Page 157 of Stranger to Love

I couldn’t even find the words. I was drowning in the intensity of her gaze, my body vibrating with a mix of shame and a terrifying, skyrocketing arousal. I was realising that Carrie wasn't just possessive; she was an exhibitionist of the most dangerous fucking kind—the kind who wanted the world to see her prize, just so they knew exactly what they’ll never be allowed to have. Jesus fuck, what had I got myself into?

"Now," she said, her tone suddenly turning back to that of the cool, detached lecturer. She reached past me and turned the handle of the door, clicking it open. "Go. You have a seminar. And try to keep your mind on your studies, darling. I’d hate for Ms. Davies to notice how... distracted you’ve become."

I stumbled out into the hallway, my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. My mind was spinning at a thousand miles per hour, the air in the corridor suddenly feeling way too thin.

That was not how this was supposed to go.

I had walked in there thinking I was being clever, thinking I could poke the bear and get a bit of playful, jealous back-and-forth. I had wanted to see her eyes flash with a bit of "you’re mine" pettiness. Instead, I felt like I had just been metaphorically taken apart in front of the entire faculty. The sheer, brazen intensity of what she had said—the image of Mia in a chair, of Adrian's inadequacy, of me being fucking shown to them—had me reeling.

Jesus Christ, Carrie.

I leaned against a cold brick wall for a second, pressing my forehead to the surface to try and ground myself. My heart was a frantic bird trapped in my chest. There was no way she was serious. She was a respected academic. She was Dr. Caroline Carter. She wouldn’t actually invite my best friend into her bedroom to watch us... would she?

But then I remembered the look in her eyes—that dark, unblinking hunger. Carrie didn't do "jokes." She did commands and she did reality.

The most terrifying part wasn't even what Carrie had suggested; it was the realisation that if she had actually sat me down that night and told me that was the plan, I didn’t think I’d have said no. I was so fucking far under her spell, so addicted to the way she claimed me, that I had lost where my boundaries even started. I’d probably have just nodded, said "Yes, Mommy," and let her do whatever she wanted with me.

I checked my phone. 11:35 a.m. I had ten minutes to get to the seminar, and I looked like I had just seen a ghost—or like I had been thoroughly fucked. I frantically pulled my shirt collar up as high as it would go, hiding the mark that felt like it was burning a hole through my skin.

As I had approached the seminar room, I had spotted Billie leaning against the doorframe, chatting with another student. Her eyes had snapped to mine instantly, hunting for a crack in my composure. She had definitely noticed the feverish flush on my neck, the slight tremor in my hands, and the way I had practically bolted past her to my desk.

Sliding into my seat, my pulse had hammered against my ribs. I had tried to force my brain back to the lecture, but my mind had taken a dark, chaotic sharp turn. A sudden, wicked image had flashed behind my eyes—a complete fantasy of absolute ownership: being brought to my knees right there, coming in Carrie’s mouth while Billie was forced to stand in the corner and watch, helpless and completely sidelined.

Fucking hell. I had buried my face in my hands. I had been an absolute mess.

I was staring at my phone, my thumb hovering over the silent switch, when a notification banner had appeared across the top of the screen. My heart had stopped.

Carrie: You should invite your friends over for dinner next week. Mommy has a good idea for a menu.

Chapter 34

Dr. Carter

I honestly could not believe that I had managed to orchestrate that evening.

When I had first suggested inviting Mia and Adrian over for dinner, I had known precisely what kind of exquisite, frantic panic it would induce in Alex. For the last week, I had dropped subtle, wicked hints about what the "menu" might entail, letting her overactive imagination convince her that I expected some grand display of public exhibitionism in our own dining room. I had cooed at how beautifully she flushed every time the topic arose, stretching out the torment until she had finally broken and begged for clarification.

Watching the sheer, dizzying relief wash over her when I had rolled my eyes and dismissed the notion had been worth every second of the game. I adore pushing her to her limits, but I would never truly place my princess in a position that made her feel genuinely unsafe. Besides, our little interlude under the tablecloth at Carlos had provided enough high-voltage thrill to sustain us both for the time being.

I had taken a final sip of my water, standing by the kitchen island as I had waited for her to come downstairs. I had chosen her outfit myself—naturally—and bought it without giving her a choice in the matter. The tight leather trousers contoured the spectacular lines of her legs, and the long-sleeved sheer top over that delicate lace bralette struck the exact balance of vulnerability and breathtaking allure I had desired. I knew she had felt a wave of relief when she had realised it wasn't a skirt; her fragile nerves had required at least one physical barrier that night.

My thoughts had been abruptly interrupted by a whining, petulant tone behind me. The heavy atmosphere in the hallway had possessed absolutely nothing to do with our impending guests.

"I’m not using my connections for you, Richard," I said, my voice cutting through the space, cold and precise as a scalpel. "Not when you’ve proven yourself to be entirely unreliable."

"It’s the least you can do," Richard snapped back, his voice thick with a grating entitlement that had made my fingers tighten against the marble counter.

"The least I can do?" I let out a short, humourless laugh. "You are living in my house for free, eating my food, and don't think I haven't noticed you making a significant dent in my Macallan. You’re lucky I haven't put you on the street."

"Mum and Dad think you should help me, too," he complained, sounding more like a coddled teenager than a grown man.

"I am not the provider for this family!" The words ripped from me, a rare, volatile crack in my icy composure. "I bought them a house. I ensured they never have to work another day in their lives. That was my payment for being their daughter. I am not responsible for my little brother’s lack of ambition, no matter how entitled you feel you are."

Out of the corner of my eye, I had caught a shadow on the bottom step. Alex. She was pressed against the wall, holding her breath, having clearly absorbed every single syllable of the exchange. A strange pang of vulnerability had hit me—I hated that she had to witness the sordid, parasitic reality of my family—but I had quickly smoothed my expression.

I had checked my watch. Our guests would be there any second. I had locked my eyes onto Richard, my tone dropping into a lethal, quiet command before he could speak another word.

"You are going to go into the guest room, Richard. You are going to lock the door. And you are not to come out under any circumstances for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”