Page 53 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 53

A nsel let his coarse, highly unprofessional demand linger between them. He knew she wanted this, too. She may have chosen the repellent, but she was possessive of his body. When she’d admitted she didn’t want anyone else touching him, he’d barely resisted ripping her clothes off with his teeth.

But he couldn’t. Her job was at stake. So he’d keep his hands to himself and look his fucking fill.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“You heard me.”

She contemplated him, clearly weighing the risks. “But the rules.”

He moved closer until their knees almost touched. She spread her legs, avoiding contact.

“Miss Fairleaf,” he said darkly. “I’ve read my contract to the letter, and I’ve hired an excellent attorney. The senator is welcome to take me to court. Now show me your goddamn tits.”

She remained still for long seconds. Then her fingers drifted along her clavicles, skating to the top swell of her breast. “Is this the insubordination you talked about?”

“It is. And you had your chance to correct it.”

She toyed with her blouse’s top button. She flipped it open, then another, then another. When she reached the bottom, she parted the black fabric.

Ansel drank her in, rubbing his erection. Her exposed nipples went pebble hard.

Now what?

“Touch them,” he said.

Her fingertips skimmed the space between her breasts.

“More.”

She stopped. His chest vibrated with displeasure, and she firmly palmed one breast, thumb stroking the nipple. “Satisfied?”

Not even close.

He rounded the desk and grabbed his office chair. He dropped it in front of her and sat, legs splayed, casual as a night at the theater.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Settling in for the show. If I can’t touch you, you’re going to do it for me.”

Her breath hitched. Catching herself, she put her nose in the air. “You think that’s how this works?”

“I do. Lift your skirt.”

“And if I decide not to?”

He sighed. “We’re wasting company time. We both know your pussy is aching as bad as my cock, and we both know you’re going to show it to me.”

Stubbornly gripping the edge of the desk, she crossed her legs and bounced her foot. “You first, Mr. Wallenfang.”

Shrugging, he tore open his trousers. His cock sprang free, pointing north. He draped his arms on the sides of the chair and nodded at her skirt.

With a sniff, she dragged the fabric to her hips and opened her legs, revealing skimpy red drawers and her intentions all along.

He held the armrests to keep from fisting his cock. “Take them off and give them to me.”

The drawers traveled down her legs, to her ankle. She kicked them away, and he caught them.

He draped the satin scrap over his thigh. “Very good. Now show me how wet you are.”

She did. He wanted to lean forward and take a taste, but instead, he settled deeper into the chair and opened his own legs wider.

“Here’s how this works,” he said. “Your fingers are my fingers. You’re going to take two of them and put them where I tell you. Understood?”

She braced an arm behind her and arched a brow. “It’s almost like you think you’re the boss.”

“Do you want to come or not?”

Expression haughty, she traced two fingertips up her inner thigh. “You’re new around here. But I respect your initiative. Just this once, I may be willing to make allowances if you’re willing to be a team player.”

“What precisely does that entail?”

“Your hand is my hand, Mr. Wallenfang.”

Ansel’s cock jerked, but he managed to keep from leaking. In order to handle being in the same room as her, he’d already seen to himself twice that day. “Reasonable enough. My hand is your hand. Where shall I place it?”

“Hold your cock in your palm and present it to me.”

He cupped the underside and pointed it at her. “Two fingers, Miss Fairleaf. Circle your clit slowly, the way I’d do it.”

She obeyed, and his palm squeezed. It was all he could do to keep from stroking himself without permission. Her fingers circled and circled, only slightly faster than he preferred.

“Get in tighter,” he grated. “As close as you can without touching it.”

Her speed increased, but she otherwise did as she was told. “Take it fully in hand. Stroke it three times.”

Wincing, he jerked himself three times. “Dip your fingers lower, just deep enough to get them wet. Rub it on your clit.” He leaned in, holding his cock like an offering. “Now put them inside. Pretend it’s this.”

She looked between his legs and drove her fingers deep. “Rub the head for me.” Eyes glazing as he rubbed his cockhead, she let out a stifled moan. “Now fuck yourself. Do it hard and fast, how I would.”

Snagging her drawers, he leapt from the chair. One hand landed beside her on the desk, the other wrapped red silk around his cock, pumping hard.

They’d barely started, but he was already spiraling. He’d intended to draw this out, to keep her on the edge, but he’d been too long without her.

“Are you pretending it’s me?” he asked. “Because I’m sure as hell pretending it’s you.”

“ Yes. Keep fucking me.”

They both went harder, wilder. This was supposed to be about pleasure, but his mind grew crazed from emotion. Barriers he’d carefully built became porous, letting out words he had no business speaking.

“Is this enough for you?” he demanded, arm furiously jerking.

“Never.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes, Anse.”

