Couch Confessions

I lost my virginity to a masked stranger at a club.

No names. No expectations. Just one anonymous choice before my father decided I needed fixing.

I thought it would stay in the dark. Until my father introduced me to my new therapist.

Dr. Fletcher Cooke.

Family friend. Ten years older. The boy who used to bring me books when I was twelve, the same boy who thought I was a problem, even back then.

Now he’s the man sitting across from me, asking careful questions while pretending my answers don’t turn him on.

He doesn’t realize I’m the same girl from the club. But I recognized him instantly.

His voice. The tattoo.

The way his composure slips when I test it.

He’s here to help me make better decisions.

I’m here to prove I don’t need saving from him.

In his office, I push boundaries , but at home, we pretend nothing has changed.

He can’t get club girl out of his head. Perfect! Another way to torment him.

He says there are rules.

I say rules only matter if you’re afraid of breaking them.

Couch Confessions is a forbidden therapist romance featuring forced proximity, hidden identity, emotional tension, and a heroine who refuses to be controlled. This is part of the Crossing Lines Series.

This is a full length novel. 50,677 words.

Chapter Sample:

1- The Return

Astrid

I would not make this easy for my father.

Pulling me out of school over one little, minor, tiny scandal was impulsive and exactly like him. Controlling, arrogant, and more afraid of his tarnished reputation than of how leaving school early would affect me.

It took me a week to arrange everything with my teachers so I could continue classes online. I would have preferred in-person instruction, but with no other options, online would have to suffice.

For now.

Until dad realized I’d be more of a headache at home than at school.

I had a plan for that, too. He thought my insignificant scandal at school was a problem? Just wait until I wreak havoc at home.

He wasn’t even home when I arrived. Couldn’t even be bothered to be here? Anna greeted me at the door. Faithful, sweet Anna. Our housekeeper and the woman I saw as my mom.

Mom died when I was twelve. The day before my thirteenth birthday. A milestone in any girl’s life, but for me? Birthdays were another reminder that I’d lost something.

I hugged Anna.

“Miss, welcome home.” She took my bag and led me inside.

“Anna, I swear, if you call me Miss Grant, I will die.”

“Astrid, you know your father. I will save the Miss for when he’s here.” She flashed me a smile, her white teeth straight and perfect.

“Dad’s not home, is he?”

“Sorry. You know how he is. But he’ll be home tomorrow. I’m afraid, however, that he’s instructed me to keep you home until he returns,” she warned.

“Seriously?” I crossed my arms, leaned back, ready to sass, then dropped my arms, thinking better of it. This was Anna. Not my father. “Fine. Is my room ready?”

Anna put an arm around me and took me upstairs. “I kept it just how you left it. Your luggage arrived earlier. Everything is just how you want it. Including your closet,” she added, catching my question before I could ask.

My closet. My secret little bat cave. While most twenty-two-year-old college girls filled their closets with trendy clothes and accessories, I hid my darkest secrets in mine.

“Thank you, Anna.” I sprinted up the stairs and down to my room. I threw open the closet door, shoved the clothing aside, and pushed on the panel.

Inside my computer, laptop, monitors, and a TV were set up, just as they had been before I moved to Stanford for college. Anna had unpacked everything, but hadn’t gone further. Made sense to me. Anna wasn’t techie like me. I set to it, connecting monitors, power supplies, my game console, and the TV. I hacked into our security system. Dad hadn’t even changed the password in four years. Foolish. I’d have to update the system for him.

Anna leaned against the closet panel. “I’ll make lunch. Astrid, when are you going to tell your father about this?” She pointed at my computer setup.

“Anna, you know he wants a daughter who is pretty, girlie, marriage-ready.” I crawled under my desk and organized power cables. “He isn’t interested in a smart daughter. I swear he only allowed me to attend Stanford because it looks good on his resume, not mine.”

I peeked out. “What’s for lunch? I’m going swimming after this.”

She smiled. “Your favorite, of course.”

A tuna sandwich on white bread. Campbell’s tomato soup with cracked black pepper and a bay leaf. It was the meal my mom used to make me when I was home sick or after a hard day at school. Then later, when she was too sick to cook, I made it for her. This was our meal.

