“What the—?” I exclaim, looking at a blue and white helicopter parked on a helipad. I burst out laughing. Surely not. I feel like I am in a movie. “Are we going in that?”

“Yup. I rented it for the weekend.”

He throws our bags in and turns to me.

I can’t stop smiling. “Where’s the pilot?”

“You’re looking at him.”

I stop smiling. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“What? Are you qualified to fly this thing?”

“Sure.”

“You are qualified to fly a helicopter.”

“Yeah.”

I shake my head in surprise.

“It’s a very useful skill.”

“But this thing has no doors. What if I fall out?”

He smiles. “You won’t. You’ll be strapped in.”

“Really,” I say doubtfully.

“Chicken?” he teases.

“Who are you calling chicken?” I ask, and climb in although I’m more than a bit nervous. He straps me in and says with a mocking smile, “Remember you’re on vacation so relax and enjoy the ride.”

I nod, and he fixes the earphones on me.

Riding in a helicopter is an unexpected experience for me. It isn’t like anything I thought it would be. We don’t take off violently like in a plane, but practically float up like in a balloon.

I lose all my nervousness almost immediately because of the amazing scenery visible from all sides. It’s a strange feeling to be so high up, exposed to the elements, and looking down. Because of the headphones there is no noise and fortunately there is no turbulence either. As we fly over London I thoroughly enjoy myself. Konstantin points out landmarks as we leave the city. The weather is beautiful and the English countryside in summer is just breathtaking.

As we cross Yorkshire county we fly over miles of hauntingly beautiful moorlands. Large swaths of rolling hills are white with flowering cotton-grass and families of beautiful roe-deer graze peacefully below. They seem undisturbed by the sound of the helicopter.

In the distance, I see an austere Gothic castle of gigantic proportions. After the seemingly endless wild beauty of the Moors, the moldering dark-grey stones rise into the air in a melancholic, solitary grandeur of battlements, gateways, towers, and turrets.

“Like it?” Konstantin asks.

“It is magnificent. In a cold, comfortless way.”

He laughs. “Think you might like to stay there?”

I feel my eyes grow round. “Is that where we’re going?”

He nods.

“Wow! Is it a hotel? It looks so … vacant.”

“No. It is privately owned. I rented it for the weekend.”

“You mean it will be just us in there?”

“And the ghosts.”

My head whirls around. “What?”

He grins. “Most castles in England are haunted. If you’re scared you’ll just have to stick real close to me, won’t you?”

I laugh with a thrill of excitement. The weekend stretches out like a wonderful adventure. I have never stayed in a castle. I’ll have to take lots of pictures to show Janna.

Konstantin tells me I don’t need to duck to get out of a helicopter, there is no danger of being decapitated, unless of course, the chopper is parked on sloping ground, but out of sheer instinct and watching too many Hollywood movies, I duck anyway.

Close by, an olive-green Lexus is parked. Konstantin fishes a key out of his pocket and lets me in. We drive down the road towards the castle. At ground level, the moors appear inhospitable and desolate. There’s not another house in sight. No other cars. Just us.

I lift my eyebrows at Konstantin. “It’s very remote, isn’t it?”

“The other thing I enjoy is silence.”

“But we’re kind of in the middle of nowhere, aren’t we?”

“That was the idea. I didn’t want to share you with the rest of the world.” He leans over the center console and trails the back of his fingers on my cheek. It’s the first time he’s touched me since he briefly squeezed my leg. Soon the barbican comes into view. The five-hundred-year-old grand structure has arrow loops that Konstantin explains were once used to shoot arrows from. He points out the murder hole for dropping projectiles and stones onto the castle’s besiegers. As soon as we pass under it we come into the courtyard ringed by a curtain of stone walls. It’s like suddenly going back in time. Open-mouthed with wonder I gaze around me.

“Come on. Let’s go inside,” he says, and gets out of the car. I know how to work the door on this car so I quickly follow him without waiting for him to come around to let me out.

Konstantin grabs our bags from the trunk and we walk up to the castle together. The heavy wooden door is decorated with iron studs that are rusty with age. He pushes it and it swings opens!

“Wow, they left it unlocked.”

“This is not London,” he says, his palm outstretched to indicate I should enter first. I step into the silent cavern.

Even though the sun shines brightly outside, the temperature is a good few degrees lower in that great hall. Cold vapors coming from the heavy stones touch my skin and make me shiver.

As my eyes grow accustomed to the dim light coming from the high narrow mullioned windows, I make out a vast gloomy rectangular space where the ceiling is so lofty it is at least three stories tall.

The staircase is made of white stone and full of intricate carvings. Numerous low closed doors hint at labyrinths, mysterious rooms or even subterranean dungeons. On one side there is a massive blackened fireplace, and in the center sits a long dining table.

I wonder about the history of the place. The Kings and Queens, the fine noblemen and women who once occupied this castle. They loved and conspired and fought within these grey walls. They are all gone now. The silence is deep and tomb-like. Once we are gone it will return again.

“What do you think?” Konstantin asks. His voice echoes.

I turn to face him. “You could kill me in here and bury me on the moors and no one would know.”

He frowns, and a flicker of uncertainty crosses his face. We stare at each other, then his eyes close over. It is as if he is a boy who showed me a secret, special part of his soul, and I mocked it.

“So you don’t like it,” he says slowly.

I touch his hand, my eyes earnest. “No, I don’t like it. I love it.” And it is the truth. I love it because this is him. This is the physical manifestation of that chilly, hidden part of him that I cannot reach at any other time.

Electricity suddenly crackles between us.

The craving for him is so strong I want to wrap my legs around him and mount him right there. With a muttered oath he drops the bags and wraps his arms tightly around me. His mouth swoops down on me and his tongue thrusts into my mouth. I grind my hips against him and feel how hard he is. My hands find their way under his shirt, relishing the smooth, muscled contours of his broad back.

Still kissing me, he lifts me off my feet and carries me up the stone staircase toward a pavilion area where faded ancient tapestries cover the walls. There is a huge curtained four-poster bed in one corner. His shoes are loud on the wooden floors. He throws me on the bed and I bounce slightly on the mattress. He takes a condom out of his pocket. Still staring down at me, he unbuckles his jeans and pushes them down his hips.

“Take off your panties and get on all fours,” he orders.

It is as if this man has cast a sexual spell over me. I can’t say no to him. I pull off my soaked panties.

“Lift your skirt over, push up, lift up your ass, and show me your pretty little pussy. I’ve been fucking dreaming of it day and night,” he says thickly. I hear the tearing of the condom packet as I push my dress up to my waist and expose myself to him. I love the idea that he can’t get enough of my pussy. No man has ever made me feel so desirable and wanted.

“Lay your cheek on the bed. Today I’m going to mark you. Everywhere. Your pussy, your mouth, your ass. All of it is going to be mine. You’re going to take my cock deep into your body every time you make me hard.”

With my ass high in the air, I feel my body open up to him. Wanting that.

“Look at your little cunt. It’s fucking throbbing for my cock.”

I feel heat climb up my throat at how shameless I have become.

“Raven,” he calls throatily.

“Yes,”

“You’re going to give everything up to me, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. It’s all yours.”