. “Oh, yes, you do. But the right man for you would also know when to let you have your head.”
She would have laughed, except his hands had somehow found their way under her gown to the bare flesh of her thighs, and she could only moan. Somehow catching her breath, she asked, “Like you did last night?”
“Yes,” it was a growl, full of excitement and, strangely, anger. “Exactly like last night.”
In that instant it was as though she were there again, in her bedroom, pressing her breasts against the broad back, feeling the strong body shuddering against hers, hearing him growl her name in ecstasy. The memory gave her both a powerful jolt of pleasure and an equal stab of pain. How could it mean so much to her and so little to him?
She welcomed the spurt of anger that thought fired into her belly, used it to give her the strength she needed to see this necessary, heartbreaking encounter through to the end.
“What else do I need, Elias?” Helena shifted against him, initiating another slide of his erection across her trembling stomach. “Tell me.”
He eased his body slightly away, gathering her dress in his hands, holding it up with his arms as he encircled her once more. “You need a man of strength.”
With firm, determined hands he lifted her and Helena wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, gasping as his fabric covered cock nestled against the pulsing flesh of her cunt.
“Yes.” He groaned. “Yes, with strength to match your own—but with gentleness too.” His fingers dipped deep between her thighs from behind, sliding slowly, inexorably into the wetness he’d created there by simply being Elias, the only man she’d loved. “For you like to be touched gently too, and to keep you a man must be prepared to be both iron and silk.”
Oh, the wonder of soft seeking fingers—slipping, touching, circling, penetrating, exploring—exciting her until release seemed but a heartbeat away. Did he realise the truth of what he was saying, doing? He spoke of strength and gentleness, conquest and the tender enslavement of the conquered. How could he not understand it had already been done—she was captured and captivated—by him?
Trembling, she held on, let her lips move and kiss and silently whisper her love against his sensitive neck. Elias shuddered again and again, cock hard and thrusting against her mound, hand gentle and shivering between her legs.
Tears rushed suddenly to her eyes and she dipped her forehead to his shoulder so they would not fall against his skin.
“Elias.” She whispered it, knowing he would hear this, the only words she could say out loud. “Elias.” My love. “I need you inside me.” So I can pretend I will always have you. So I can lose myself in the physical and not fall apart.
“Ahh.” Elias stepped forward until the cool wall was hard against her back. Braced against it, she reached between their bodies and beneath her skirts to find the buttons of his breeches, fumbling them open with shaking fingers. “This is the final attribute you must have in a man.”
Surprised, she almost looked up from her chore, stopped herself at the last moment. He must not see the wetness on her lashes. “What is that?
“Sometimes he must allow you to take the lead.”
Finally, finally, the falls sagged open, and she moaned in relief to feel the hard length of his cock in her hand. Tracing the contours, feeling the velvet flesh move over the engorged core, the bead of moisture at the tip, drove her beyond arousal into a semi-dream state. Here, in this hot, candle-lit world, unlike the real one, it was only them, their desire, the emotion he inspired within her heart.
Elias whispered, “And at others times the man who loves you must be prepared to risk all, and take control.”
The depth in his voice, the passion, was such that when he lifted her chin she could no more resist the demand of his fingers than stop loving him. Meeting his gaze, Helena felt her heart stutter, unsure of whether the emotion in his eyes was but a continuation of her waking dream.
Slowly he raised her higher, the tip of his cock poised against her quivering, desperate flesh. He didn’t speak—not with words—but his eyes seemed to glow with promise as he lowered her, shuddering, to enfold him. Deep, deeper he slid—heart deep, soul deep—until there was not a corner of her not penetrated, permeated by him. Widening his stance he leaned into her, still and strong and throbbing, until she felt herself no longer a singular being but a part of him, and together they truly were complete.
The tears came again, welling, pooling and finally slipping down her cheeks. Impatiently she blinked them away, wanting only to keep looking into Elias’s eyes as he took her to ecstasy.
He moved—one slow, intense withdrawal and thrust. Instinctively her body arched, writhed to meet his and yet, transfixed, they still stared into each other’s eyes. Again he thrust, and again, and she rocked forward, shuddering, soundlessly crying out her deepening bliss. She touched his face and neck, but neither looked away, hardly blinked, lest the connection be broken.
Faster now—deeper, harder—each impact of their bodies binding her soul more tightly to him. Elias’s face was set in desire’s strictest cast, but his eyes blazed with something soft yet far stronger than mere passion. Something beautiful, wondrous, swirling in the gaze still locked on hers.
The rising tension twisted inside and she tightened her grip on his shoulders, using her thighs to help her rise and fall.
“Helena.” Her name was as a canticle on his lips, a salve to her aching heart. “Helena.”
The rough, sweet sound of his voice pushed her to the threshold, opened the door and pulled her, sobbing, through the portal of release. Only then did her eyes close, forced shut by pleasure. But the bond between them remained, strong and true, from her heart to his. With one last whisper of her name Elias stiffened, cock pulsing in ecstasy, and the power of it shocked her into orgasm once more.
Slowly, slowly, the rapture of the moment waned, but still Elias held her tight, joined to his body in the most intimate way.
“Why were you crying, love? Will you tell me?”
Shattered, unable to respond, Helena pressed her face into his shoulder.
“Then, can I tell you why I also felt like weeping?”
Disbelief made her lift her head to search his beloved face. Helena was shocked to see the sheen of tears in his eyes. Suddenly frightened she rested her fingers against his lips.
“Elias—”
Reaching for her hand, he kissed the palm and placed it against his heart. The strong quick beat pounded into her flesh. Leaning forward, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered.
“The first time we touched I was devastated by the depth of my feelings, not realising they would grow with each subsequent encounter. You assured me it was only lust. Why then does my heart crave you so, my soul insist I belong to only you? I risk destruction with this love, for if you leave me I will never truly be alive again. But I can no more stay away from you than grow wings and become Cupid. If it is your desire to end our affair, tell me now Helena. Do not leave me wondering.”
Relief was devastating, made her head swim, stole breath and voice, even the ability to move. Only when a shudder wracked Elias and he dipped his forehead to her shoulder, did she realise he still did not know her heart.
“Oh, Elias, to me you are love personified.” She began to shake, unable to fully articulate the emotions thundering through her. It was still too new, the awareness of his feelings too overwhelming to be either denied or acknowledged. So she smiled against his cheek, and simply whispered, “And, darling Cupid, will you be mine?”
His arms tightened around her, promising safety and shelter and love—so much love! “I already am, beloved.” Joy roughened his voice and thrilled her soul. “And always will be.”