Page 166 of Stranger to Love

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Yes... please. I want you. I want all of you."

Carrie hummed, a sound of pure, dark satisfaction that vibrated right through me. She adjusted herself, kneeling comfortably between my legs, her thighs framing my hips. She took her time, moving with a clinical precision that only made the anticipation more fucking agonising. Then, she lined herself up.

She didn't look away for even a second. Her gaze was pinning me to the mattress as she began to slide in. Holy shit. She went slowly at first—agonisingly, beautifully slowly—allowing my body to stretch and adjust to the new, stretching fullness of her.

The sensation was overwhelming. It was not just the physical feeling; it was the psychological weight of her being the one to do this. I felt my face heating up, a wave of intense fucking vulnerability crashing over me. My hands flew up, reaching for a pillow to throw over my head—anything to hide the raw, undone expression I knew was fucking plastered on my face.

"Hands down, Alex," Carrie commanded, her voice sharp but laced with affection. "I want to see you. I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you."

I whimpered but obeyed, my hands clenching into the sheets instead. I was forced to meet her stare as she pushed deeper, her eyes tracking every flinch, every hitch in my breath, and every flicker of pleasure that crossed my face.

"That's it," she whispered, her pace picking up just a fraction as she found her rhythm. "Look at me, princess. Let me see how much you love me."

I was completely unraveling. The weight of my confession still hung thick in the air, mixing with the relentless, agonisingly perfect rhythm of her inside me. I was shattered wide open—entirely, irreversibly hers. As she leaned down to trap my mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, a blinding wave of clarity hit me: I’d never been more alive than right there, broken down and pinned beneath the woman I finally, truly belonged to.

Carrie began to up her pace, her movements transitioning from clinical precision to a fucking relentless, rhythmic drive. She let out a low, guttural groan, her hips snapping forward with more force as she felt how tightly my body was clinching around her.

"God, Alex," she rasped, her composure finally fraying at the edges. "I knew... I knew you’d be this perfect. I’ve spent months imagining exactly how you’d feel, how you’d look under me when I finally took you like this."

My head thrashed against the pillow, my hair a wild mess tangled among the rose petals. I tried to stay fucking calm, tried to keep my eyes locked on hers like she commanded, but the sensation was too fucking much. It was an all-consuming friction that was lighting up every nerve ending in my body. I felt dizzy, the air in the room suddenly too hot to breathe.

"Mommy, please—" I choked out, my fingers digging so hard into the mattress I was worried I’d tear the silk sheets.

"Stay with me, princess," she commanded, her voice a rough growl as she drove deeper. "Don't you dare close your eyes."

The tension was building into something unbearable, a coiled spring at the base of my spine that was being wound tighter and tighter with every thrust. I was right on the fucking edge, the precipice of a climax so huge it felt like it’d shatter my bones, but Carrie wouldn't let me fall. She kept the pace steady and punishing, hovering me right on that agonising brink, forcing me to endure the pleasure until I was sobbing her name.

"I love you," she whispered, leaning down so her sweat-dampened skin slid against mine, her lips brushing my ear as she delivered a particularly deep, hard surge. "I love you, and you are mine."

The word mine was the final spark. The coiled spring inside me snapped, and I was thrown into a white-hot explosion of release that left me screaming her name into the crook of her neck. My body convulsed, clinging to her with a desperate, crushing strength as the house—and the world outside it—completely ceased to exist.

The ripples of the climax continued to wash over me, long and shivering, leaving my muscles feeling like melted wax. The tears fucking started again—not from sadness or fear this time, but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of being seen and held so completely. I was a sobbing, trembling mess, my breath coming in short, jagged hitches as the adrenaline began to ebb away.

Carrie didn't say a word. She moved with a quiet, grounding tenderness, gently withdrawing and slipping out of the harness. I heard the soft thud as it hit the floor, discarded and forgotten.

Before I could even try to pull myself together, she was back, sliding under the covers and scooping me into her arms. She pulled me flush against her, my back to her chest, her limbs wrapping around me like a shield. One of her hands tangled in my messy hair, while the other pressed firmly against my heart, as if she was trying to steady its frantic rhythm with her own.

"Shh, I've got you," she whispered into the back of my neck, her voice thick with an affection that felt even more intimate than the sex. "I’ve got you, Alex. Just breathe, darling."

I turned in her arms, burying my face in the crook of her neck, my tears dampening her skin. I felt her heart beating slow and steady against my ribs—a lighthouse in the storm of my own head. The room was quiet then, the only sound our synchronised breathing.

She held me with an absolute, fiercely protective weight, her lips occasionally tracing slow, lingering kisses across my temple and forehead. For the first time in my life, the quiet wasn't vast or isolating—it was a sanctuary. As my eyes grew heavy, sinking into the warmth of the bed, I realised the girl who relied on cheap bravado and swore she’d never need a soul was officially gone. Carrie had completely dismantled her, and for the first time, I didn't care.

I was just Alex. She was just Carrie. And for that night, that was everything.

Chapter 36

Alex

It just sort of happened.

I didn’t want to be away from Carrie’s all week, but being home had been nice. The routine of uni, making dinner with Mum, and spending evenings prepping Dad for his interview had grounded me. I even used the laptop Carrie gave me to build him a proper CV. Seeing his experience laid out in black and white filled me with a fierce sense of pride—he was far more skilled than anyone gave him credit for. I spent hours in the uni library following the librarians' advice to make sure it looked professional. I just wanted him to put his best foot forward.

When the doorbell finally rang, I found myself grinning like a total idiot, sprinting toward the hallway before the echo even faded. I had missed her.

I had stolen moments where I could at uni, of course, but that was Dr. Carter. That was the woman I had to pretend I wasn't staring at as she lectured, the woman whose mouth only slightly twitched when she caught me looking. I had definitely been the needy girlfriend, bombarding her office for a few stolen kisses or that one heated moment against her wall that left my knees weak for the rest of the afternoon. But Carrie Carter was a professional; no matter how much I begged her the other day, she just called me a brat and held me at arm's length while I pawed at her shirt. I was obsessed with her. (Though I swore, she almost gave in.)

I pulled the door open and just stared. She was standing there with her hair in that half-up, half-down style that made her look younger and devastatingly sexy. She was wearing black jeans and a crisp white shirt tucked in at the front—a "French tuck," she’d called it. Thank you, France. She had a suit bag hooked over her shoulder, looking formidable and perfect.