Page 13 of Scary In Love
Mason
Jenna arrives right on time, buzzing the rusty old intercom at the main gates.
I oiled them a few weeks ago, but I can still hear them creaking apart as I watch from the window. As soon as the gap is wide enough, she slips inside and hurries up the driveway.
It’s a mild day, but the leaves that cling to the trees are a riot of autumn reds and golds.
In a dark skirt, and tight orange sweater, Jenna fits right in.
Her legs are bare, but her lips are painted dark, and I can’t help but imagine them wrapped around my cock.
Adjusting the front of my jeans, I bolt down the stairs, opening the door just before she rings the bell.
At one time, there’d have been a member of staff to greet visitors, but I’m glad it’s just me now.
“Pumpkin spice latte?” she says, handing over a cup. “I actually don’t know your order.”
“It’s perfect, although I wasn’t really a fan until I started copying your order.”
Her smile widens, those cute cheeks turning pink. “You’re never beating those stalker accusations, Miller.”
“Truly, it’s all been a ruse to get you here alone.” That, and I wanted to know what her mouth tasted like. “Dare you enter my lair? ”
“Oh, I dare,” she laughs, pushing me aside. “I can’t believe I’m getting to see this place in daylight. You know, when I was little, I used to ask if I could have my birthday party here?”
“That’s adorable.”
The noise she makes is part snort, part squeak. “Nobody thought it was adorable. I was a weird little creep. Other kids went to Disneyland, I wanted to play with ghosts in the spooky old house up the hill.”
“All weird little creeps are welcome here. You’re in good company.”
I close the door, cutting us off from the outside world.
We’re still operating with old bulbs and whatever light seeps through the windows that haven’t been cleaned in years.
There are over one hundred of them, and a specialist company quoted me thousands, so the job dropped right to the bottom of the list.
On her previous visits, Jenna would have moved through the building on our schedule, but now she takes her time to look around, studying the ceiling and lightly stroking the intricate details of the wooden panelling.
“So you wanted to talk to me about something?” she says. I can hear the curiosity in her voice, with a hint of trepidation underneath.
“I did.”
“Well, I’m here,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “And I’m all ears.”
“Follow me.”
Haunt guests get led into the East wing, but today I want to show Jenna the place where I made all of this happen. I open a door on the opposite side of the hall, but when I motion for her to head through, she freezes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’ve never been on this side of the house.”
“Well, you’re a very special guest, remember? ”
That earns me one of her gorgeous smiles, and with another tip of my head, she follows.
The first room we step into would once have been used to welcome visitors, but like many of the rooms, everything is covered in dust sheets.
“How very Dexter of you,” Jenna says, taking it all in.
“I swear it was like this when I arrived. I promise I won’t murder you.”
“Dexter only kills bad guys, and I’m a very good girl, so I think I’m safe.”
My head snaps in her direction, only to find her looking up at me. She throws me a wink, and I’m tempted to put her on her knees right here and get her to prove it.
This is how it feels to be around her. Ever since she twirled for me, I’ve had the overwhelming urge to tell her what to do.
To take control of her body, shatter her into so many pieces that when I put her back together, she’ll never be the same again.
I want her to feel things she’s never felt before, to fuck her into the deepest sleep of her life.
Want her to wake up with a lingering ache from all the places I’ve grabbed and pinched and stretched her.
Want to give her a night she’ll look back on years from now and feel hot at the memory. And I think, desperately hope, she wants that too.
I fold my arms across my chest. She tilts her head, drawing me into another staring contest as we both refuse to look away. I could stand here flirting with her all day, but I don’t want things to go any further until we’ve had a proper conversation about it.
“Come on, we still have a way to go.”
I lead her through the grand ballroom that stretches the full depth of the house, with windows to the front and tall doors that open out to the patio at the back.
There’s a history here that I haven’t even begun to unfold, but I want to eventually.
If the peeling walls could talk, I bet they'd have some amazing stories to tell.
Through the next door is another sitting room, with more wrapped furniture and a huge open fireplace. Jenna follows close behind me.
“It’s like a time capsule.”
“I don’t think the old man used this part of the house at all. When I arrived, it seemed like he’d only been using the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom for a long time. Other rooms were closed off and untouched for years.”
“It’s a big house for one person. I hope he wasn’t lonely.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of creepy being here on your own. Especially at night after everyone leaves, and it’s just me in my room. Lot of random creaks in old houses.”
“Can I see your room?” She bites her lip, something I’ve noticed she does when she says something bold, then tries to hide it.
“Eventually. But first, you need to see the library.”
I push open the double doors, delighted with the sound she makes when we step inside. Every wall is lined with books, floor to ceiling, with rolling ladders on the lower level and a staircase in the corner to reach a balcony that circles the room for access to the upper levels.
It’s my favourite room in the house. The first time I came in here, I sat for hours, just taking it all in.
