Page 122 of Stranger to Love

As if I didn't already fucking know that.

The rest of the day was a blur of indulgence. The pancakes arrived exactly when we needed them—delivered by a courier so discreetly that I didn't even fucking notice until Carrie was setting the plates down. I just shook my head at her, muttering about her being on a "power-trip spending spree," but the woman didn't even blink. She just nudged a fork into my hand and told me to eat.

By late afternoon, we were all settled into our designated spots. The new sofas were as fucking soft as they looked; Mum was propped up with pillows, looking more relaxed than I'd seen her in years, with Dad glued to her side. Across from them, Carrie and I were snuggled together, her arm draped over my shoulders and my head resting in that perfect fucking hollow against her chest.

The alcohol had been flowing steadily. Dad’d moved from beer to whiskey, and Carrie had been nursing a glass of red wine that looked like it cost more than my dad's fucking van. Mum drifted in and out of sleep, her head resting on Dad’s shoulder; between the meds and the comfort of the revamped room, she was finally at peace.

Dinner was a casual, deceptively high-end affair—a buffet of the gourmet stuff Carrie had "Tetris-ed" into the fridge earlier in the week. We ate off our laps, the flickering light of a Christmas classic illuminating the room. I was feeling a bit fucking giddy from the wine, a loose, warm sensation spreading through my limbs. I found myself giggling as I fed a bit of a miniature quiche to Carrie. She let me, catching my fingers with a playful nip of her teeth and a smirk that told me exactly what she was thinking.

Fuck, everything fucking tingled now.

Before we knew it, the darkness of Christmas Eve had fully descended. Dad stood up, stretching with a satisfied groan, and gently woke Mum.

"Time for bed, Karen," he whispered.

"Go on," I said, waving my wine glass and feeling incredibly content. "I insisted on the TV, remember? You have to go up and fall asleep with a film on in the background. It’s the law."

Dad chuckled, helping Mum to her feet. He looked over at Carrie—not with suspicion or even pride this time, but with genuine warmth. "Goodnight, you two. And Caroline... thank you. Truly."

Carrie nodded once, a regal, graceful movement. "Goodnight, Phil."

The sound of their footsteps on the stairs eventually faded, leaving the lounge in a heavy, comfortable silence broken only by the crackle of the TV. I reached for the remote and put on another film, but my focus wasn't on the screen.

I turned in Carrie's arms, my face inches from hers. In the quiet of my childhood home, everything felt softer.

"You really did it," I whispered, my voice thick with wine and affection. "You gave them the best Christmas they’ve had in a decade."

Carrie ran her thumb across my jaw, her touch lingering. "And you, my darling? Are you having a good Christmas?"

I smiled, leaning into her palm. "It’s perfect."

I looked away for a split second to click on the next film. Deck the Halls started playing—a total classic in my eyes. But when I looked back at Carrie, the air in my lungs fucking vanished. My throat went dry because she was giving me that look—the one that instantly made me want to fall to my fucking knees.

She leaned in, capturing my lips in a way that made me drop the remote instantly. It clattered to the floor, forgotten, as I laced my fingers through her hair. I fumbled with her clip, desperate to let her dark hair fall free. Finally, it spilled over her shoulders—down just for me.

Carrie smiled against my lips as she shifted, sitting up more and bringing me with her. Slowly, purposefully, she started to press me down into the plush cushions of the new sofa, her body hovering over mine. Fuck.

Through the haze of the wine and the mounting arousal, my eyes flew open. Panic. This was my parents’ living room. The door was still wide open to the hallway, and the blinds weren't fully fucking closed.

"Carrie—" I gasped.

She just smirked, ignoring my protest as she trailed kisses down my neck. She nibbled lightly on my pulse point before pulling away, leaving me to let out a pathetic, fucking needy whimper.

She stood up, but she wasn't leaving. I watched, mesmerised, as she moved to the windows. With a single, fluid motion, she snapped the blinds shut and drew the heavy curtains, plunging the room into a cozy, flickering dimness. On her way back, she caught the edge of the door, closing it with a soft, decisive click.

My belly did a violent fucking flip as she stalked back toward the sofa, her gaze locked on mine with predatory intent. The "Dr. Carter" mask was gone, replaced by the woman who owned every fucking inch of me.

"Now," she murmured, her voice a low, dangerous vibration in the quiet room. "Where were we, princess?"

Carrie's weight was a warm, solid pressure that pinned me into the plush charcoal fabric. She didn't waste a fucking second; her lips were back on my skin, blazing a trail of fire down my throat. Her hands slid under the hem of my t-shirt, the cool air hitting my skin for only a heartbeat before she was pulling the fabric up and over my head, tossing it somewhere into the shadows of the lounge.

I was really fucking glad I knew my parents. Between the whiskey, the meds, and the new TV upstairs, they’d be out like a fucking light. The festive music from the film playing in here provided a perfect, shimmering veil of sound; there was no way they’d hear a fucking thing.

Carrie was a woman on a mission. The patience she’d shown for the last two weeks—the soft, supportive nurse—had finally reached its fucking limit.

"I have been very, very patient, Alex," she murmured against the hollow of my collarbone, her voice thick with a hunger that made my blood boil. "Even though I’ve wanted you moaning my name every single second we’ve been together. Every time you acted like a brat, every time you tried to push me away... I wanted to clear every single thought from your mind until only I remained."

I was panting, my back arching off the soft cushions as she deftly stripped me of my joggers. I felt fucking exposed, vulnerable, and completely electrified. I reached out, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of her silk lounge shirt, desperate to feel her skin against mine.