25. Chapter Twenty-Five - Troubled Honesty
For the past couple of days, I couldn’t get Culver off my mind.
We’d started messaging each other, which added a nice touch to my days, but it still didn’t feel like enough.
I couldn’t shake the fear that he wouldn’t come back around, that I’d already become an afterthought now that he’d gotten a taste of me.
Well… not much of a taste.
He hadn’t even seen my bare breasts and had already made me orgasm. God, I was going to lose my mind.
Luckily, he was picking me up today, and I’d finally get to see how he acted around me. Would he be indifferent? If he was, that meant he was stepping away from whatever this thing between us was. That would be a terrible outcome, but I had to brace myself for it anyway.
A knock finally sounded against the door, my stomach clenching so sharply I sat up straight, my breath catching.
I opened it.
There he was. Culver Scarbrough in the flesh, dressed like Victorian elegance had collided with modern couture, and decided he should be the model.
Dark green and black framed his body in sharp lines, drawing attention straight to his impossible eyes.
His hair was brushed back neatly but still tousled at the ends, like perfection had been intentionally disturbed.
“Hello, my lovely lamb,” he hummed, his voice calm and measured, though the wicked smirk reminded me exactly who I was dealing with.
I blinked a few times, gathering myself. “Hey, Culver. Let me grab my bag, and we can head out.” I tried to sound nonchalant, though I doubted it came across that way.
He nodded, almost approving, before speaking again. “How is your neck feeling? Any better?”
I froze, my hand tightening around my bag as my heart rate spiked at the mention. Oh God, did he really have to bring it up right now? Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I quickly cleared my throat, turning away so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.
“It’s fine…”
Why now, of all times? He’d had plenty of chances to ask in our messages, but he’d kept everything polite, almost innocent. It didn’t make sense… except that it did, because it was Culver Scarbrough, and he thrived on teasing me.
With a realization, I lifted my gaze back to his green eyes. “How’s your erection feeling?” I narrowed my eyes at him, doubling down. That’s right, he hadn’t even gotten to finish that day. Well, not with me around.
His smirk widened, a quiet chuckle slipping out.
I stepped closer, clutching my bag with a proud little smile of my own. Without warning, he moved forward, forcing me to take a step back in surprise. I didn’t get far before his arm looped around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
The hard planes of his chest pressed into my soft curves, the electricity of him seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt.
His cock, thick and rigid, jutted against my belly through his trousers.
I could feel the taut muscles of his abdomen flexing as he held me still, his body a wall of restrained hunger.
Culver was hard… again. How? I had no idea, but he was.
“Oh, he is doing just fine.”
My free hand slid up to his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric as I inhaled his intoxicating scent, my lungs greedy for it.
My body warmed instantly, and it was all because of him.
I coughed lightly, turning my head away as I felt him react beneath me.
“I guess you love being blue-balled, huh?”
Culver only chuckled again, effortlessly plucking the bag from my hand. He released me, and I barely caught myself as my knees threatened to give out. I steadied just in time for his free hand to catch mine, our fingers threading together like they’d been made to fit.
“I promise you have never left me blue-balled, Ira.”
His words lingered, pulling me back through the few heated moments we’d shared. There hadn’t been many, but he seemed to think otherwise.
He tugged me forward, and I followed without resistance, even though I knew I probably should’ve made it harder for him after everything he’d been putting me through.
He spun me lightly beside the car as he slid my bag into the back seat with unhurried precision. “Hurry up, Grandpa. I have a date to get to.” I gave his hand a smug squeeze, and he turned to me with a wild, flickering expression.
He inhaled sharply, controlled but far from subtle. His pupils tightened, as if he were deciding whether to be annoyed, amused, or jealous.
“Right,” he said, the word sounding almost bitter on his tongue. “My sister. Best not keep her waiting.” His voice dipped lower, resignation threading through it in a way that still managed to sound unfairly attractive. “She is far too impatient for that.”
I giggled at the hint of jealousy, though it faded quickly as he slipped back into the composed, unflappable version of himself.
