The gloves made her feel sexy. She'd felt sexy before, feminine and appealing. Before Aphrodite imbued her with Love's magic, she felt attractive enough to leave the house without make up. High self image is hard in this world. Especially when so few women in magazines are black or have natural hair. But her mother, her real mother, had gifted her with confidence and the skills to prioritize the important things in life. Goodwill toward others. 

        There was a point in her life, back in the mid sixties, that she'd lost a little bit of herself. Her mother had died and Geneva was in love with a man, Richard, who did not love her in return. She'd taken a broken man and thought that she could fix him. Instead, he broke her as if she wasn't anything more than an egg he'd make for breakfast.

        But that was a long time ago and much of it, thanks to the sometimes merciful Goddess of Love, was fuzzy. And perpetually at twenty-six, Geneva had both the confidence that comes with age and the bouncy vitality of youth on her side. Being pitied by Aphrodite had it's benefits. 

        Geneva didn't have anything else made of latex in her apartment aside from a box of condoms and maybe some yellow cleaning gloves under the kitchen sink. Luckily, it was black and she did have a cute little black satin chemise that she'd bought for herself two years ago. She donned it in a hurry, not sure how long it would take the Reaper to show up. She knew he'd come, knew that he'd be drawn to her like she was to him, but Death could be unpredictable.

        He showed up while she was tidying her room. Lizzy always told her that she could probably keep her apartment cleaner if she had guests over more often, because guests were the only reason she put away her things. 

        "Sorry about the mess, I didn't notice how out of hand it'd gotten until I imagined you standing by my pile of laundry," she apologized while bulldozing past him to shovel all her clean laundry into a hamper and shoving it all into a closet. It was certainly not the sexiest start to the night. 

        "Did you dress up to entice me, Cupid?" The Reaper asked, his voice low and hard with suspicion. 

        Geneva stopped sweeping her earrings and necklaces into a wooden jewelry box. She turned her large hazel eyes on him and a cute, unassuming smile curved her lips. 

        "I don't need to dress up to entice you, Reaper. Apparently, all I have to do is be myself," Geneva retorted lightly and continued clearing off her nightstand. "Do you feel seduced?" 

        What she told Dot was true. Geneva didn't know how to draw her aura back into herself. She knew that her presence could sometimes be overpowering to others. But she never expected anyone like Adrian, an instrument of Death, to fall victim to her allure. Love was a human condition. It made her very curious about him. 

        "No," Adrian replied coolly but she could see that he was blushing. He looked very cute when his pale skin glowed pink with embarrassment...Or arousal. 

        "Did you go back to dressing like a Duke because I said something about your sweater?" Geneva asked as her eyes traveled down his tall form. 

        He'd gone back to the polished boots and britches but he'd worn only his shirt and a vest over it, forgoing the doublet coat. He wasn't as muscular as Brian. But his frame was still quite beautiful and Geneva was eager to trace his musculature beneath her newly acquired latex gloves. 

        "I never dressed like a Duke. I was a librarian's son. I was a...an academic," he replied. He looked so awkward standing in the far side of her room by the window she'd left the letter. Still as a statue but tense and ready to flee.

        She'd come on a bit strong and he was expecting her, anticipating her every move to counter with his own. Geneva didn't know if she should be worried that he was prepared to battle her charms or excited to have such a challenge.

        "That's a pretty pompous way of saying that you were a nerd," Geneva murmured as she slid onto her bed. She moved like a cat. Her body poured itself onto her blue and white striped duvet, allowing him a perfect view down to front of her chemise before her breasts flattened against her bed. 

        "I came from a time when literacy was very low. It was impressive to most people if you owned and read books" To his benefit, he didn't take a step back but his eyes were trained on the swells of her breasts, fully entranced but holding his ground.

        "Come here. Sit and talk with me a while," Geneva said, rolling over onto her side and patting the space in front of her. 

        His eyes left her breasts, flitted over her smooth brown legs, up the curve of her hips, and finally rested on her face. She liked the way he traced figure with his eyes. His gaze was so intense, so focused, she felt like the center of his world every time he looked at her. It felt like a very nice place to be. 

        "Why did you summon me?" Adrian asked, his voice laced with exasperation and the tiniest hint of panic. He still hadn't taken any steps to come closer to her or retreat. Anticipation and curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. 

        "I want to unarm you," she answered easily with a shrug. At his confused expression, Geneva elaborated, "You feel as though you're a danger to me. That's why you're afraid of sitting on this bed. You're petrified of the possibility of taking my soul. It's the most natural thing for you and you can't turn it off. Even when you're turned on. So it scares you that you can kiss me and forget that you're a Reaper of Souls." 

        It was meant to be a lie. The best lies are based on truth but when she verbalized it, heard herself saying it, Geneva realized how very true it was. He really was afraid to hurt her. But he wanted her. 

