Page 48 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 48

B uzzards circled a candy-pink sky. Crows with licorice wings perched in the Eater’s wood. Ansel had escaped the cottage, but now he waded through a river of syrup, trying to run but barely moving.

He sensed the witch close behind him, heard her ruined throat cackling. Her claws scraped his back, and he lunged, sinking deeper into a sticky current that dragged him back to her. The beady eyes above watched indifferently.

The river swelled, and he sluggishly paddled.

A final cackle, a death rattle, then the Eater’s rotten corpse drifted by, hair singed, eyes open, hands grabbing, clutching, dragging him down, down, DOWN…

…until slender arms pulled him UP .

The arms carried him from the river, and he flew. He landed gently on a bed of glowing reeds, smelled green algae and sulfur. An alligator groaned in the distance.

Gentle fingers, a soothing voice—her voice. The only one he ever cared to hear again. She licked the syrup off his neck, his chest, and lower, lapping until all the sugar was gone…

Ansel shot up in bed. Disoriented, he shoved a hand through his sweaty hair and blinked at the sunlight.

Gretta peeked up from between his legs. “Everything okay?”

His pulse had begun to stabilize, but it kicked again when he realized he was in Gretta’s bed with her lips an inch from his hard dick.

Whatever dream he’d been having blew away as he settled into the pillows. “What have you been doing to me while I sleep, Gret?”

“Well.” She kissed his ribcage. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.” She kissed his abdomen. “About me being a bad sport? I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf.”

“Have you, now?”

“Mm-hmm. Spotty as my reputation is, I can’t afford having ‘sore loser’ attached to it.”

“Indeed not. I know how profoundly you value the opinion of others.”

She smiled against his hipbone. “So there’s really only one way to set things right, wouldn’t you say? Looks like I have to suck your cock.”

Her tongue came out to lick him along the underside, balls to tip, dragging the skin. He groaned from pleasure so intense, it almost became pain. When her mouth wrapped around the tip and she flicked the slit, he shouted.

His head slammed into the pillow. He bent his knees, opening them wide, inviting, begging . Her tight lips caught his ridge.

Fuck, how long had he told her to do that for?

“Take more of me,” he said. “ Please. ”

Her wet mouth went lower. She sucked him in halfway, once, twice, and he grunted, back arching. She took him deeper. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting. When her lips came just shy of his base, he felt a little spasm in her throat. She tried again and coughed, slipping him from her mouth.

“Are you okay?” he panted.

Her face was red. She wiped water from her eyes.

Cursing under his breath, he cupped her neck as shame deflated him. She didn’t need to tell him what was wrong—the moment her lips got halfway down his dick, he started fucking her mouth like an animal in rut. He was an oafish, disgusting beast.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m a swine when I get too excited. You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to, it’s just…I should probably tell you something.”

“Anything.”

“Last night, I may have told a little fib.” Her cheeks got redder. “You have to promise you won’t make fun.”

“Gretta, you know I won’t make fun of you. Just tell me.”

She cleared her throat. “I…haven’t actually done this before.”

They both went so quiet, Ansel heard a door bang in another apartment. Groaning, he shoved his hands in his hair and fell back on the bed.

“Sorry,” she snapped, drawing her legs to her chest.

“Stop. Do you have any idea how much that arouses me?”

“…Really?”

He took her hand and put it on his cock.

She sighed. “What is it with men and being the first to do things? It’s like you carry around little flags you’re just dying to plant.”

“I have no idea.” Don’t thrust, asshole . “I never cared before you.”

She glanced away with a smile. “I really do want to try this. Your rather graphic seminar was enlightening, but I wouldn’t mind some direction.”

Ansel groaned. She expected him to survive a chat about the finer points of giving head while she actually gave him head?

Exhaling through his nose, he forced his body to relax. “Alright. Like I said last night, it isn’t going to take much. Go at your own pace, and for godssake, do not deep throat me this time.”

She knelt between his legs, tucking hair behind her ear. Another strand fell over her shoulder, pooling in the black curls at his base. He closed his eyes for his own sanity.

“Should I lick it again?”

His laugh was strained. “Do whatever will ease you in.”

“Tell me what you like as I go.” Without further ado, she gripped the base and licked his cock. She went slow, dragging upward. Her tongue lingered just below the ridge.

“ There. ”

“Here?” She swirled her tongue, wrenching another groan from him. Without his prompting, she put the head in her mouth and lapped at the moisture he leaked.

“God, Gret. I don’t know how much of that I can handle.”

She went lower, adjusting to him.

“Deep enough,” he rasped. “Now wrap your hand around the shaft and stroke the places your lips don’t reach.” She started pumping him, and his face contorted. “Oh, fuck. Yes. Just like that.”

She grew bolder, worked him harder. On each upstroke, her tongue grazed the spot that made him crazy.

“ Fuck , Gret, yes. You’re doing it so good.” Her eager pulls and artless stroking were better than he’d ever had it. This was personal. And he felt it in every molecule of his body.

She quietly moaned, sending vibration down his cock. Through sheer force of will, he kept his hips still.

“I’m not going to last much longer.” He winced. “You need to pull back.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, trying to ease her off. Her lips tightened, and she went faster. “Baby, pull back. Pull back! It’s coming—coming, coming, coming !”

He shouted and spilled down her throat, half-sitting as his body spasmed in little jerks. She lifted her tongue to drink him down, throat undulating. An extra, blinding jet came, and when he couldn’t release any more, he fell back panting.

Lust and emotion were a tornado raging in his brain. He wondered if he’d ever think clearly again.

