Page 45 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 45

G retta squeezed his waist, head rolling as his lips climbed her throat. “How do you want to do it? Will I be fucking the hero or getting fucked by the villain?”

“Lady’s choice.”

“Hmm. Surprise me.”

He took a step back, eyes roaming her body. They settled on her skirt. It was long and full, pretty modest actually, but he seemed to get a kick out of seeing her in it. As though sorting out wrinkles, Gretta smoothed her hands over her hips, swishing the crisp taffeta.

Expression downright evil, he moved closer— looming . Quite villainously.

She backed away, and he followed, slowly stalking her. He corralled her toward the bedroom like she was skittish prey he’d finally cornered.

Gretta’s heart pounded. She wasn’t used to being the hunted. It ramped up her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see what he did when he caught her.

Not yet, though.

Sneering, she trotted into the bedroom and flung the door shut. He kicked it in hard enough to break the handle. The door crashed against the wall, drifting closed as he came in after her, and the back of her legs touched the bed.

Wielding his height, he crowded her against it. “Lift your skirt.”

She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but his tone was a pistol cocking.

“ Now , Gretta. Do it, or I rip it off.”

The taffeta crunched as she lifted it. When she went too slow for his pleasure, he pushed her onto the bed and shoved handfuls of fabric up her hips.

She propped on her elbows, spreading her thighs. Once her skirt was out the way, he straighted to evaluate her. A square of moonlight from the window perfectly lit her on the bed. He stepped between her legs, and the light hit the straining outline of his cock.

Gretta lay there panting, waiting.

And waiting.

As she reached the brink of demanding he fuck her already, he roughly spread her legs wider. Instead of ripping open his pants and falling on her, he dropped to his knees, one at a time. He tucked a single finger into the waist of her pantalettes. It dragged back and forth along her lower belly.

In an uncharacteristic fit of optimism, Gretta had worn her nicest pair. They were lace-trimmed scraps of black silk, scandalously short, barely worth wearing at all.

The pad of his finger drifted over her mound to the leg hole. He hooked it, giving the silk a tug. “I wondered what these looked like. Did you wear them for me?”

“Yes.”

He untied the little drawstring. “Good of you. They belong to me now.” He pulled them down her legs and shoved them in his pocket.

Before Gretta could stutter a half-hearted protest, he pushed her legs open again. He brought his face close to her naked pussy, into the light.

His expression was hungry— starving. He stared into her depths like they held the secrets of the universe. He drew closer. Gretta felt a light kiss on her cleft.

Wait… Was he going down on her?

She had her answer when his flattened tongue slowly licked her from cunt to clit.

“What are you doing?” she breathed.

“Something I should have when we were fucking around in the loot room.” The tip of his tongue swirled her damp flesh.

Uncertainty edged Gretta’s moan. She’d never had anyone’s mouth on her before. It was too intense, uncomfortably intimate. He must have sensed her hesitation because he lifted his head.

“Do you want this?” His husky voice still played the game, but his eyes grew concerned.

“I don’t know.”

He winced and pressed his face to her thigh. “We can ease up if you want.”

“No. Well, maybe.”

What the hell was her problem? She took his dick pounding in her like a champ, but his mouth was too much to handle? That lick had felt incredible . She could always make him stop if it got to be too much.

“Maybe start slow?” she said.

He kissed her inner knee. “Alright.” Another kiss. “Slow.” He trailed more kisses up her thigh. “How about you tell me where to start.” His breath ghosted over her clit.

“There?”

“Good choice. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

She nodded. Without breaking eye-contact, he steadied her thighs and slipped his tongue out between his parted lips. It lapped her clit with the barest stroke.

Lightning struck Gretta. She felt it in her toes and her fingertips and everywhere in between. She sat up, flattening her skirt to get a better view. “Again.”

Eyes never leaving hers, he gave her another lick.

“Again.”

His tongue pressed harder, lapping.

“ Again . Keep going.”

He swirled around her clit over and over without actually touching it. Going so…fucking… slow .

“Okay,” she panted. “I think I’m ready for more.”

“You’re sure?”

“ Yes. ”

His tongue met her clit head on. He lashed it with quick flicks, only using the tip, hardly any surface but so much pressure.

“Oh god, Anse.”

