Page 73 of Stranger to Love

She let out a rich chuckle. Suddenly, her fingers tangled into my hair, violently yanking my head back away from her neck. It hurt like a bitch, but the spike of adrenaline made me realise I was practically dripping on her thigh.

Dr. Carter looked down to where I was straddling her thigh, a dark, wicked smirk playing on her lips. Her free hand glided down my torso, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out as her fingers slid straight through my slickness, sending a violent jolt right through my spine.

Slowly, she drew her hand up between our faces. She watched with hooded eyes as the fluid glistened in the morning light, trailing lazily down her skin.

“You’re making a complete mess, Alex.” Her voice was terrifyingly calm. Her grip on my hair tightened a fraction, forcing my gaze to lock onto hers. “Clean it up.”

There was no mistaking the directive. She pressed her wet fingers directly against my lips. I was so entirely gone that I didn't even hesitate. With her hand maintaining its iron grip on my scalp, I began to lick her fingers clean. Slowly at first, until she aggressively pushed them deeper into my mouth, forcing a groan from my throat as I rocked my pelvis against her thigh. I sucked her fingers clean, the intoxicating mix of our scents driving me insane. Her pupils were entirely blown, her breathing heavy as she pushed her knuckles deeper, almost making me gag. She lorded her control over me in a way no one ever had, and fuck, I loved it.

“Suck,” she commanded.

I obeyed instantly. When she finally pulled her hand free, there was a loud, satisfying pop. I licked my lips, waiting for the next order.

Using her grip on my hair, she firmly pushed me back and off her leg, guiding my head down toward her thigh. I knew exactly what she wanted. Kneeling between her knees, I began to lick my own arousal off her toned, soft skin. A moan escaped me at the sheer heat of it. I looked up through my lashes; her face was a volatile mix of stern authority and rising, unvarnished lust. Her eyes closed slowly as my tongue worked across her muscle, and I knew she was completely turned on. I wished she would just give in, crack her discipline, and let me make her come. But this psychological torture was clearly part of the game for her, too.

The moment her skin was clean, she yanked me back up by my hair, crashing her mouth against mine. Her tongue dived in, reclaiming the taste, before she abruptly broke the contact and shoved me backward onto the mattress. She was so aggressively erratic. Before I could even reach for her, she was already sliding out of bed.

I groaned my disapproval directly into the pillow.

“I explicitly told you, darling. I am preparing breakfast. Re-dress in your nightgown and present yourself downstairs in ten minutes.” She departed the room without another glance at me.

I lay flat on my back for a full minute, staring at the ceiling, my anatomy still pulsing from the aggressive pleasure she had inflicted. My scalp tingled where she had gripped it, and my core was screaming with a mixture of residual euphoria and crushing frustration. She had completely dismantled me, left me half-mad with unfulfilled desire, and then casually told me to get dressed for eggs.

Ten minutes.

Pushing myself up, I grabbed the silk nightgown from the bedside table. A glimpse in the mirror confirmed the damage—flushed skin, wild, blown-out eyes, hair an absolute disaster. I looked entirely ruined, and it was entirely her fault. A thrill shot down my spine. I quickly splashed cold water on my face in the ensuite, pulling the silk back over my sensitive skin. It felt like a cruel barrier. My phone read 8:35 a.m. I didn't even bother taming my hair.

Descending the stairs, a dizzying mix of physical weakness and renewed defiance hummed in my veins. I was furious that she had stopped, but the fire she had ignited was too hot for resentment. It was a game, and she had drawn the boundary.

Following the scent of fresh coffee and savoury eggs, I entered the massive, modern kitchen. She was standing at the gleaming island, looking impeccably poised in that same red nightgown. Her hair flowed loosely over her shoulders. She was, without question, the most striking woman I had ever seen. The silk clung flawlessly to her curves, the morning light highlighting the subtle flex of the muscles in her back as she reached for a mug. My heart hammered against my ribs again.

I walked over, sliding carefully onto one of the high barstools, my lower body protesting the upright position with every move.

Dr. Carter was operating a professional-looking espresso machine with quiet efficiency. She finished the pour and slid a mug across the cool marble toward my hands.

I blinked down at the perfectly crafted, velvety latte. The last time I’d been there, I’d forced down a cup of her dark, bitter black coffee without a single word of complaint, doing my best to play it cool.

“No black coffee today?” I asked, looking up.

She offered a small, knowing smirk, her eyes lingering on me as she picked up her own espresso. “You drank it without protest, darling, but your face betrayed you with every swallow. I figured you’d appreciate something with a little less... punishment.”

A subtle warmth bloomed in my chest at the realisation that she had quietly read right through me, altering her routine just to cater to a preference I’d never even voiced.

I hated how instantly happy it made me.

Next, she plated up a flawless portion of golden scrambled eggs and buttered toast, walking around the island to place it directly in front of me before settling onto the stool beside mine.

Before reaching for her fork, she leaned over, pressing a brief, gentle kiss to my lips. It was a moment of startling, intimate tenderness that made that annoying, involuntary warmth return with a vengeance.

Fuck, Alex. Stop it. I didn't get attached like this. I didn't stay. I didn't do domestic mornings. But looking at her relaxed, beautiful profile in the morning light, I knew the truth.

I was completely, dangerously hooked.

Chapter 17

Alex

Breakfast concluded in a comfortable silence. Dr. Carter finished her coffee, gathered the plates, and disappeared for a moment. When she returned, she handed me a folded set of soft, silvery-grey loungewear.