        Geneva rose up on the bed, slid off the mattress and advanced upon him in slow sure strides. She didn't want to frighten him any more than he already was, but she didn't want him to think he had a chance to escape her. 

~~~~~

        Adrian never tried to stop her. Not when she closed the distance between, her feet bare and silent. Not when her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down. Not even when she seared him with her hot wet kisses. 

        She looked beautiful, always beautiful. The satin of her chemise shimmered in the dim lighting of her room. The trim of black lace at her breasts seemed so erotic. He imagined the texture of that lace on his lips, under his fingertips. 

        And that was the danger. He wanted to touch her so badly. But he stood stiffly with his hands fisted at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. 

        Adrian didn't know how she did it. He was taller than her and he didn't doubt his strength over her. And yet, when he felt the bed behind his knees, he knew that she'd somehow maneuvered them over to her bed. Unable to resist, Adrian sank down, the springs creaked when she straddled his lap. 

        He heard himself groan at the weight of her body over his erection. The pleasure was so sharp it left his breathless. Already, he panted against her lips. Half panicked and thoroughly aroused.

        "Stop. I can't," Adrian whispered against her lips. She tasted so good that he regretted his call for them to cease. But she stopped and pulled back enough to look at them.

        Her eyes were hooded and sultry. She looked lost in her own passions but she still heard the panic in his voice.

        "Too fast?" She asked with a sexy rasp. "It's okay. I can slow down." 

        She ran her fingers through his hair. Her gloves caught just a little but the little shocks of pain when her fingers tugged mixed with the pleasure of her fingertips massaging his scalp made him groan again. His hips rocked up against her of their own volition. He felt another sharp pang of pleasure when he realized that his trousers were the only barrier between them. She wore nothing else beneath that chemise.

        Very lightly, the Cupid placed little kisses on his lips and along his jawline, leading down to his neck. 

        "I don't think I can keep myself from touching you," he confessed in a serious and almost inaudible whisper.

        "Let me touch you instead," she replied as she reached for his wrist. He resisted her at first but she persisted in drawing his hand up between them. Tension made his whole body tremble beneath her. "I told you. I want to unarm you," she added in a hushed tone.

        Geneva pushing him a bit so that he could lie back on the bed. Again, he resisted her initial nudge but found himself unable to deny her for long. She placed both of his arms up over his head where they would be out of the way but still very dangerous. If he didn't continuously remind himself not to touch her, he knew his body would reach for her as lovers and wont to do.

        From above him, she kissed him. She drowned him beneath her wave of lust so completely that he gasped for air each time he surfaced. Still, his hands inched toward her, aching to feel the curves of her bottom beneath his palm.

        She seemed to notice his declining control and took matters into her own hands, literally. The Cupid took hold of his hands, laced her fingers through them and held them in place above his head while she ravished his mouth, tasting him with every languid sweep of her tongue.

        Despite how delectable her kiss was, and how beautiful she looked hovering above him, Adrian became alarmingly distracted by her hands. 

        She was touching his hands. Their fingers were laced. He squeezed her smaller gloved hands in his and relished the sensation. It was more erotic that the kiss. But it also made him feel excruciatingly vulnerable. 

        Cupid stopped kissing him. She leaned back a bit and looked at him curiously, not at all insulted by his distraction. 

        "Are you all right? I went too face again, huh?" She licked her lips and Adrian's eyes shot to her mouth. 

        "No. Yes. Well. It's just you're..." Adrian began. 

        "I'm..." Geneva prompted.

        "My hands." He didn't know how to tell her that she'd surprised him with so simple a gesture. 

        "Your hands. I've got them," she stated as she tried to follow his logic. Her face brightened with understanding. She appeared wonderfully devilish but achingly tender all at once in the look she offered him. "I'm holding your hands."

        She released one but held the other in both of her hands, applying gentle pressure to massage his fingers. It felt so nice, Adrian closed his eyes.

        "What did you study?" 

        "Excuse me?" Adrian asked, his eyes shot open in surprise by the question.

        "When you were an...academic. What was your field of interest?" Geneva elaborated.

        It was hard to think when she traced her fingers lightly along the lines of his palm as if mapping the path to his downfall. 

        "Literature. A lot of poetry. But I was on my way to...To becoming..." Adrian groaned low in his throat, almost a growl, when she gently blew on his fingertips. It was so frustrating. This wasn't anywhere near the powerful erotic gestures she'd made with her body, with her tongue, and yet it devastated him all the same, if not more.

        "Becoming what?" She prompted. He could hear amusement in her voice which only added to his desire for her. He liked the confidence with which she wielded against him.

        "A...A doctor. I was studying medicine."

        "A doctor? Really?" Geneva sounded truly surprised.

        "To make my parents happy. I was more interested in reading about medical achievements than actually achieving them myself," he continued. 

        "We all would do anything to make our parents happy," she said.

        That was how it began. 

        Geneva told him about San Francisco in the 1960s. She told him about her mother and how she'd died visiting relatives in Mississippi during the race riots. She moved across the country to get away from heartbreak. 

        In return, he told her that his mother made the best cakes in all of Rochester. His father, the librarian, had died trying to save books from a burning building. His death had left Adrian lost for much of his final mortal years. Without purpose, he reverted to his initial love of poetry.

        They talked for hours on her bed, sprawled beside one another, hands clasped always. The physical connection was necessary, it anchored them.

        It had been so long since he felt anything like it. The final years of his mortality had been empty of this sort of affection. He didn't even realized he missed it.

        It seemed she'd done the impossible. She'd unarmed him just as she said she would. The Cupid held Death in her hands. He feared he'd come to submit to her every whim and yet he felt staggeringly cherished by her touch. 

        There was danger even in this, but Adrian couldn't be bothered to think about the consequences. 

____________________

Author's Note:

This didn't go where you thought it would, did it? You lusty bunch thought it'd get down to the nitty gritty and I was all...Nope. It's just some hand holding, y'all. Calm your horomones. 

I'm just kidding. I thought it was gonna get super naughty too. But I felt as though they needed just a hint of real affection first. Besides, it's almost Valentine's Day in the US and I just love a little fluff around that holiday. 

So much has happened and I didn't think I'd get to edit this in time. But I made it. So see you next Wednesday!