Page 150 of Stranger to Love

"You used her to hide from me," Dr. Carter said, her voice dangerously low as she paced. "You sat in my presence and occupied your mind with a mediocre subordinate because you were too cowardly to face what was happening between us."

She stopped behind the chair, her hands coming down to rest on my shoulders, her grip grounding me. "Tell me, Alex. Does she touch you better than I do? Does she make you feel this small? This seen?"

"No," I said, the word rushing out of me. "No, it wasn't like that. Not even close, Mommy."

"Clarify that, Alex. Tell me exactly what you mean."

I swallowed hard, my face burning. "I... I was always the one in control with her. I was the one doing the touching. I used her. She never touched me back, not like that. She’s never even seen me without my clothes on, Dr. Carter. We never... she didn't."

The silence that followed was heavy. I could feel her processing this behind me. The truth was, both times with Billie had been quick, dirty, and entirely focused on her body, not mine.

"She never saw you?" Carrie’s voice was a low vibration against the back of my neck. "She never had the privilege of seeing what is mine?"

"No," I whispered, my eyes shutting as her hands slid down to the swell of my breasts, claiming them. "Never."

"Good," she murmured, her tone laced with lethal satisfaction. "Because if she had, Alex, I would have had to do more than simply handle her. I would have had to erase the memory of her from your skin entirely. What, exactly, did you do to her, darling?"

"The first time," I started, my voice barely a thread, "I fingered her. It was in the staff room of the club. It was fast. Messy."

Carrie’s grip tightened, splaying across my skin. "And the second time?"

"The second time…in her office. I went down on her. That was it. I didn't even take my shirt off."

The air left the room. Carrie walked back around the chair, her expression unreadable, though the vein in her temple was pulsing.

"You went down on her," she repeated. "You used that mouth—the mouth that begs me for mercy, the mouth I’ve claimed a dozen times over—to pleasure a woman who is nothing more than a footnote in your story."

She leaned down, gripping the arms of my chair, trapping me. "Tell me, Alex, did you think of me then? Or were you too busy playing the part of the experienced little heartbreaker?"

“It wasn't like that,” I rambled, the words spilling out in a desperate torrent. "I swear, Dr. Carter—from the moment you walked into that first seminar, I couldn't breathe. I never thought I’d have a chance with you. You were this impossible, untouchable goddess. Billie was nothing. She was a distraction because I thought you were out of my league. She doesn't compare to you. I’d trade a thousand lifetimes with her for one second of your attention."

Carrie remained perfectly still, her hands white-knuckled on the arms of my chair, her nose brushing mine.

"Desperation is a very dangerous motivation, Alex," she whispered. "It makes people do reckless things. Like letting my own colleague touch them in a library."

She let go of the chair and stood up, her height a weapon. "If you truly believe she doesn't compare, then you won't mind proving it. You say she’s never seen you? She’s never truly touched you?" A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. "Then we are going to make sure that the marks I leave on you tonight are the only thing you see when you look in the mirror tomorrow. And when you see Ms. Davies in the corridor, you will feel every single one of them burning."

Carrie didn’t give me a chance to breathe. She moved with fluid, terrifying grace, straddling my lap. The weight of her pinned me back against the velvet as her knees dug into the sides of my thighs, looming over me as a silhouette of absolute authority.

"Let’s see what we're working with," she murmured, her hands beginning a slow, agonisingly light journey across my skin.

Her fingers were ice and fire, ghosting over my ribs. I shivered, my back arching instinctively toward her touch. She paused when her fingertips found the faint, yellowing remnants of the bruises she had left on me last week.

"These are fading," she observed, her voice dropping into a low, dissatisfied hum. "You must have covered them too well, Alex. You hid the evidence of my ownership so effectively that another woman thought there was room for her."

She leaned in, her breath hot against the crook of my neck. I could feel the erratic thrum of my pulse beneath the skin, practically jumping into her mouth. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to expose the long, vulnerable line of my throat.

"I won't make that mistake again," she whispered. "Tomorrow, when you're sitting in the library, I want you to feel the air hitting this spot. I want you to remember exactly who put it there."

She dived, her lips pressing firmly against the sensitive skin just below my jawline. I let out a sharp, broken gasp, my fingers digging into her hips as she began to suck—a rhythmic, demanding pressure that drew my very soul to the surface. She punctuated the heat with a sharp nip of her teeth, a tiny sting of pain that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to my core.

When she finally pulled back, she stayed close enough to admire her handiwork: a dark, violent bloom of purple and red that stood out starkly against my pale skin. It was loud. It was a warning.

"There," she said, her eyes dark with a terrifying, satisfied glow. "Let Ms. Davies look at that and try to tell herself you’re still a prize that she can win."

The friction of her weight against my lap was sudden. Carrie ground against me once—a slow, heavy, deliberate press that sent a white-hot spark straight to my brain. I let out a broken whimper, my head thumping back against the velvet of the chair as my hands desperately gripped her waist, trying to anchor myself in the middle of the storm.

She stopped as quickly as she had started, looming over me. She could feel me shaking beneath her; she knew exactly what that single movement had done to my resolve.