Page 189 of Stranger to Love

Walking out of the library felt surreal. I was nowhere near graduation—I still had two more years of this—but completing this first year felt like a fucking massive, hard-won achievement. I practically sailed through the car park to where my ridiculously expensive car was waiting.

I slid into the driver’s seat, tossing my bag onto the passenger side. What the hell was my life? Carrie had bought me a car. An actual, straight-off-the-lot, terrifyingly expensive car, purchased as casually as if she were picking up coffee. It still had that intoxicating "new car" smell, and as I gripped the pristine steering wheel to drive home—to our home—I was half-convinced I was going to wake up in my old, cramped bed at any second.

As I pulled up to the driveway, the gate opened automatically. I had only recently learned that there was a sensor tucked away in the car so the house knew we were close. Fucking mental.

Carrie had even rearranged the massive garage once we got my cars. She had moved her older models to a separate section toward the back of the property—a move that had made my jaw drop because I hadn’t realised just how much fucking land she actually owned. Now, I pulled into my spot, sandwiched between the silver coupe and Carrie’s slick black Mercedes. It was a sight that still felt utterly surreal.

I grabbed my bag and practically sprinted to the front door, fumbling for my engraved key. The second the door swung open, a startled squeak escaped me.

I was grabbed instantly, my body driven back against the wall as my bag hit the floor with a dull thud. Carrie kicked the door shut behind her, her hands pinning me as she kissed me with a hunger that felt like she was trying to steal the very oxygen from my lungs.

I raked my hands up Carrie’s arms, feeling the smooth, expensive fabric of her blouse before reaching the target I’d been eyeing all day. I fumbled with her hair grip for a split second before clicking it open, letting the heavy, silken weight of her dark hair tumble down over her shoulders and my hands.

Fuck, yes.

I smiled against her lips, triumph coursing through me as I tossed the clip blindly down the hallway—the plastic clatter echoing against the floorboards as it bounced away. I didn't care where it landed; I just wanted her hair between my fingers. I buried my hands in the dark waves, pulling her even closer, needing to feel every fucking inch of her.

Eventually, the need for air became too much, and we pulled back just an inch. We were both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other as our hearts hammered in a synchronised, frantic rhythm.

Then, Carrie did it.

She let out a soft, huffed breath and smiled—not the sharp, predatory smirk she used to tease me, and not the cool, professional curve of her lips she used at uni. It was a devastatingly genuine, wide smile that reached her eyes, softening her entire face. It was a look she saved only for me, and every time she used it, my heart fucking fluttered like a trapped bird.

"I’m so proud of you, darling," she whispered, her voice thick with a pride so fierce it made my throat go tight. "My brilliant, hard-working princess. You did it."

She reached up, her thumbs tracing the line of my cheekbones, her gaze searching my face as if she was trying to memorise this exact moment of victory.

"I never doubted you for a second," she continued, her voice dropping to a low, intimate hum. "But seeing you realise your own potential... that was the highlight of my year."

I leaned my head into her palm, closing my eyes for a second just to soak it in. "I couldn't have done it without you, Carrie. Not just the laptop or the quiet house... but the way you looked at me. Like I was actually capable of more than just pouring pints."

"You were always capable of more," she corrected me firmly, nipping at my lower lip. "I just provided the environment. You provided the fire."

She pulled back slightly, her hands sliding down to my waist to steady us both. "Now, I believed there was a glorious bottle of vintage champagne chilling in the kitchen. We needed to have a glass before we got ready for your celebratory dinner. I wanted to toast to my favourite student before I had to share you with your parents.”

I chewed on my lip as Carrie caught my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen. As we moved down the hallway, she leaned down with practiced elegance to retrieve her discarded hair clip, shooting me a playful eye-roll that made me grin. I wasn't fucking sorry. She pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek before letting go to reach for the champagne.

I hopped onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, my eyes fixed on her. I found myself tracking the subtle flex of the muscles in her forearms as she expertly eased the cork out with a muted, expensive-sounding pop.

Carrie chuckled, her eyes meeting mine over the bottle. "You really weren't very subtle, darling."

"I wasn’t trying to be," I smirked, leaning my chin on my hand.

She shook her head, amused, as she filled two shining crystal flutes. Even then, it still made me slightly nervous whenever she handed me a piece of glass that probably cost more than my dad's old van. She leaned across the island and kissed me softly, the scent of her perfume and the crisp aroma of the wine swirling together. Seriously, I still couldn't believe this was my fucking life.

"One week left," she said, her voice warm as she slid a glass toward me. "One week until my annual leave started and I could whisk you away for a proper celebration."

"I couldn't wait," I grinned, taking a sip of the bubbly, crisp drink.

It was still sinking in. The other day, while we were watching a documentary on the Roman Empire, I’d mentioned offhand that I’d always wanted to see Rome. In true Carrie fashion, she casually informed me over breakfast the next morning that she’d booked an all-expenses-paid, no-expense-spared trip to Italy. I nearly fucking choked on my toast.

She had already shared the full itinerary with me. We were only in Rome for a week; she purposefully left a few days at the start and end for us to just be together—no schedules, no flights, just us. Whether we were exploring ancient ruins or just lounging around this house, time with her was all I had ever wanted.

Upstairs, the bedroom was filled with the soft hum of anticipation. Carrie had truly outdone herself this time; laid out on the bed was a structured, deep-emerald silk suit that looked like it was tailored specifically for my skin tone. Beneath it lay a delicate, lace-trimmed set of black lingerie—the kind of "gift" that served both of us.

As I began to get ready, I realised I was being watched.

Carrie was already dressed in a charcoal-grey blazer over a black silk camisole, but she hadn’t finished her own look yet. Instead, she was perched on the edge of the mattress, her legs crossed elegantly, watching my every move with the focused intensity of a scholar—or a fucking predator.