“I want to taste you. Are you ready for that?”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, considering he was already tasting the fuck out of her. Still, she gave him a throaty, “Yes.”

He adjusted, really settling in. She felt an embarrassingly substantial rivulet leak from her. He lapped it up and closed his eyes with a hum. Tasting.

Gretta fell on the bed with her arms above her head. The feel of him at her entrance, drinking her, was somehow more intimate than actual fucking.

But it felt so goddamn good .

His tongue breached her. She thrust, inviting him deeper. He retreated to the edges, toying, teasing.

“More,” she said. “I’m ready for all of it.”

He jerked her hips off the bed and draped her legs over his shoulders. With a vicious snarl, his open mouth consumed her.

No more tidy laps. His tongue fucked her deep, licking her from the inside out while she arched her back, all but grinding on his face. The wet sounds they made were downright vulgar.

“Oh fuck,” she groaned. “Fuck.”

He went after her clit again, mercilessly.

“Fuck, Ansel! Fuck !”

She launched up to sit and grabbed his hair. Knee bent, she braced a foot on the edge of the bed and thrust against his mouth. He shoved two fingers inside her. She shamelessly fucked herself on them like the depraved harlot he’d made of her.

“Coming!” she cried. “Oh fuck, I’m coming!”

She fell back, spine bowed, and rode tidal waves of pleasure. His buried fingers slowed, and her body sucked them deeper. He kept his tongue pressed to her clit as it pulsed.

Breath coming in gusts, she stared at the ceiling and put a palm to her sweaty forehead.

What the hell had he done to her? And how the hell had she been living without it?

His mouth released her, and he stood between her legs. His breath came nearly as harsh as hers. She couldn’t see his expression anymore, but she felt his stare.

Heat crept up her neck. In something of a delayed reaction, she became overwhelmed and averted her eyes.

He stepped closer, refusing to let her hide. “Eyes on me, Gret. This isn’t over.”

With a flippant huff, she sat. Draping herself in levity, she dragged a fingertip over the straining bulge in his trousers. “I suppose you want me to return the favor.”

His dick leaped against her finger. “If you insist.”

A lurid thrill passed through Gretta, followed by alarm. That was another act she’d never performed. If having him lick her pussy was overwhelmingly intimate, how would sucking his cock affect her?

Of course…doing it to him had crossed her mind once or twice. And she couldn’t deny a rampant curiosity. But she had no concept of technique. It couldn’t be as simple as wrapping her lips around him and literally sucking.

What if she was terrible at it?

Gretta closed her legs. Before blazing any more new sexual trails, she needed to regain control of the situation. He’d had it long enough.

She stood, swatting her skirt in place.

He gripped her nape, villainous again. “I wasn’t finished with that.”

“I’m afraid it’s finished with you. For now. I’ve recalled an unfair detail from our session in the loot room.”

His thumb massaged her bottom lip, lewdly suggesting what else he’d like to put there. “Do tell.”

“I was naked, and you fucked me with your clothes on.” With a swish of her skirt, she crossed the room to turn on a lamp. Facing him again, she lifted her chin and held out her hand, palm up. “Your shirt, please.”

His eyes grew lively. Now that their positions had shifted, he seemed to contemplate his next move. With a long-suffering sigh, he crossed his arms in front and dragged his shirt off by the hem. He draped it over her palm. “My lady.”

She threw it aside, checking on his injured arm then eyeing up his bare chest. His heart visibly pumped, and the arm didn’t seem to bother him.

“Now the pants,” she said.

A few insolent seconds passed before he flipped open the top button. His arousal made the others trickier, but the pants soon dropped. He wasn’t wearing drawers. His thick cock pointed at the ceiling bare.

Gretta impatiently flapped her hand. He stepped out of the pooled fabric and slapped it in her hand, keeping his distance.

The pants landed beside the shirt. “Come here.”

He remained where he stood, shoulders back.

As best she could manage, she looked down her nose at him. “If you ever want me to touch you again, you will come here immediately .”

He rushed closer, cock bobbing. Keeping her eyes on his face, she pulled the black ribbon from her ponytail, and her loose hair spilled around her shoulders. “Turn around.”

He obeyed. She roughly grabbed his wrists and crossed them at his lower back. He held them in place while she bound them with the ribbon.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like? I’m taking you captive.”