I checked the camera feed. I don’t know what I was expecting. My father coming home from his business trip early? To want to see me? To give me the chance to explain my side of the story?

Fat chance of that.

I grabbed my bikini and headed down to the pool. Lunch was arranged on the patio table under the canopy. A tall glass of lemonade sat beside my meal. Anna was the best.

I ate in silence, allowing the memories to flood my mind. I smiled as I sipped the soup. Afterwards, I stood, fixed my hair, removed my sunglasses, and slipped off my heels. I looked around the yard for spectators. No one. I glanced up at the kitchen window and spotted Anna. I waved at her, then ran for the pool and leaped into a cherry bomb for maximum splash.

I laughed when I surfaced. In my backyard, just me, no one watching, I was a child. Posing for pictures, sunning by the pool, capturing a “vibe,” none of that was me. Pools were for fun, not Instagram.

After my swim, I washed in the outdoor shower and then headed upstairs.

I had a plan. If Dad couldn’t be bothered with me tonight, I would sneak out. What would he do? He’d already forced me to move home. And that was already unfair.

The club Aurum in San Francisco was hosting a masquerade night tonight. Rachel was planning to go. I shot her a text. I’d meet her there. If I had to return to this gilded prison, I’d go all out tonight.

Maybe I’d find a guy and finally let loose enough to have sex. Doubtful. I found most men stupid and arrogant. None of them were interested in getting to know me. They wanted the Grant Heiress to look the part, silently.

I waited until I knew Anna was done for the night. It was a two-hour drive into San Francisco. I selected my outfit and dressed silently. Rachel had sent a picture for inspiration. We planned to coordinate.

She’d wear her cat mask. Black, sleek, just over the eyes. Her dress would match. Black and sleek. She’d wear the black bob wig. I’d wear the half fox mask. It covered more. Red and gold, ornate. My dress was red and sleek. I’d wear the red bob wig. Just two college co-eds out to party. Anonymous, free, seeking adventure. Rachel’s brother would come along. He refused to match us. He opted for a plain white mask and a white suit. Whatever. He was no fun. But we needed him. He would watch us, make sure we didn’t go off with strange men or accept drinks from strangers. Robbie was boring but nice. He knew that with us, he’d get into the club. And we knew with him, we’d leave the club in one piece.

I made it outside and into the Uber without Anna catching on. I was halfway to San Francisco when Rachel called.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m almost there. I’ll meet you at the door.”

“OMG, Astrid, you’d better hurry. Robbie is flipping out. I think his crush will be at the club tonight. So lame. Like he forgets every time that the bouncer only lets him in because he brings us.”

Rachel and Robbie were waiting outside, just as planned. Rachel shrieked and hugged me. Robbie patted my head.

“Nice wig, Astro.”

“Gee, thanks, Captain Sunshine.” I eyed the white suit he wore. “You look like Liberace’s less confident cousin.”

He laughed. Robbie was too good-natured sometimes. Rachel grabbed our hands and pulled us after her. “Come on, you guys. This is our last chance before Astrid’s dad imprisons her for crimes she didn’t commit.”

Robbie leaned close. “Yeah, and I heard that girl’s computer exploded because of your innocence.”

I winked. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

The bouncer gave us a once-over before stepping aside. We all donned our masks and stepped into the darkness of the club. Aurum was packed. Not surprising. It was a Friday. College students, businessmen, bros, Chads, Karens. All were in attendance for the masquerade. I spotted a few foxes, several cats, and many attempts at the Phantom’s iconic mask. A bit presumptuous, if you asked me. I spotted one man wearing a Mandalorian helmet. I mean, hard to drink, but to each their own, I guess.

Rachel danced her way to the bar, purring and pretending to scratch as she went. She returned with two cocktails. She set the vodka cranberry before me, and she was sipping her spicy margarita before she even took her seat. Robbie just shook his head, choosing to remain silent.

Rachel licked the Tajin along the rim and bit into the extra lime. She started coughing, then laughing.

“Robbie, you better watch her,” I warned. I took a sip of my drink and pushed it toward Robbie. “I’m going to dance.”

