Page 9 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)
Chapter 9
A nsel raced through the main corridor without noticing his surroundings and nearly plowed into Seven.
“Director?” she gasped. “Are you alright?”
He adjusted one of the books in her arms and tugged his shirt lower. “Fine. Where’s Jonas?”
“I think doing inventory. Why?”
“Get him. Meet me in my office in twenty minutes.”
“Okay, but are you sure you’re—”
He jogged toward his quarters, and when he got there, he slammed the door and sat on the bed. He ground his fist into his erection, only making the damn thing harder.
What the hell was his problem? Was he so pathetic, her transparently fake seduction sent him into a sexual death spiral?
The worst part? Her fingers toying with his pubic line hadn’t been what set him off the second time. He’d shot hard as wood when she started awkwardly petting his chest. Her affection had been feigned, but his body reacted like a neglected puppy begging for attention from strangers.
He could not be attracted to her. He didn’t even like her. She was vulgar, volatile, and impossible to deal with. Not his type at all.
Giving up, Ansel tore open his trousers and dug out his erection. He didn’t have time to let it wane on its own, best to take care of it quickly.
At the first stroke, he stifled a groan. The second had him sliding off the bed, knees thudding to the floor. He pumped his fist methodically, keeping his movements clinical and his mind blank, treating it like a medical procedure.
Pleasure unfurled in his abdomen. There was nothing to do but endure it. He stroked harder, but only to get the semen out faster, to get it over with.
Biology, not sensation. Didn’t matter how good it felt.
It didn’t matter how it felt when she touched him, either. He shouldn’t have liked that. He didn’t like it. He hated it, and she hated him, and he didn’t care and he deserved it and he was too late anyway but too late for what ??
Before he could stop it, his fucked up brain produced twisted, perverse images of the pixie: wrapping her arms around his neck, smoothing his hair back, cuddling in his goddamn lap. He shoved them away but not in time. His back arched, his hips jutted. He cried out as he pointed his cock at a crumpled shirt on the floor, releasing come in long bursts, jetting, pulsing until the fabric couldn’t soak up anymore and a shameful little puddle formed. It went on and on and on …
And then it ended.
Ansel slumped to his ass. He wadded the befouled shirt in a ball and threw it aside. Later, he would burn it.
Because what the fuck?
He rose and lurched to the bathroom. After violently wiping his cock, he stuffed it away, washed his hands in a bucket, and returned to the bed.
Shame scorched him, but he doused it. He needed to approach this development logically.
When put in proper context, it wasn’t all that confusing. He had been isolated a long time. One couldn’t think properly when hungry or thirsty, didn’t the same apply to the body’s other demands?
True, his fixation with Miss Hacker perplexed him. He’d never felt remote interest in the other pixies, including the ones who’d expressed availability. However, unlike Miss Hacker, he never spent more time with them than it took to extract their dust. Add in the fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked, and it wasn’t surprising his desperate libido had glommed onto her.
A problem with a simple enough solution. After he and Miss Hacker parted, he’d prioritize having sex and get back to his normal state of barely remembering he had a cock. No reason to analyze things beyond that.
He straightened his clothing and started for his office. Seven and Jonas arrived there at the same time, and they all filed inside.
“What is it?” Jonas asked. “I’ve got work to finish and plans in town.”
Seven’s lips tightened.
“You’re not going to town,” Ansel said. “A storm’s coming. A bad one, I think.”
Jonas sat on Ansel’s desk, turning a paperweight over in his hands. “Nah, I was outside an hour ago. Sunny as fuck.”
“Be that as it may, no one is leaving the property.”
“You’re being paranoid, as usual.”
Ansel addressed Seven. “Lorelei and Simone were scheduled to leave tomorrow. Let them know they’ll be compensated for the delay.”
Seven nodded and swept from the office.
Jonas watched her go, and when the door shut, he turned to Ansel. “I can’t cancel these plans. If you saw who I was meeting tonight, you wouldn’t ask me to.”
Ansel swallowed his censure. He’d long ago learned the futility of interfering in Jonas and Seven’s relationship, and he’d had no choice but to give up on convincing her she deserved better than his faithless cousin. “I don’t give a damn if she’s a three-titted succubus. You’re staying in.”
“Bullshit. If we get a storm, it won’t start for hours. I can be back by dawn, easy.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” Ansel narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been glutting yourself, anyway.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but some of us actually have needs.”
The comment pricked coming so close on the heels of what Ansel had been doing in his bedroom. Apparently, Jonas wasn’t the only one with needs, but more pressing matters remained at hand. “In another week, you can move into a brothel full time, for all I care. Tonight, you’re going to bring buckets in from the shed.”
Jonas perked up. “Speaking of brothels. Have you gotten a read on the new pixie yet? Seven told me you’ve got her chained up in the southern block.”
Ansel tensed. Why the fuck was Jonas asking about Miss Hacker? Until now, he’d seemed to have forgotten she existed, and Ansel preferred to keep it that way. “What do you mean by read ?”
“You know. Is she a live one? Game for a fu—”
Ansel had Jonas’s throat against the wall before the word completed. Protectiveness and rage flooded his system, drowning out rational thought.
Nobody touches her. No one goes near her but me !
“What the fuck, man?” Jonas gasped, grabbing Ansel’s arms.
Ansel blinked. Reason flooded in, leaving him unsure how he’d ended up on the other side of the room with his hands around his cousin’s neck.
He let go, wandering to his office chair. He sat and dropped his head in his hands.
Was this some new kind of psychosis? Or an extension of the one he’d been suffering since laying eyes on Miss Hacker?
Jonas massaged his neck, looking more stunned than offended. “Seriously, man. What the fuck?”
“I don’t know.” Ansel pinched the bridge of his nose. He could throttle his cousin anew for bringing Miss Hacker to him in the first place.
In a sack, no less. Dumped on the floor like trash.
Jonas’s grin returned. “Have you staked a claim on her? I’ll happily back off if you’re fucking her yourself.”
“I’m not fucking her. Neither are you. You’re going to stay away from her entirely.” The words came out more aggressively than Ansel intended. He unclenched his hands and straightened papers on his desk.
“Hey, whatever you say. But she’s cute, cuz. You should go for it.”
Miss Hacker’s charms were irrelevant because neither of them would touch her.
“Get the buckets,” Ansel said. “I want you back inside in half an hour.”
“Bullshit,” Jonas muttered on his way out.
Ansel retrieved a notepad and began scribbling a list of things to do. The facility had survived countless storms, but water always found a way in. It would also get loud and darker than usual.
A new image of Miss Hacker came to mind, this one of her sitting on the pallet, twirling her hair. What would he do with her when the storm came?
The southern block’s thick walls and narrow windows offered adequate protection from the elements, but leaving her to ride it out alone felt…wrong. Not simply from a moral perspective—where she was concerned, he’d long since left integrity in the dirt. Somehow, it felt wrong innately. Like he didn’t want her to be afraid .
Ansel cracked his pencil in half and tossed it on the pad.
The storm wouldn’t come until morning. He could figure out what to do with her later. He had plenty of other things to worry about, and Miss Hacker’s theoretical fear was at the very bottom of his list.