The arrows were magic. And the arrows were strong. But the arrows were not capable of anything outside of what it said on the metaphorical label. They created nothing. They altered nothing. They merely rearranged priorities and pushed stuff around until they uncovered emotional paydirt. Love or hate, most people felt one or the other. Or both. Still. The people they infected did not change in terms of fundamentals. Nerds stayed nerds. Jocks stayed jocks. Myka stayed Myka and Pete stayed Pete.

And both were exact opposites as lovers.

Myka was studious. Had been all her life. She was a reader, patiently pouring over texts and complex reading materials in order to learn. Her father was responsible, mostly. Books had been his whole life. Hence, they'd been hers as well. So when she took a man to bed, she tended to read him carefully. She'd pour over his body the same way she'd pour over her books. Usually, her preference in men was similar. Smart men. Circumspect men. Between the sheets, passion was often muted in favor of exploration as they mapped each other, the cerebral winning out over the purely physical. Not to suggest the she wasn't a passionate woman, under the right circumstances, but she certainly followed a pattern. Myka studied men.

Pete dove. Straight in.

Pete didn't think. Not like that. When he was with a woman, Pete was a whirlwind of hands and lips and words. He didn't hear himself when he whispered. He didn't censor himself when he ran his fingers over her bare flesh for his own pleasure as much as hers. He was a man of hedonism. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes. And his taste in women was no different. Usually, he went for party girls. Pretty little things with big smiles, easy laughter, and zero expectations of him once the sheets had cooled. That wasn't to say that Pete preferred airheads, per se, but they certainly kept the sexual experience nice and simple. Smart women, sexy as they could be, weren't simple. They didn't use their sexuality as freely. They didn't want a quick roll in the sack and an empty bed come sun up. They certainly didn't giggle and gush and tell a man in no uncertain terms that they found him fuckable. They wanted talking. And great expectations. And more talking. And promises kept. And mistakes owned up to. And rugs from Pottery Barn. And more freakin' talking.

Pete feared the commitment needed to keep a smart woman. So he stuck with pretty and giggly and "I'll call you sometime"s.

Both of them now felt like fools.

Myka had experienced her share of sex, but she'd never been overwhelmed. The studious lovers of her past paled miserably in the blinding heat of Pete's love. He fucked like a man possessed, all hard and soft and sweet. And he didn't stop. Not even for five minutes. He couldn't get enough of her. Just as she couldn't get enough of him. But unlike her, he didn't seem to tire. She felt utterly exhausted; wrung out as he squeezed every single drop of pleasure from her and demanded more. Always more. He was insatiable. Just as she lay spent and whimpering softly in his arms, her back spooned against his chest and boneless from his dizzying lovemaking, he'd gently pry her thighs apart and take her from behind. Her whimpers turned to cries as her body weakly welcomed him in, yet again. As he stroked her senseless for the millionth time, he'd whisper to her, just like she hoped he would.

"I can't help it," he murmured, clasping her hip and driving deep as he held her tight. "I have to have you again, My." He tipped her chin towards him so that he could reach her lips. Her torso turned back to him, searching for the kiss he was so eager to give. "Come for me again?" he asked hopefully.

"I can't," she moaned against his lips. "It's too much. You're too much. I can't take it, Pete. It's too good."

He smiled and stilled inside her, locking her ass tight against his groin. "You feel that?" He flexed his cock inside her, making her shiver and clench him in response.

"Yes. Oh god, yes."

His smile grew as he brushed it over her sighing lips. "That's me, My. That's how bad I want you. And that's where I'm staying until you come again." He caught her moan of tortured desire in his mouth. "I can wait all night, baby."

Myka exclaimed as he bucked suddenly, her core stretching wider than ever before to accommodate his powerful thrusts. She came raggedly as he held her close, absorbing her trembles and relishing her sobs as he pounded out his own orgasm and roared with his release.

Myka was dazzled by him, no question.

But it was Pete that was completely blown out of the water.