I joined the crowd, soon finding myself between two guys, both wearing red devil masks. The open collars and bare chests reminded me too much of a Miami nightclub I went to last spring break. I danced away, looking for a group of women to join–no such luck. I returned to our table, where Rachel was ordering her second margarita.

Robbie slid my drink over and I took another sip. A guy at the bar was watching me. I ignored him, at first, but something about his posture drew my gaze again and again.

He wore a black half-face mask with a matte finish. He didn’t stand out. He was the same as every other business bro here. Except his shoulders sagged with fatigue. I chuckled. This guy came to a club expecting to drink and blend in and found himself in the middle of a wild masquerade night to celebrate spring.

“Astrid, babe, I am totally crushed that you moved back home.” Rachel hugged me, hanging off my shoulders. “Are you still doing classes? We’re supposed to graduate this year.” She kissed my cheek. I flashed Robbie a look.

“I’m not stopping, Rach, I promise.”

Robbie helped her back to her seat. “Now be a good little sister and stay there.” He patted her shoulders.

“Is your crush here?”

He looked around. “Probably not.”

“Sorry, Rob.”

Rachel leaned across the table. “You need to drink, Astrid, for tomorrow we die,” she slurred. She batted Robbie away. “Stop that. Don’t you get it? Astrid’s in jail now.”

I watched as Robbie helped his sister. He held onto her, keeping her upright. “How is she so drunk, Rob?”

He pointed at the empty margarita glass. “Mezcal.”

“Oh no. Remember last time? You’d better take her home.”

He helped her stand. “You good?”

“Yeah, totally.” I threw back the rest of my drink. “Rachel’s right. I’m going to drink. Then get an Uber back home.”

I ordered another drink at the bar. The man was no longer watching me. He was staring into his beer. Truly pathetic. I thought I was the only one facing the firing squad tomorrow.

I took my vodka cranberry and slipped into the empty seat beside him.

“So, what’s got you so depressed?”

He looked up, startled. “You know this seat’s taken,” he said eventually. His voice was scratchy from drinking too long.

I waved down the bartender, calm. “By someone boring. Lucky for you, I’m not.”

He turned to me, the mask hiding his eyes.

“You assume I want company.”

“You showed up at a masked club on a Friday night. Alone,” I pointed out, giving him a deliberate once-over. He was wearing a white button-down and dark slacks. I could see the body underneath. Not bad. Not bad at all. 

“You must need something.”

He didn’t dispute it. He just raised his glass again, saying, “My drink’s full. I’m doing alright.”

“Oh, clearly,” I remarked. “You look one Hallmark movie away from tears.”

His jaw tightened. He turned slightly, as if assessing me and finding me lacking. “Shouldn’t you be dancing or helping that friend of yours? Where’d your boyfriend go?”

I laughed. “Him? He’s our Hall Monitor. Not my boyfriend.” I smirked at him. “Why? Were you watching me?” I leaned forward, hand brushing his arm.

“No,” he mumbled, returning to his drink. “Just observant. Nice mask, by the way. A fox? Not a sexy cat?”

I pouted at him. “You don’t think I’m sexy?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

I tipped back my drink, finishing it with a cough. “Whew, that was fun.” I grabbed his hand. “Dance with me.”

He stood reluctantly, following me. The music was slow, with a low bass steady enough to dance to without thinking. I turned my back to him and let my body start to follow the rhythm, leaving just enough space between us to see if he’d step in or hold back.

He didn’t move right away. Then I felt the warm brush of his breath near my neck. His hand touched my side briefly, barely there, then gone.

I kept moving, nothing sharp or showy, just the kind of quiet rhythm that lets the room fall away. My hips shifted, shoulders loose, arms easy. I didn’t look over my shoulder. I didn’t need to.

Other couples around us clung to each other, kissing or groping, hands roving. One man danced like he’d been born moving. We watched him for a moment until he moved away.

There was hesitation in how he held still behind me, like he was trying to decide what he wanted or reminding himself why he shouldn’t. He looked like someone who wasn’t used to places like this but was looking for something he shouldn’t.

I let the beat carry me, steady and sure. If all he wanted to do was watch, that was fine. My fingers slid into my hair, not for show, just because it felt good to move. I didn’t pull him in. I just danced for myself.

