Too bad that tree wouldn’t fit in her house.
It takes her a while to find something that’s a suitable size, but Ada settles on a squat, slightly pathetic-looking tree with a bunch of missing branches on one side.
I don’t question it. She’s the expert on Christmas trees, not me. It takes me barely two swings of the axe before the tree tumbles over on its side into the snow, and I hand the axe to Ada so I can hoist it onto my shoulder.
She gapes at me a little as I do. “God, you’re so strong.”
I shrug, the tree rising and falling with my shoulder as I do. I want to offer to carry her too, just so I can have her supple body pressed against me again, but I resist the urge. Ineed to show her that I can be more than a monster who haunts her dreams and fucks her in the woods.
Though, gods, I want to feel her come around my cock again more than I need air.
Once she falls asleep tonight, I’ll have to take care of my wayward cock on my own. I’ll probably end up rubbing myself raw with the intensity of these urges.
Ada quirks a brow at me. “You okay? You’re staring at me awfully hard.”
“I’m fine,” I croak, tearing my gaze away as my pulse thunders in my ears. Clearing my throat, I do my best to give her a casual smile. “Let’s go back and get this decorated. I want to learn from an expert how it’s done.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
“Nope,” Seth says after I show him the profile of another therapist. We’re nearing the end of my list, and the fact that not one of the people on it has given him the “I know about monsters” vibe is starting to make me sweat. There’s got to besomeoneon the list of therapists who were vocally against recovered memory therapy who knows… right?
I groan, pulling up another, which he also rejects. “What do we do if there isn’t anyone?”
He squeezes my foot from the other end of the couch. After we decorated the tree last night, he insisted on sleeping out here, saying I needed my rest. Maybe the lack of cuddles is contributing to my annoyance. I’ve been cuddle deprived and touch starved for years, and whatever misguided attempt he’s making at being a gentleman is riling me right the fuck up.
“If none of them have, we’ll just widen the net. You said this sort of therapy has been out of use for a while, so maybe people don’t even feel the need to speak about it. We can make sure it’s the first thing you ask when you reach out.”
“True,” I grumble, pursing my lips. I click the link for the next one and wait for itto load. Amanda Smith, a brunette with kind eyes, smiles blithely back at me. She lists Clinical Trauma as a specialty, and she did her thesis on the harmful effects of RMT.
Before I even flip the phone, Seth cocks his head and scoots closer. He looks over my shoulder and nods. “Her.”
“You think?” It would be really lucky, maybe even too lucky, to be honest.
“Nope, I know. I was starting to worry it wouldn’t work, but I got a feeling a few seconds ago. She knows.”
Hope bubbles inside of me, and I lean over and kiss Seth’s cheek. “Okay.”
Heart racing, I nod my head and take a deep breath. I feel like I am about to vomit, and my finger shakes as I click the “contact me” button and type out a short message. “Now… I guess we wait.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“You know what? I am too.” A part of me is still rebelling at the idea, but I’m also so,sotired of letting this rule my life.
A notification from Fae pops up at the top of my screen.
F: It’s done. Please tell me I am a champion.
I click it and type back.
A: The championest! First place, queen of authors and subduer of unruly manuscripts!
F: Just in time, too.
F: I deserve a treat, tbh.
A: 1000%
