It won’t derail my long-term plans. I’m still determined to be a tattoo artist, but perhaps this will help me achieve my goal quicker.
“That therapist you’re seeing, is she helping?” he asks, and I put my phone away, giving him my undivided attention, because I sense this is serious.
“Yes. She is.” I haven’t talked to Kent about it much because my sessions with Jenna have been heavily focused on Chris in recent weeks, and I don’t want to upset him.
“I went to therapy, on and off, for years,” he admits as he drives one-handed through New Hampshire.
“You did?” I swivel in my seat, tucking one leg underneath me.
He nods, glancing at me briefly. “When I started acting out, my parents sent me to a therapist. When that one didn’t help, they sent me to another one. Rinse. Repeat.” A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he’s gripping the steering wheel tight.
“You didn’t trust any of them?” I surmise, remembering the horrible therapist my social worker sent me to when I was nine and I refused to speak in the initial aftermath of the car crash.
Intelligent eyes lock on mine. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I told you I didn’t speak for a year after my parents died, so my social worker arranged for me to see this therapist in the hopes he would help me to deal with the trauma. The guy gave me the creeps.”
His head jerks to mine again, his eyes alert, and I know where his mind has gone.
“He didn’t touch me. It was nothing like that. Just that he was clinical, and I couldn’t warm to him, so I certainly wasn’t going to open up to him.”
“That’s exactly how I felt,” he admits. “And I didn’t trust they wouldn’t turn around and tell my parents everything I told them, even if they spouted oaths of confidentiality, blah, blah.”
“Well, Jenna is different,” I say, reaching out to rub his arm. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right therapist yet.”
He is quietly contemplative after that, and I don’t pry even if I’m dying to know what’s going through his head. He turns the radio on low, and we both laugh when Elvis’s “A Little Less Conversation” comes on because it couldn’t be more apt. We sing some of the words to each other, and it helps to lighten the mood.
Fifty minutes later, Kent swings his SUV into the long castle driveway, and I press my nose to the window, absorbing the pretty scenery. “Wow, this place is stunning.” Majestic trees, neat trimmed hedges, and colorful flowerbeds border the driveway on both sides. A line of twinkling lights guides our path, and with the dusky sky overhead, it adds a magical feel to the place.
I gasp when the castle comes into view up ahead. The grand two-story gray-brick structure with turrets, towers, and various arches and pillars has clearly been well-maintained. Vines of ivy creep up the sides of the castle, and I’m glad we’re staying in one of the detached cabins on the grounds, and not in the castle itself, because one look at this place and I just know it’s haunted. A shudder works its way through me, and I try to avoid thinking scary thoughts.
There are only ten bedrooms in the castle itself, and I know Austen’s family, Alex and James, Cheryl and Keven, Keaton and Austen, Keanu and Selena, and a few of their friends are staying there. The rest of Kent’s family chose the more spacious cabins, and it’s where the rest of their friends are staying when they arrive tomorrow. Tonight’s pre-wedding dinner is just for immediate family.
We park the car, check in, and are driven in an old trolley to our cabin. It’s a beautiful gray-stone structure with exquisite views of the gorgeous woodland and mountain backdrop. We have a decked area off our bedroom with a seating area and a hot tub.
“I’m going to fuck you in there before the weekend is out,” Kent purrs in my ear, his arms going around me from behind.
“I think you love torturing me,” I say, spinning around in his arms as desire tightens in my lower belly. “You know I’ll be squirming the whole way through dinner now.”
“That’s just how I like my woman,” Kent teases, nipping at my neck with his teeth. “Panties soaked and dreaming of my cock.”
I swat at his chest, pushing him back. “Careful or I’ll cockblock you all weekend.”
He swaggers toward me, pushing me down on the bed, pinning me in place with his hard body. “You can’t last twenty-four hours without my cock inside you.” He presses his hot mouth to my neck, and my pulse aches with need. “You would never last three days.”
“Always so fucking smug,” I rasp, even though he’s right, biting back a moan as his hand trails a path up my body, his fingers brushing against my breast through my shirt. He pivots his hips, pressing his erection into me, and I can’t take it any longer. Gripping his waist, I yank his face to mine. “Fuck me now, and make it quick.” I still need to freshen up, get changed, and make it to dinner in twenty minutes, but we can do it.
He chuckles. “We’ll be late.”
“You’re wasting time,” I chastise, unbuttoning his shirt as I yank his mouth to mine for a passionate kiss. “Less talking. More fucking.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, smirking as he removes my skirt and panties, plunging two fingers into my wet warmth to check I’m ready. I strip him out of his jeans and boxers and roll a rubber over his shaft. Then he’s driving inside me, and fucking me into the bed with that dark intensity I love so much.
***
“You’re late,” Alex chides when we finally show our faces in the main castle restaurant.
“Traffic was murder,” Kent lies, holding out my chair for me to sit.