He stayed.

When he touched me again, it wasn’t tentative. One hand came to my waist with weight and purpose. The other slid lower, pulled me back against him. He moved with me now, steady and focused, like he’d decided something and wasn’t going to second-guess it.

I leaned into him and let him take the lead for a few slow beats. He held me close and didn’t rush it. He knew how to move. He knew how to hold. But no matter how tight his grip or how sure his steps, this was still mine. He didn’t need to take the lead. I was already giving him what I wanted him to have.

I shifted my weight and let myself sink lower, slow and steady, testing how far I could take it. My hips dropped down with the beat, knees bent, body low, keeping the beat. If he followed, he followed. If not, he’d fall behind.

This time he didn’t hesitate. His hand was firm on my hip, the other sliding up my ribs. He stepped in closer and matched my drop, staying with me.

He leaned close, mouth near my ear. I felt it more than I heard it. “You’re dangerous.”

I smiled and grabbed his hand, leading him back to the bar. “I am dangerous. And sexy, right?”

I was pushing it, but who cared? I was returning to prison. Tonight, I’d have fun. I’d fuck a stranger. I’d live a little before my sentence. Maybe he’d be lucky, maybe not. It didn’t matter.

I kept my hands to myself as the bartender brought him another beer and me another vodka cranberry. Truth be told, I never drank at home. Drinking was social. No more than two drinks. Always a vodka cranberry. Pink and girlie. Exactly what was expected of the Grant Heiress.

I downed it in one gulp, feeling the effects as I swayed slightly.

“So, tell me, my masked friend. Why are you here? You don’t really fit in.”

He laughed then. Quiet and bitter. He probably didn’t want to be here. Perhaps the alternative was worse?

“You ever feel like…” he started, then stopped. He glanced at me. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me. Like what?”

He exhaled through his nose, tired. “Like you’ve been good for too long. Did everything right. Played the part. And now you’re one wrong choice away from not giving a damn anymore.”

I snorted. “All the time.

He kept going. “I’m supposed to be in Napa by morning. Fresh start, you know? New city. New job. Did everything by the book. And here I am. Sitting in a place like this, wearing a stupid mask. Drinking too much. Hoping someone gives me a reason to fuck it up before it even starts.”

I nodded. I understood –more than he knew.

2- Dangerous

Astrid

He didn’t know me. Didn’t know my last name, my wealth, my status. He didn’t see a bratty heiress playing dress-up. He saw what I let him see. What I chose to be tonight. A sexy fox.

Dangerous. Anonymous.

And I’d already made up my mind.

He wasn’t sloppy drunk, just loose enough. Hands still steady. Words still sharp. He didn’t look away when I leaned in.

“You want danger?” I asked.

His eyes didn’t blink.

I let my fingers trail up his arm. “You want to forget the rules, just once?”

He nodded.

I leaned forward, hand on his thigh. “Come with me.”

Just two anonymous people looking to forget what the world demanded of them.

I pulled him into a private room, my fingers gripping his wrist tightly. His skin was warm, and I caught the slight tremor in his hand. He was nervous. I liked that.

This was a private lounge, the kind you had to reserve and pay for. A lot, usually.

“Screw the rules,” I said. The club was emptying anyway. Music fading, last call over. Just us now. Just two masked people

I yanked him closer and kissed him, rough and fast. No time for gentle. No room for questions. I didn’t give him space to second-guess it. I wanted wild. I wanted him rough.

“You want to be crazy, right?” I asked, close to his mouth. “One night, just forget everything else?”

He groaned. His hands found my waist, gripping me hard. “God, yes. I’m so sick of being proper all the time.”

I reached for the buttons on his shirt. My fingers shook a little, but I kept going. The fabric opened to bare skin, warm and clean. I leaned in and kissed the center of his chest.

“Then let’s do it. Right here,” I said.

His skin was hot. I could feel his pulse under my mouth. I moved lower, slow, mouth on him, breaths getting shallow.

“But anyone could walk in,” he said. The protest was thin. Barely there.

I pulled off his shirt and let it drop. “I know. That’s what makes it better.”