Pretty and giggly was fun, but never in his life had sex been devastating. Pretty and giggly girls liked his body and made no secret of it, but they had never explored him with the slow adoration that his partner lavished on him. Just like her books, Myka poured over Pete, using her body as a means to read him. And not only was he read with a scholar's appreciation, he was also listened to very carefully. He felt her rapt attention on his every groan, every whisper, every single endearment he called her. He could sense her filing them away, cross-referenced with what she had done to make him utter that sound. Kissing his chest made him murmur incoherently. Rubbing his back made him purr. Raking her nails through his hair made him smile and moan her name. Whispering his name in just the right pitch made him instantly hard. And she tracked him, as well. His scars, his bone structure, the miniscule dips and lines that made his body his own. He felt her memorizing them.

She recorded all of it, and damn if Pete didn't feel like the luckiest man alive under her infatuated scrutiny.

In the past, women had enjoyed him. This woman drank him in. Absorbed him. Learned him.

Pete had never felt so loved in his life.

Now, sated for the moment, he flipped to his back and dragged her with him, not satisfied until she covered him head to toe. Drinking in her kiss again, he finally let her rest against him. She sighed blissfully as she sank into his frame, each piece of them lining up with spooky complement. He felt her drifting, even though he was wide awake and already wanting more. Not sex, necessarily, just more. More kisses. More sighs. More staring at her. More everything.

"Sleepy?" he asked, his fingers looping into her curly hair as she lay on his chest.

"Mmm-hmm," she answered, placing a small kiss on his pectoral. "Little."

"Still love me?" he whispered playfully.

She chuckled tiredly and lifted her head to look at him. "Sadly, I can't seem to help it."

He smiled wanly, but didn't laugh. "Really? You wouldn't have chosen to?"

Her smile dipped until it matched his softer one. Gently reaching out to trace his face, she answered, "It's not that. I love loving you, Pete. But..." She paused and looked away.

He reached up and chucked her chin back up. "But?"

She sighed. "Before the arrow, I was too afraid to love someone like you."

His brow creased and he cocked his head. "I don't get it."

She looked at him unblinkingly and Pete once again felt her razor-sharp mind calculating him. He inhaled quickly at the feeling. At length, she answered. "Loving you is like loving a sports hero. Or an author, for me," she added amusedly. "It's adoring someone who's adored by many." She stopped, watching him process. "Women adore you, Pete. And you adore them. I was terrified of the possibility..." she paused again, looking for the words. Her finger skimmed one of his eyebrows. She watched its progress as she spoke. "You know that Aretha Franklin song, Chain of Fools? That's what I'd be terrified of. Just another fool in a chain of fools who loved you and wasn't loved in return."

She smiled warmly, even as he frowned at her description. "You look annoyed."

His hands slid possessively down her body until he gripped her waist and ground her into him. She hummed softly at the sensual glide of his rough hands. But his words were even rougher. "You think you're a fool to love me?"

The mojo'd gold in her blood had long since destroyed any defensiveness she might have felt at his tone. "I think you've broken many hearts, yes."

"And you're next? Is that it?"

Her eyes darkened at the suggestion. "I'd better not be, Pete. You might have been a heartbreaker and I might have been a coward, but it all stops now." He watched her expression turn gloriously stormy. "I will not tolerate a broken heart, Pete. Not from you."

His devilish smile roared to life. "And what about mine? What are you going to do with my heart, now that you own it?"

Upping her own smile, she leaned down and kissed him softly. "I...(kiss)...promise...(kiss)...to be brave...(kiss)...and trust it to love me, just as mine loves you."

Pete growled approvingly and returned her kiss, his hands roving hotly down her sides until she broke them apart and laughed softly. "Can I nap first?" she asked him. "Making love to an addict is hard work."

His aggression increased at her words. "I warned you."

She trapped his hands to the mattress and leaned down to kiss him lazily again. "I know. Still love me?"

He relaxed under her and smiled against her lips. "I love you a million zillion. Sleep, My. I need to take care of something anyway."

Knowing that he was just as hopelessly besotted as she was, Myka didn't question what precisely that something was. Instead, she slid to his side and cuddled deep. "Kay. Be here when I wake up."

Pete grinned and kissed her head as he slowly slipped out of bed. "See you in your dreams, pretty baby."