Page 23 of Beyond the Cottage

He hesitated, which was something. Then he pulled his arm free and jerked his head toward the cell. “Get in.”

Gretta sighed. She should have known he had no morals worth appealing to. She’d be better off getting to work sharpening her stick.

You still have one play left. Have you forgotten how you got that stick?

Right, except she’d rather break her teeth gnawing through the bars than fuck that miserable asshole.

…But who said she had to go that far? He’d all but admitted he was hard up. Did she have something to gain by dangling empty promises of sex the way he’d dangled promises of release? She definitely didn’t have anything to lose.

As Gretta eyed him up, he straightened in a menacing posture she didn’t take all that seriously anymore. She moved closer and put her palms on his chest.

He froze.

Cuffs tinkling, she petted him with stiff fingers. “So, uh. Maybe I could…I mean, you know. I might…”

Her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Instead of wasting her nerve on a clumsy proposition, she shoved her hands under his loose shirt and flattened them on his abs.

His stomach flexed at her touch. She stroked the sweaty skin there, avoiding his pants for fear it would remind him of her last ruse. Her fingertips slid along a narrow trail of hair, over firm ridges and compact muscle.

Huh.His body shouldn’t surprise her. She’d noticed he was big, and she’d elbowed him enough times to know he was made of granite. Still, she’d expect a scientist to be skinnier.

Out of morbid curiosity, she pushed her palms up his sternum and felt crisp hairs. His breath caught, encouraging her.

“What I mean is,” she said huskily, “I have more than pixie dust to—”

He grabbed her wrists and yanked them out from under his shirt. His eyes held no confusion this time, only chilly indifference edged with disgust.

Gretta’s neck grew hot. She let him pull her into the cell without resisting. When she presented her wrists through the bars, he quickly undid the cuffs and dropped her hands like they were covered in dog shit.

Brilliant plan, Gret. You’re a regular siren.

She waited for him to go, silentlybeggedhim to go. Apparently, he enjoyed her humiliation too much because he stayed there with an expression she could only interpret as judgmental.

Well, fuck that. Who was he to judge her? Seduction might have been a half-baked idea she wasn’t qualified to execute, but he didn’t get to make her feel bad about it. She lifted her chin, pointedly making eye contact.

He leaned in so close, his breath stirred her hair. “Never touch me again.”

Before Gretta could inform him she wouldn’t actually get near his dick without work gloves and a rusty hacksaw, he spun and left.

Chapter 9

Ansel 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.

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