Page 24 of Beyond the Cottage

He couldnotbe 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. Hedidn’tlike 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 forwhat??

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 andon…

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. Hehadbeen 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.”

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