“How much?”

“Too much . More than anything.”

“Good! Now fucking come for me.”

He heard her fingers slide faster. Her moan became a squeak. They both tensed, faces contorted, coming silently together. Lips pressed tight together, he released into her silk drawers with a full-body shudder.

The sound of their breathing filled the room. They looked at each other, dazed. Ansel dropped the damp fabric and caged her between his arms. Helpless to stop himself, he touched his forehead to hers. He was more doomed than he’d realized.

“I don’t know how to make this work,” he said.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

She didn’t respond.

Ansel pulled away. He stuffed himself back in his trousers and returned to the chair, hands dangling between his knees. Endless seconds passed in the quiet room.

“I can’t be around you, Gretta. It’s too hard.”

“Don’t say that.”

He glared at the silver bars. “I promise I won’t do anything to compromise your job or the repellent. We’ll find you an office somewhere else and communicate through courier. But I can’t see you.”

More quiet.

“No,” she said. “Not again.”

Her words shredded him. She may have truly missed him, may still want to be friends in some limited capacity, but even if the option existed, he couldn’t handle it anymore. When she tired of him or found someone else, he wouldn’t survive it. He’d been a fool to believe otherwise.

“You’re wonderful, Gret,” he said. “You’ll make other friends if you try.”

“They wouldn’t be you.”

Forcing a smile, he stood. “Indeed not. I’m sure they’ll be an upgrade from a shady dust thief like me.”

He went to unlock the door.

With a sharp breath, she launched off the desk and grabbed him.

Panic rising, Gretta crushed his hand, dragging him close. She coiled her arms around his waist and clung. His chest rumbled as he clung back.

She had no idea what she was doing. She only knew the last two weeks had been harder than the previous fourteen years. Thinking about what that meant terrified her, but not as much as letting him go.

She pressed her face against his warm body. “You aren’t leaving me. You may as well drop it.”

He grunted in frustration, but his arms tightened around her. A good enough response for her. She ran through possibilities in her head, trying to unsnarl the knots she’d created. If she could go back, she’d rip up Nat’s draft herself. She didn’t care anymore if that made her selfish.

“I don’t know what to do about the repellent,” she said. “Or the money. He’ll take it away when he finds out we’re together.”

Ansel’s body went rigid. So did Gretta’s. Realizing what just came out of her mouth, she hid her face in his shirt.

He gripped her chin, lifting it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Forget I said that.”

“ No. The part about us being together—what did you mean?”

“I was thinking out loud.”

With a little growl, he let go of her and ran a hand over his face. He half-sat on the desk looking wrung out. “I think it’s time we had a frank, unambiguous conversation. Can we do that?”

His intensity set her nerves off. She’d never much cared for vulnerability, especially when the stakes were so high.

“What do you want, Gretta?”

Like a coward, she shrugged and glanced away.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll start. I don’t give a shit about the money. I was ready to light the draft on fire the day you put it in my hand.”

Her heart fluttered.

“What about the repellent?” she asked quietly.

He sighed, squeezing the back of his neck before dropping his hand. “I don’t know. If it wasn’t for your new job, I’d probably publish the formula and let someone else produce it.”

Gretta’s heart cracked. He thought she cared about her job more than him? Fighting witches had never been about employment, not really.

He calmly looked at her. “You need to understand that when I said I couldn’t be near you, it was self-preservation. Because I want to be more than colleagues or even friends.” He leaned in. “If it were up to me, we’d have married weeks ago.”

Gretta dropped into the chair. She felt dizzy, and her lungs weren’t working properly.

“If that’s too much, too soon, I apologize,” he said. “But it’s the truth, and it was time I said it.” He crouched at her feet, more intense than before. “I don’t expect you to know how you feel about that, but I need one question answered here and now.”

After a hard swallow, she said, “Alright.”

He closed his eyes as though steadying himself. When he opened them, his gaze met hers head on. “Gretta…is there the slightest chance you could someday love me a fraction as much as I love you?”

A shaky breath gusted out of her, and tears blurred her vision.

Same as when she’d kissed him on Isobel’s floor, she stood on a cliff’s edge, looking down, waiting to jump. Survival instinct made the height terrifying, but this time she knew the water was deep.

Was it better to stay grounded, trapped but safe? Or should she swim?

With the way her heart felt, did she really have a choice?

“Is there any chance at all, Gret?”

Only one word fit through her throat, and it came out a whisper. “Yes.”

He absorbed it slowly, like he didn’t speak her language. Then his face transformed. He got to his feet.

Bending, he shoved a hand in her pinned hair and kissed her. “Go home. Wait for me. I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

“What? Why?”

After closing the safe and swiveling the dial, he gave her another quick kiss and headed for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” she asked, turning in the chair.

He was already gone.