Page 46 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 46

S omehow, Ansel’s cock shot harder. He’d never been this aroused in his life.

“You’re taking me captive?”

“Mm-hmm.” She walked a slow circle around him with a finger to her lips, sizing him up. He eagerly awaited her next move.

“On your knees,” she said.

His knees hit the floor. She stood over him with the bearing of a wicked queen, one who’d conquered his armies, razed his cities, and now demanded his body as her due.

To the victor go the spoils, my lady.

“What do you intend to do with me?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She sat on the bed, regal as if it were a throne.

His hips arched toward her. The muscles in his arms bunched, straining the ribbon. He was so aroused it hurt. He’d nearly started stroking himself while feasting on her pussy and now regretted his restraint. Spending a round would have given him the stamina to survive her games.

“Legs wider,” she said.

How should he play this? She liked it when he dominated her, but defiance might prolong his suffering. If he threw himself at her mercy, perhaps she’d prove herself a more benevolent captor than he’d been?

“I’m yours to command.” He lowered his head and spread his knees. “Do with me what you will.”

“You think to court my favor with supplication?”

“Yes.”

“A wise strategy. Now look at me when I’m commanding you.”

He raised his eyes. Her expression was snooty, but he saw amusement around the edges. And arousal.

“What particular favor are you courting?” she asked. “Speak freely, captive.”

Ansel knew a trap when he saw one. Still, he couldn’t think properly enough to offer anything but the truth. “I want your mouth on my cock.”

“Figured as much.” She grew contemplative. “Elaborate, please.”

“Elaborate?”

“You know what the words means. Tell me what you want my mouth to do. And be specific . ”

Ansel eyed her with suspicion. Was she toying with him for her royal amusement? Or did she mean to simply torture him? Either way, he was determined to survive his wicked queen’s cruelty. If this was a duel of wills, he’d fight to win .

Servile pretense abandoned, Ansel drew his shoulders back and let his erection jut proudly. “Well, then. I confess I wouldn’t be difficult to please, but if you insist on specifics, a nice, long lick would be a good place to start.”

“Just a basic lick? Like, along the side?”

“The underside, ideally. Balls to tip, dragging the skin with your tongue.”

Her cheeks flushed and her breath sped up. He stifled a smile. Could he perhaps turn the game around on her?

“Okay,” she said. “What then?”

“Hm. I imagine some men prefer a no-frills, to the point deep throating, but I’m not averse to a little build up. I’d have you give the head attention first.”

“…Attention?”

He ruefully shook his head. “Forgive me, you demanded specifics. By attention, I mean you’d take the the head between your lips, just past the ridge, and suck on it while you lick the slit.”

Her cheeks got brighter, her stare more rapt. “Approximately how long would I do that for?”

“A minute, maybe two. Just long enough to get me primed for a deeper sucking.” As if his cock wasn’t so primed, he’d go off if she breathed on it.

“What if…”

He arched a brow.

“What if it doesn’t all…fit?”

Ansel stared at her hard, and she glanced away. A tenuous, far-fetched, exhilarating suspicion snuck up on him.

“Gretta,” he said carefully. “Have you never taken a man in your mouth before?”

Her face went up in flames. “Of course I have. I just…like to customize my favors.”

Primitive jealousy and possessiveness hit him in the sternum. It was irrational, utterly juvenile, and it goaded him to further vulgarity. “In that case, I’m flattered you’re not sure you can take all of me. But if I hit the back of your throat and there’s some left over, you’re welcome to stroke me off while you suck.”

Her eyes widened, but he saw no revulsion. How far would she let him take this?

“Or you could play with my balls,” he added. “I prefer cupping to tugging.”

“Anything else?”

He pretended to give it thought. “I think that about covers it. Of course, the crux of it all depends on you.”

“How?”

He leaned in, leering at her mouth. “When I come buckets, will your pretty throat drink me down?”

She pulled away with a sharp gasp, and Ansel grinned.

Eyes narrow, she smoothed her skirt and crossed her legs. “Having a good time?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Maybe I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll go to bed, and you can laugh it up while you spend in the bathroom.”

His smile fell. “I’m not laughing at you, Gret.”

She sniffed, bearing regal again. “You’re amusing yourself at my expense when you’re in no position to. I believe you’re still my captive.”

They both knew he could snap the ribbon like tissue, but he kept his hands behind his back and lowered his head. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to anger you.”

For long seconds, she went quiet, as though deciding whether to flog him in the square or condemn him to the dungeon.

Finally, she uncrossed her legs and primly folded her hands. “I find myself in a magnanimous mood. Despite your insolence, I’m not ruthless enough to send you to bed with your dick unsucked.”

His head whipped up. He searched her face for malice or teasing.

“Yes, Ansel. I’m saying I’ll suck your cock.”

He didn’t dare respond.

“However,” she continued. “You have to earn it. I demand you impress me with a feat of strength.”

“ Anything .” He’d run naked to the swamps and back. If she asked him to fight ten trolls while shaving the chancellor’s head, he’d fetch his razor.

She lowered to the floor. Kneeling behind him, she grabbed his bound wrists and put her lips to his ear. “I’m going to make you a deal. First, you’ll promise not to move your hands when I untie them. Understand?”

“Yes . ” When the knot slipped free, he clasped his wrists in a death grip.

She came around to face him, spinning the ribbon. Smile wicked, she wrapped it around his erection and tied a neat bow.

“What—” He swallowed. “What is this?”

“Your hero’s gauntlet. If you can get this ribbon off without using your hands, I’ll suck your cock until you come buckets.”

Ansel strangled. He assessed the ribbon, weighing his chances in despair.

“What if I fail?” he croaked.

“Then I’ll bind your wrists again, and we’ll reevaluate in the morning.”

He groaned in agony because he knew she’d do it. His queen was diabolical.

He scanned her bedroom, searching for anything that might catch on the bow. Strategy was critical. Pulling a loop the wrong way risked leaving a double knot. Her room offered little in the way of a solution. A bed, a lamp, a few pieces of furniture. Nothing useful for this particular gauntlet.

But he’d be damned before he conceded. A good hero would never let the wicked queen win.

Still clasping his wrists, Ansel sat. He stretched his back and shoulders, rolling them. She’d left him only one option, and so goddamn be it.