His fingers laced with mine as if it were nothing, as if it were already a habit we’d fallen into. And the small, quiet gesture felt more intimate than any kiss because no one had ever made something as simple as holding hands feel like a promise.
It dragged me back to those awkward young teenage days, cheeks burning, lungs tight, my heart acting like it was the first to ever feel something so intense.
God, that alone was terrifying. I didn’t need to fall back into that kind of vulnerability, not with him being so good at pulling me in with smooth confidence and that edge of sincerity twisting everything inside me, making me want to trust him even when I knew better.
Letting myself believe in him felt like signing up for heartbreak I’d barely survived already, and I wasn’t about to become another girl tangled up in pretty lies from a man whose smile could hide something hollow. I knew better. I’d learned that lesson.
Still… I didn’t pull my hand away.
When I settled into the car, he was already gripping the wheel, his posture perfectly straight like he’d been carved that way. He looked ready to reverse, and my brows knit together in irritation.
“Seatbelt, Culver. What did I say about that last time?” I grumbled because it was like he’d completely ignored me.
“You did mention that before,” he replied smoothly, drawing the seatbelt across his chest and clicking it into place. “Although, I am evermore worried for you than I am for myself.”
There it was again, his way of speaking like he’d stepped out of another century and refused to adapt.
I narrowed my eyes at him, half amused, half genuinely confused.
“You seriously talk like you’re from the 1800s,” I muttered as I leaned toward the stereo.
“Let’s see what you’re listening to today. ”
I moved slowly on purpose, waiting to see if he’d stop me. He didn’t. If anything, his gaze encouraged it, silently daring me to press play. So I did.
The cabin filled with classical music, strings soft and sweeping, the kind that belonged in candlelit ballrooms and marble halls. The kind my ma played when she was cleaning and pretending she wasn’t stressed.
I blinked, then sighed dramatically, slumping back in my seat like my soul had just left my body. “Aww, c’mon now,” I complained. “Let me hear what you actually enjoy. Not your fake playlist.”
“I do enjoy listening to Antonín Dvo?ák,” he retorted, calm and maddeningly composed, his eyes fixed on the road as if my judgment couldn’t touch him.
I grinned despite myself. “Y’know what, I actually believe you.”
His lips twitched into a half-smile before smoothing away. “My sister really likes you.”
I turned my head slowly, suspicion kicking in so fast it stiffened my neck. “Likes me as in…?”
My mind spiraled through every possible interpretation, jumping to all the wrong conclusions.
Anna and Liam tangled up in something complicated, open relationships that sounded way too messy, or whatever strange dynamic the Scarbrough family operated under, pulling me deeper into their orbit.
For a split second, I even wondered if they were about to recruit me into some dangerously attractive version of chaos that would swallow me whole.
“Whatever you may be thinking,” Culver said sharply, his expression tightening as though he were genuinely offended, “toss the idea. She likes you as a friend.”
Not convincing.
“I’ve heard that before,” I said flatly, because I wasn’t about to let him pretend his family didn’t move like a pack of beautiful wolves with secrets.
He sighed, as if he were tired of himself. “You are correct. I should have been more open.”
I tilted my head, unimpressed. Instead of responding, I pulled out my vape and took a long drag, letting the toffee sweetness fill the car. He wrinkled his nose in that familiar, judgmental way that made me want to do it again out of spite.
“But,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “now that we have had our discussion, I think you shall be even happier with the future interactions between us.”
My face heated so fast I was surprised the windows didn’t fog.
His hips pressing into me with that insistent grind, his mouth hovering close enough to my throat that I could feel the tingling brush of his breath, his fingers digging into my waist while our bodies moved together in a desperate, helpless rhythm.
My thighs pressed together instinctively as heat flickered through my nerves, the air in the car suddenly feeling thick enough to slice through.
“You’re not special,” I snapped, instinctively reaching for attitude like a shield. My arms crossed, my gaze flicking away. “I mean, I let a guy I’d just met fu—”
Before I could finish, his hand clamped over my mouth. Not rough, but not gentle either, just firm enough to cut me off mid-word like he couldn’t stand hearing the rest. My heartbeat jumped straight into my throat, pulse skittering beneath his palm, and my eyes snapped toward his profile.