After cheekily wiping the corner of her mouth, she crawled up his body and rested her chin on his chest. “I guess I got the hang of it.”

He gusted a laugh. “You’re indeed a quick study.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, committing to memory the feel of it wrapped around his flesh. Like a stupid ape, he was gratified to be her first.

It also subdued him. He wouldn’t be her last. Eventually, she’d find someone worthy of her, someone who could offer competent stability and a sounder foundation than childhood trauma.

When whatever time Ansel had with her expired, would he have it in him to kiss her on the cheek and hand her off to another man? Would that man let her keep the friend who’d thrown her in a prison cell and filled her with his cock? The friend who was fucking in love with her and always would be?

He smoothed hair off her face, and she kissed his open palm.

The future didn’t matter. He’d been condemned from the moment he saw her again, and he loved her too much to save himself. He couldn’t do anything except walk to the very end of that plank and see where he fell.

“You look sad,” she said.

He wanted to tell her everything he was feeling, but instinct warned him not to. Or maybe it was cowardice. Either way, he forced a light smile and a shrug. “Still tired, I guess. But you’re welcome to wear me out any time you like.”

The clock on her nightstand rattled, and they both started. She scrambled off him to slap the brass button.

When the damn thing shut up, she stood. “Time to get ready.”

It took him a moment to remember what she meant.

The meeting. Somewhere between her steamy storytelling and sexy games, he’d forgotten about it entirely.

Ansel swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“We should shower first,” she said. “We smell like sex.”

His arm circled her waist, pulling her in until she stood between his knees, and he kissed her. Their tongues brushed, and he broke away, lightly squeezing her ass. She grinned over her shoulder as she went to the closet.

Their shower was much quicker than he’d have preferred. He only fucked her once against the tiles. When they were both clean and freshly dressed, they wolfed down breakfast and collected his case.

In the hack, she delighted him by crowding his personal space. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she settled against his chest.

“I’m surprised the capitol building is open on weekends,” he said.

“Many senators don’t take days off. Nat’s a complete workaholic.”

“I’m not sure I ever asked—what is his affliction?”

She seemed to consider how to explain. “Have you heard of the Lyndale Manor Tragedy?”

Ansel searched his memory. “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“That’s what the papers called what happened. When Nat was a kid, a witch got pissed at his older brother. To get revenge, she turned everyone on the estate into home furnishings.”

“She turned them into furniture ?”

“And other random shit. His parents became matched end tables, servants became mops, teacups, even a feather duster.” Her voice grew bitter. “I guess Nat was lucky he became a chair, since he at least has arms and legs. She turned his brother into a chamber pot.”

“Why would she do that?”

Gretta gave him a look that said she’s a witch, dummy. “Nat’s brother fell in love with her, probably via potion. His parents threatened to cut him off if he married some forest vagrant three times his age. He chose his inheritance.”

“What happened to the witch?” She must not be around if Gretta wasn’t hunting her.

“The bitch drank hemlock so she couldn’t be forced to undo the spell. She basically cursed them twice.”

“…And the others?”

Gretta swallowed and looked out the window. He held her tighter. While her relationship with the senator was complicated, she clearly cared for him a great deal.

“Almost everyone holed up in the manor because it was too hard to navigate society.” She picked at her sleeve. “They all burned in a house fire a few years after Nat left.”

“Fucking hell. ”

“Yeah. In the papers, it went down as a freak lightning strike, but the police report said it was arson from within. They…burned it down themselves.”

The carriage fell silent but for the sounds of traffic.

“I don’t know what to say.”

She dropped her head to his shoulder. “Anyway. Nat gets by. But I always felt we were kindred spirits, or something. That’s why I always wanted to help him undo the spell so badly.”

“I understand. My repellent holds more significance than a simple business investment.” Ansel’s perspective on the man remained shoddy at best, but he’d put his heart into the demonstration.

The carriage stopped and they got out. They walked a short, crowded promenade bustling with men in suits and ladies holding parasols that matched their gowns.

Ansel felt like a hayseed beside Gretta. She wore a simple navy skirt with an unadorned blouse, yet still looked like she kept the keys to the city in her reticule.

They wove between people of various species. Like Antrelle, the capitol was more diversely populated than the rest of Merecia. Gretta waved at a woman wearing a traditional, diaphanous fairy gown and nodded at two men with slitted pupils. They tipped their bowler hats at her.

“Are these politicians?” Ansel asked.

“A few. But on weekends, it’s mostly tourists.”

They entered the capitol through massive oak doors. Gretta flashed a paper badge at the flustered woman behind a desk. The woman waved them off and continued arguing with two goblins.

Gretta took Ansel’s arm, leading him to the building’s soaring atrium. His breath caught. He’d never seen anything so…grand.

The dome was made of plate glass that bathed the space in sunlight. It even smelled stately, like wood polish and parchment. The marble floor had a red carpet running down the center, its color as vivid as fresh blood.

When Ansel’s feet stuttered, Gretta tugged him along.

“Come on,” she said. “We can sightsee another time.”

They climbed a double staircase and trekked through hallways lined with glossy benches and potted ferns. She led him through a door, into an anteroom with an empty desk, then through another door to what he presumed was the senator’s office.

Aside from a blue carpet, the room was as colorless as the senator’s name, and it appeared unoccupied. Then Ansel’s eyes landed on an antique monstrosity of a chair behind the desk.

The chair moved .

“Nat,” Gretta said, sweeping her hand. “Meet Ansel Wallenfang. Ansel, this is Senator Grey.”