Most of the books are old and degrading, with that gorgeous musty smell people go nuts for.
There were several desks in here, which made me wonder if this was a place for study at one point.
There’s nothing modern, and no soft furnishings, so it’s not much of a reading room by modern standards, but I’ve made good use of it, anyway.
Jenna hovers in the doorway, her hand over her mouth.
“What’s wrong? ”
“Nothing,” she says, her gaze bouncing in all directions. “This is incredible. All these years, and I had no idea what it was like inside.”
I watch her explore at her own pace. She runs her fingertips along the spines, then leans in to take a deep sniff. Her satisfied sigh is heaven to witness. She likes it too.
“Do you want to see the original haunt plans?”
“I’d love to.”
I guide her to where I lined the desks up in a long row in the middle of the room, and the roll of paper spread out on top. It’s taped in parts and covered in scribbles, but this is where I spent weeks running up and down stairs, drawing maps and planning the haunt route.
The mansion is almost two houses, one enveloped by the other, with the main family rooms all connected by hidden doors and hallways designed to keep staff out of sight.
Every detail of the experience came to life here, and by the time I’d invited a few friends up from London to test it out with me, I knew I was onto a winner.
Jenna traces one fingertip through my blueprints, and when she bends to look more closely, her skirt lifts a little at the back.
The urge to step closer behind her and bend her until her face presses into the desk is unbearable. I shove my fists in my pockets instead and keep my distance.
“This is incredible,” she whispers, and my heart swells with pride. “The Ritual. That’s my favourite room, I think.”
“Really?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. It’s terrifying.” She presses her hand to her chest. “All those hooded figures just staring at you, not knowing which ones will move. Do you change it up each night?”
“We do.”
“That’s smart. Mum bolted, but I looked every one of those fuckers in the face, even though my heart was pounding. They got a genuine scream out of me when they finally tried to grab me.”
It’s subtle, the way her body language changes when she talks about being scared. For most people, the enjoyment of a haunt comes from the relief. It’s like catching your breath after being on a rollercoaster, the chemical rush of euphoria that floods our systems once the frightening part is over.
But not Jenna Laing. She leans into the scare and stays in the moment.
In every room, she plays along with the characters, embracing the roleplay rather than trying to rush through and avoid them. After her visit, I heard several of the actors talk about how fun she was to interact with.
“So you inherit a mansion. Why turn it into a haunt?”
“It’s a good way to make money fast. I’ve worked a few Halloween events in the past, so I figured I could give it a go. Spent a few weeks designing the rooms, and here we are.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
It might sound easy, but I drained the little savings I had to get up and running. Luck comes and goes in the blink of an eye. I know that better than anyone, but I didn’t invite Jenna here to trauma dump on her.
“It’s a gamble. I’m hoping it pays off.”
“Why not sell it?”
I can’t help but laugh, because that’s what the lawyer, and pretty much all of my friends, told me to do when I heard the news. “That would be the smart thing to do. After taxes and all the legal fees I inherited, I’d still have a lot left over—”
“Oh, just a few million, I’m sure. How on earth would you cope?” Jenna prods me gently in the stomach. In a flash, I grab her wrist and keep her hand there, pressing it flat against me. She looks down at it, but doesn’t pull away.
“Right? I could travel, buy a flat in London and stop living in grubby house shares, start a business.” The list of possibilities is endless, but none of them would make me happier than making this place a home.
Though I was technically an adult when my dad died, his loss quickly showed me I knew fuck all about being a grown-up.
In the years since, I’ve had too many addresses to count, and not a lot of stability.
Friends have come and gone as quickly as jobs, and I’ve never entertained thoughts of the future, because what’s the point when you don’t know how much future you’ve got.
“Something made you stay.”
“Yeah, I mean, look around. I didn’t feel like I could just sign it away to someone else. I had someone from an auction house visit to value the furniture, but I don’t want to sell things off if I can help it. These things were here long before me. They deserve to stay.”
She hums softly and lets go of me, pressing the same palm to her chest.
“You’re a good custodian. I’ve seen a lot of people move their family members into our care and dump their furniture. Those things hold memories, and not everyone gets it.”
“That’s really sad. I figured I could live here for a year and then make a more permanent decision about the future of the estate. There’s a lot of land, mostly woodland and overgrown meadows, but there’s potential, I’m sure of it.”
She goes back to the maps and drawings, her face lighting up as she reads through my scrappy notes .
“You know the house is legendary around here? People have been curious about it for decades. You could open it up for tours all year round.”
“Everyone knows the real draw of those places is tea and scones. It would take a lot of work to fit an industrial kitchen, add toilets, make everything properly accessible. I’m just one person, with limited cash flow, but I need to come up with something or I’ll end up having to sell it anyway.”
“That would be a shame.”
“Why’s that?”
She drops a hand on my shoulder and squeezes softly. “Who’ll keep me company on my morning coffee walks?”