Page 102 of Stranger to Love

Shit. Okay. We were doing this.

Mia was already scurrying past Adrian, who caught her for a second to not-so-subtly grab her arse. She whispered something back to him, looking way too pleased with herself, and headed for the back of the bar. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Carrie smirked but didn’t move an inch to let me out. I had to practically slide over her lap to escape the booth, the friction of my skirt against her legs making my fucking head swim. Her hands glided across my hips as I moved, and for a split second, I wanted to forget the bathroom entirely and just sink onto her lap right here in the middle of the fucking bar.

I headed toward the toilets with Mia, stealing a glance over my shoulder. Carrie was leaning back, cradling her whiskey and watching my every step with a gaze so heavy I could feel it on my skin. It made my stomach do a slow, nauseous flip of pure excitement. Fuck me.

As soon as the bathroom door swung shut, Mia whirled on me, her face glowing with giddy, drunken energy.

“Fucking hell!” She gave me a playful, forceful shove. “Shit, Alex. That woman has you wrapped around her little finger. Like, what? Are you actually exclusive now?”

I leaned back against the graffiti-covered wall and let out a long, shaky exhale. I bit my lip, unable to stop the grin that spread across my face. Because, fuck, we really were. “I guess we are,” I admitted.

Mia let out a muffled squeal and lunged forward, pulling me into a suffocating, "tits-in-my-face" hug. “Mate, good for you! She is genuinely the sexiest woman I have ever seen in my life, and she’s fucking terrifying.”

I chuckled, gently pushing her back. "Tell me about it."

We headed into the stalls. Between those drinks and my nerves, I actually did need to piss. As I sat there, my heart still hammering, I started unlacing my Docs. I couldn’t believe I was actually fucking doing this. I peeled the thick tights down my legs, the air hitting my skin with a sudden, sharp chill. It was December, but the heat from the crowd and the alcohol in my system kept the cold from biting too hard. Thank fuck.

I rolled the tights into a ball and shoved them deep into the toe of one of my boots—they were a little too big anyway, and I didn't have pockets. I laced my boots back up, washed my hands, and headed back out to the bar with Mia.

She didn't even notice. She was too fucked and eager, rambling on about her plans with Adrian for later tonight that were way too fucking graphic. I was barely listening to her; my entire focus was locked on the booth. As we approached, Caroline’s eyes immediately dropped. She tracked the line of my bare legs under the wrap skirt, her expression darkening with a look of pure, predatory approval.

Every fucking inch of my body started to tingle.

When we reached the booth, Mia and Adrian were already lost in their own world. Mia was whispering something giddily into his ear, her face flushed, while Adrian’s hand trailed lazily up and down her waist. It was the kind of standard bar flirting I’d seen a thousand times, but tonight, it felt like white noise compared to the frequency Carrie and I were vibrating on.

I moved to slide past Carrie, expecting to take my usual spot boxed in against the wall, but she had other plans. As I tried to shimmy by, her arm hooked firmly around my waist, halting my progress.

She didn't say a word.

She just pulled, her strength surprising me, until I was forced to sit directly on her lap. I let out a small, startled gasp, my hands flying to her thighs for balance. She settled me comfortably against her, her legs solid beneath mine, refusing to let me go any further toward the empty seat. Fuck, this was better than any seat.

The sensation of my bare skin against her—the contrast of the cool air in the bar and the radiating heat of her body—was enough to make my head fucking spin.

"Stay," she murmured, the command vibrating against my spine as I leaned back into her chest.

Then, her hand moved. And fuck...

She didn't go for my waist this time. Did she fuck. Her hand slid beneath the hem of my wrap skirt, her palm hot and heavy against my bare thigh. I froze, my breath hitching in my throat as her fingers trailed upward, slow and agonising, until she found the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

She gripped me there—not enough to bruise, but firm enough to be an absolute, undeniable claim. It was a possessive hold that made it crystal clear: I told you to take them off, and now you’re mine to touch. My heart was hammering. I was usually the confident one, the one teasing other women and taking control, but the flip switched the second it came to her. No one had ever done this to me before.

Across the table, Mia and Adrian were too preoccupied with each other to notice the shift. To them, we were just sitting close. But under the table, in the dark shadows of the booth, Carrie’s thumb was tracing slow, rhythmic circles against my skin, driving every fucking coherent thought from my brain.

I leaned my head back against her shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut. The music, the smell of alcohol, the shouting of the crowd—it all disappeared. There was only the weight of her hand on my thigh and the fucking terrifying, beautiful realisation that I would let her do anything to me.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the sensitive spot just behind my ear. "Good girl," she whispered, her voice a low, lethal purr. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to feel your skin since we left the house.”

Oh fuck.

The noise of the bar—the thumping bass, the clink of glasses, Mia’s drunken laughter—became a dull roar in the background, a screen behind which Carrie began to dismantle my fucking composure.

Her hand, which had been anchoring me by the thigh, began to migrate. Shit. It was an agonisingly slow crawl, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh until she reached the edge of my lace underwear. I stiffened, my fingers digging into her thighs, but she didn't stop. Fuck, I could not do this. I was going to fucking give us away. She slid her hand across the silk of my crotch, tracing my folds through the thin barrier of fabric with a precision that made my vision swim. Fuck me, even though I knew this was a fucking bad idea, my own legs betrayed me, opening a little wider.

"Carrie," I gasped, the name barely a puff of air.

"Shh," she murmured against my neck, her teeth grazing my skin. "Don't lose your focus, Alex. Your friends are right there."

She applied a sudden, firm pressure, her thumb finding my clit through the lace and pressing down. Motherfucker. I lurched forward, my back arching instinctively, but her other arm around my waist was a steel band, holding me flush against her. She started a slow, rhythmic grind—circular motions that caught the hood of my clit over and over again. Shit, I couldn’t stop her, I didn’t fucking want to.