Page 134 of Stranger to Love

"Rest now, baby," she commanded softly, her grip tightening just enough to let me know she wasn't letting go. "But remember the weight of my hand on you. Tomorrow, you have a day of recovery. The day after, when you put on your uniform and head back to that bar, you carry this feeling with you. You belong to me in the light just as much as you do in the dark."

Chapter 30

Dr. Carter

THUD-THUD-THUD.

The heavy, rhythmic pounding against my front door fractured the silent, cedar-scented sanctuary of the master bedroom like a series of gunshots.

I bolted upright, a sharp gasp catching in my throat as my heart instantly kicked into overdrive. Beside me, Alex was moving before she was even fully conscious. The raw adrenaline of our previous night hadn't even begun to leave her system, and it flared back to life in a blinding, white-hot rush. She rolled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the hardwood with a heavy slap, looking feral, panicked, and entirely ready to tear apart whoever was threatening our peace.

"Alex—wait!" My voice sliced through the morning air, a sharp command that brought her to a screeching halt near the door.

I looked at her, my eyes raking over her posture. She stood there panting, fists clenched, completely unaware of how magnificent—and utterly exposed—she was. The morning light streamed through the curtains, illuminating her body like a map of my ownership: dark, violet hickeys blossoming across her throat, the faint, elegant tracing of rope burns on her delicate skin. The fierce, defensive stance she had taken looked deliciously absurd given how completely dismantled and marked she clearly was.

The pounding echoed through the house again. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

"Who the fuck is that?" she hissed, her voice gravelly, cracked, and thick with protective static.

I slipped out of the sheets and reached for my silk robe, my corporate, academic composure returning with terrifying speed. I looked at my girl one last time, standing tall in the light of day, covered in my claims and looking ready to kill for me. A flash of dark, intensely satisfied pride flickered in my chest.

"Stay here," I commanded, tying the belt of my robe with a decisive, sharp snap. "Do not come out of this room, Alex. Not until I see who it is."

"I'm coming with you," she snapped back, snatching one of my spare silk robes off the armchair and shoving her arms into the sleeves. The fabric was far too long for her, the hem trailing like a heavy shadow on the floor, but her stubborn jaw was set.

I stopped her at the threshold, placing my palm flat against her chest. I let my gaze turn to absolute steel. "I said, stay."

I slipped past her, clicking the bedroom door shut behind me.

As I marched down the stairs, the cool air of the house did nothing to soothe the irritation spiking in my veins. I glided across the marble floor and threw back the heavy click of the deadbolt.

"CC, took you long enough! Merry Christmas!"

Richard’s voice boomed through my foyer, loud, obnoxious, and utterly devoid of manners. He stepped inside, dragging a heavy bag that scuffed against my pristine floors.

"It is New Year’s Day, Richard. Not Christmas," I replied. My voice was terrifyingly calm—the exact tone I used right before I utterly ruined a student's academic standing.

"Oh, come on, CC! Aren’t you happy to see your little brother?" He threw himself forward, completely blind to the warning signs radiating from my posture.

"Richard, you were supposed to be in Cambridge," I stated, my voice echoing up the grand stairwell. I was hyper-aware that Alex was listening to every word from above. "And you most certainly were not invited to stay here. Especially not today."

"Plans changed! And since when does family need an invitation?" He dropped his heavy luggage with a dull thud. "Anyway, I’m starving. Is there coffee? Or better yet, whatever’s left of the champagne?"

I watched him trudge past me toward the kitchen, his heavy boots tracking winter grit into my house. My mind flashed back to his entitlement from years ago—his constant draining of my Macallan, his endless assumptions that my success belonged to him. I felt a vein throb in my temple.

I turned and marched back up the stairs, my stride sharp and rhythmic. When I opened the bedroom door, I was absolutely livid. I shut it behind me with a quiet, lethal click.

"My little brother is drunk, and he is currently raiding my fridge," I said flatly, my voice trembling with the sheer effort of maintaining my mask. "I have to deal with him. I am so sorry, darling."

The moment the threat of an actual intruder faded, I watched the adrenaline drain from Alex's body. The physical exhaustion of the night caught up to her all at once—the soreness of her thighs, the dull throb in her wrists where the velvet ropes had secured her to me. She swayed slightly on her feet.

My expression softened instantly. My fury remained, but it redirected entirely away from her. I crossed the rug, my hands reaching out to gently stroke her arms, grounding her against me. I gently coaxed her backward until she was sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"You’re shaking, baby," I murmured, my thumb tracing the sweet line of her jaw. "Maybe you should have another bath. Or just get back under the covers and sleep. I’ll handle Richard and get him out of here as soon as he’s sober enough to keep his balance."

She looked up at me, a tiny prickle of anxiety clouding her beautiful eyes. "What do you want me to do? Do... do you need me to leave? I can slip out the back."

The mere suggestion made my fingers tighten on her shoulders. Absolute, possessive heat flashed through my chest.