Page 81 of Beyond the Cottage

She toyed with the hair on his nape. “What about your scars? Do you feel stronger for them?”

He didn’t know how to answer. The cottage had hardened him, but he wasn’t sure that was the same as strength. If anything, it gave him a weakness, and she currently sat in his lap. “We’re different people. But I suppose without the Eater, there would beno spell repellent. Maybe something good will come of what we went through.”

He felt her smile against his neck. “That doesn’t sound very villainy.”

“Then I’ll be sure to lace the formula with bunny blood.”

She smiled again and pulled away, rubbing the residual moisture off her cheeks. Her eyes tried to focus on his before lowering. “Sorry. I know I’m drunk.” She crawled out of his lap. He already missed having her there.

They both stood, and she leaned on the sink, cheeks turning pink. “Um. I really do have to pee.” She hiccuped. “I might need help.”

Ansel closed his eyes and nodded.

It was only pissing. He could do this.

He opened the toilet lid and stood facing out with his legs on either side of the seat. She offered her hand. He pulled her to him, and his palm flattened over her belly.

“Can you, ah, get your pants by yourself?”Please let her be able to handle her own pants.

“Uh-huh.” Her belt buckle gave her trouble, but she finally got it. As she bent to shove her pants down, her ass ground into him.

He grimaced, turning away. She hiked her tunic and dropped onto the seat.

After pissing for what seemed like half an hour, she pulled up her drawers and kicked her pants aside. Her tunic wasn’t much shorter than a nightshirt, so he didn’t press the issue. She washed her hands and stumbled, snorting a laugh.

“I can carry you,” he said without thinking. She latched onto him before he could retract the offer. When he hoisted her in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, and her top half draped on him like dead weight.

Somehow, he survived the short trip to her room. He set her on the bed, but her legs didn’t release him, and she raked her fingers through his hair.

“Gretta—”

With the preternatural strength of the intoxicated, she yanked his shirt and pulled him on top of her, slamming her mouth on his.

He groaned through his nose. She tasted like brandy but sweeter, and he allowed himself one sip before abstaining. Removing his lips was like dragging a lion off a kill, and he tried not to notice her groin rubbing his. Her thighs fastened tighter when he pulled away.

He removed her hands from his neck, pressing them into the counterpane. “You’ve got to let me go, Gret.”

“Why?” She ground against him with a smile. “Not tired anymore. Feel like fucking.”

He choked and resisted the urge to thrust. Without realizing it, she’d found the perfect way to torture him.

Mentally reciting the atomic weight of the noble gases, he wedged his palms between her thighs, gently pushing until they opened. He evacuated her warmth to sit on the edge of the bed.

She knee-walked to him. “What’s wrong?”

Helium, four-point-oh-three. Argon, thirty-nine-point—

Her hand slid to his cock, and he grabbed her wrist. “Gretta,stop.”

“Why? I thought… Don’t you want to?”

“You know the answer to that question.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You’re hammered. And I know you don’t really want this.”

Her naked leg swung to straddle him. He caught her before she tumbled from his lap, keeping his hands off her ass.

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