“Do your utmost not to remind me that I allowed that mistake,” he murmured, his voice low and edged. “It will never occur again.”
The possessiveness in his tone curled around me like heat, wrapping tight; it should have set off every warning inside me and should have made me pull back hard.
Instead, it lit something reckless and dark deep in my chest, a pull that made me want to climb into his lap right then and push him just to see how far he’d go.
So I didn’t pull away.
I leaned forward instead and dragged my tongue slowly across his palm.
The taste surprised me. It was clean, almost neutral. Mineral, like rain hitting concrete. His hand went rigid against my mouth, fingers flexing instinctively, and I caught the faintest hitch in his breath.
My hands slid up his wrist, gripping just enough to guide his hand away. “You were supposed to move your hand after I licked you,” I said smugly, because apparently I’d chosen chaos and decided to dive headfirst into seeing which one of us would break first.
His eyes stayed on the road, not a flicker of surprise in his expression. “So that was the goal.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, smirking as I leaned back into my seat. “I’ll try not to talk about my past hookups.”
“Perfect,” he replied, far too calm, as his fingers slid right back between mine, threading together. “Now, should I run my tongue along your body? It would only be fair?”
His eyes smiled my way. I stared at him like he’d just told me Wi-Fi wasn’t real.
“Culver,” I said slowly, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to process what he’d just asked, “Absolutely not.”
He didn’t argue. Just hummed thoughtfully, squeezing my fingers once, soft and grounding. For a brief second, I could’ve sworn he wished he had another hand free, maybe to tuck my hair behind my ear or trace my cheek, but he didn’t let go.
He kept our fingers locked together the entire drive.
And the silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It settled over me soft and steady, the kind of comfort that made me want to sink into it without thinking twice.
I let my shoulder rest lightly against his arm as the road stretched out ahead.
It felt more real and intimate than any rushed hookup I’d ever stumbled through, and I knew the difference because I’d chased enough empty nights to recognize when something was different.
Normally, by now, I’d be ghosting a guy, blocking his number and scrolling past the memories before they could catch up with me, always leaving early before things got too tangled. But this time, staying felt like the only option that made sense, even if it scared the hell out of me.
And I was going to make Culver want more, even if it meant playing this push-and-pull game until he was the one breaking first, the one begging for whatever came next between us.
When we rolled up to the gates again, the same surreal feeling lit up inside me.
The Scarbrough estate stretched ahead like something pulled straight from myth.
It was too pristine, too ornate, too far removed from the real world to feel entirely solid.
The tires glided over the pavement so smoothly it barely felt like the car touched the ground.
“Martin,” Culver greeted the man in the booth with one of his calm, regal nods, like this was just another day ruling a small country.
The gates swung open obediently, as if they recognized his bloodline.
As the house came into view, every detail screamed money. Gold-trimmed windows, ivy crawling up pale stone, a silence that came from never having to worry about mundane things like bills or groceries or whether your life might implode next week.
The awe hit me again. This wasn’t a house. It was a statement.
And I wasn’t built for statements. I felt more like the messy edge that didn’t quite fit into all the polished perfection, the kind of girl who showed up uninvited and stirred things up without a plan.
I was the scribble in the margins. The chaotic footnote nobody planned for, the one always complicating the neat lines everyone else drew so carefully.
His words replayed in my head, looping in ways that were equal parts comforting and unsettling, making me question what I actually brought to any of this when I had nothing solid to lay on the table. No old money. No connections. Just me. Impulsive, emotional, messy me.
That shouldn’t have been enough.
And yet… here I was, sitting in his car with our hands linked, feeling the pull grow stronger even as doubt nipped at the edges of it.
Maybe he wanted a sugar baby with a backbone. Maybe he was just as gone for me as I was for him. Or maybe I was overthinking it again, twisting every good moment into something complicated.
Honestly, I almost wanted to laugh at myself, at how quickly I jumped to the worst conclusions the second things started to feel real.
My spiraling cut short when his hand slipped from mine.