Page 103 of Stranger to Love

I was fucking losing it. Every time she pressed down, a jolt of pure, white-hot electricity shot straight to my core. I tried to ground myself by looking at Mia, who was currently mid-story, gesturing wildly with a cocktail stirrer. The contrast was sickeningly hot: Mia was talking about her weekend plans, and I was being methodically undone in a dive bar by my economics lecturer. Fuck, she would be ecstatic if she fucking knew what was happening. And shit, I would never hear the end of it if she did.

Fuck. Carrie increased the pressure, her thumb hitting the sweet spot with a relentless, punishing rhythm. I had to bite my lip so fucking hard I tasted copper to keep from moaning out loud. My breath was coming in short, jagged hitches, and I could feel the dampness starting to soak into the lace between us. Jesus fuck, I should grab her hand, ask her to stop. Why was I fucking not?

"You're getting so warm for me, darling," Carrie whispered, her voice a low, lethal purr that vibrated through my entire body. "Are you enjoying the view?”

The fucking view?

She didn't let up. Fuck, if anything, her movements became more insistent, more demanding. She was testing me—seeing exactly how much of a good girl I could be while she pushed me right to the jagged edge of an orgasm. I could do this, I could fucking do this—I hoped. I was vibrating, my muscles coiling tight, my head lolling back against her shoulder as I fought the urge to just give in and fucking fall apart in her lap.

"Look at them, Alex," she commanded softly, her thumb hitching over me with a particularly heavy rub. "Keep your eyes on your friends. Let them see how well you can behave."

I forced my eyes open, staring at Mia through a haze of desperation. My whole world had narrowed down to the point of contact between Carrie’s hand and my body. I was fucking terrified I was going to scream, terrified someone would see the way I was trembling—and yet, I’d never wanted her to not stop more in my life. Fuck, this was addictive.

The relentless pressure finally eased, and for a second, I thought I’d survived. Fuck, I had no idea what planet I was on. Carrie shifted me slightly on her lap, adjusting my weight so I was sitting a little more upright. I took a shuddering, jagged breath, my lungs burning as I tried to pull in enough oxygen to steady my racing heart.

I’d proved myself. Thank fuck. I stayed quiet. I didn't make a scene. I looked at her, my eyes pleading and hazy with a mixture of gratitude and lingering desperation, expecting her to pull her hand away and let me rejoin the world of the fucking living.

Instead, Carrie leaned in, her nose brushing against mine as she tilted her head, making my chest tingle. A slow, dark smirk spread across her face—the look of a woman who wasn't even close to being finished.

Oh shit.

"You did so well, darling," she whispered, her voice a low vibration that settled right in my gut. "But I think we can do better."

Before I could even process the warning, her hand dived back under my skirt. But she didn't go for the lace this time. I felt her fingers hook into the thin elastic of my underwear, tugging the fabric firmly to the side. Holy fucking shit.

My breath hitched so hard it was a physical pain in my chest. There was no barrier anymore. No lace to muffle the sensation. Just her skin against mine—scorching, direct, and fucking devastating.

"Carrie," I whimpered, the sound lost in the thumping bass of the bar. I didn’t even care if I gave us away right now, my mind wasn’t my own anymore.

"Look at Mia, Alex," she commanded, her voice hardening. "Eyes up."

I forced my head up, my vision swimming as I locked my eyes onto Mia across the table. She was laughing at something Adrian had just said, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire fucking world was currently being dismantled three feet away from her.

Then, Carrie’s fingers found me.

The first touch of her skin against my wet, sensitive folds was like a fucking live wire. I bucked, my hands clenching into fists against her thighs, but she was fucking relentless. She didn't just tease this time; she claimed. Shit, I wanted to be claimed. She found the exact centre of my heat, her thumb circling my clit with a terrifyingly slow, skin-on-skin friction that made my knees shake where they were draped over her legs.

Every nerve in my body was fucking screaming. Fuck. It was too much. The vulnerability of being open like this in a room full of people, with only the thin fabric of my skirt and the shadow of the booth to hide me, was overwhelming. No wonder she fucking told me to wear a skirt, she had this fucking planned from the moment Mia invited us. I could feel my dampness sliding down her fingers, the proof of how fucking far gone I was, and Carrie seemed to relish it. She pressed two fingers deep into my entrance while her thumb continued that punishing, direct rhythm. Holy fuck.

"You're so responsive," she murmured into my ear, her breath hitching just a fraction, the first sign that this was affecting her too. "So perfectly mine.”

The thought of her being affected by this, of fucking getting turned on as she drove me insane only pushed me further.

I was on the absolute edge of a precipice. The world was reduced to the heat of her hand, the smell of her whiskey, and the desperate, fucking agonising need to let go. I could feel the orgasm coiling in my stomach, tight and ready to snap, and I knew I couldn't hold the "good girl" act much longer.

The world around me started to dissolve into a blurred smear of neon lights and muffled bass. I was no longer in a fucking bar; I was entirely contained within the few inches of space where Carrie’s hand was making a ruin of my self-control.

"Don't you dare make a sound, Alex," she whispered, her voice like velvet-wrapped steel. Not make a sound? Not make a fucking sound while you’re finger fucking me under the table? Her thumb hitched over my clit with a sudden, sharp intensity, and her other fingers pressed deeper, demanding everything I had. "If you so much as whimper, we’re staying until the lights come up. Do you understand?"

I couldn't even fucking nod. I could only squeeze her thighs, my fingernails likely leaving marks through her dress. My jaw was clamped shut so fucking tight my teeth ached.

Then, she stopped playing.

Her rhythm became fast, targeted, and utterly fucking relentless. I felt the first wave of the orgasm crash over me—a violent, white-hot explosion that started in my core and radiated to my fingertips. I lurched, finding another wave against her, my head snapping back into the crook of her neck. I wanted to fucking scream, to moan, to beg her to keep going, but the threat of her stay-until-closing command kept the sound trapped in my throat.

I was fucking shaking, my vision going pitch black as the contractions hit, one after another, dragging the breath out of my lungs. I buried my face in the depth of her shoulder, my silent gasps lost in the fabric of her dress. I was vibrating with the effort of staying still, of fucking pretending I was just leaning in for a quiet word while my entire nervous system was being set on fire.

Slowly, the waves began to recede, leaving me limp and buzzing with a heavy, boneless heat.