Page 193 of Stranger to Love

"Looking at the world as if you're waiting for permission to be happy," she said, her thumb tracing a slow circle on my wrist. "You're allowed, Alex. This is yours."

I nodded, unable to find my words, and took a bite of the chocolate. It was rich and sweet, melting away just like the last of my doubts. We lingered over the last of the wine, the conversation drifting toward smaller things—the garden at home, the books Carrie wanted to read over the summer, the way the dog we were definitely getting needed a name before we got to Rome.

Eventually, the bill was settled — Carrie handled it with a flick of her wrist before anyone could even reach for a wallet — and we stood to leave. As we walked out into the cool evening air, the streetlights reflecting off the damp pavement, I felt utterly, blissfully content.

"That was lovely, darl," Dad said, pulling me into one last hug by the car. "We’ll see you soon, yeah?"

"Next week," I promised, squeezed between my parents.

As they climbed into their own car—the one Carrie’s driver was personally seeing to—I turned back to her. She was standing under the glow of the restaurant’s awning, her emerald-clad princess by her side, looking every bit the queen of my world.

Chapter 41

Alex

So, Italy was incredible, but do you know what was even more incredible? Italy with Caroline Carter.

Honestly, the woman looked catwalk-ready every single day. Even though she wasn't Italian, she moved through those towns like she owned the deeds to every fucking villa we passed. My woman never lost her aura, no matter the country or the circumstances. I was a bit of a wreck at first, especially when we were ushered into the VIP lounge at the airport. I’d never been on a plane before and was absolutely shitting myself, but then the champagne and breakfast started appearing. I basically stuffed my face while Carrie elegantly sipped her drink, watching me with a look that said she was just happy her princess was getting everything she wanted.

The flight was only about two hours, and I didn’t even realise you could fly business class for such a short hop, but this airline—some boutique brand I’d never even fucking heard of—was all business class. When we took off, I grabbed Carrie’s hand so hard I thought I’d cut off her circulation, convinced we were going down in a fireball. She didn't laugh; she didn’t belittle me. She just held on, steady as a rock, until I felt safe enough to breathe.

And let's be fucking frank: we were in these little private pods with reclining seats, massive TVs, and unlimited everything. Of course, Carrie decided to "help me relax" by finger-fucking me under the blanket halfway through the flight. I swear, older women had a libido that put teenage boys to shame.

As always, she indulged every single whim. We spent the week hitting the tourist spots I dragged her to like an excitable toddler, balanced with long, lazy afternoons at the villa. The first time I saw Carrie in a bikini, walking toward our private pool, I was so distracted that I unceremoniously walked straight into a giant potted plant. I had never seen her laugh so hard. It was honestly impossible to care about the blooming bruise on my leg when her tits were bouncing with every laugh.

Yeah, best fucking week of my life.

I had actually managed to wake up before Carrie for once. She was sprawled on her back, those dark waves of hair tossed across the pillow like they were trying to stage a midnight escape. Her emerald silk nightgown was beautifully disheveled, the straps slipping just enough that she was almost spilling out of it. God, I was dangerously obsessed with this woman.

Oh, I was definitely doing this.

I slowly crawled toward the foot of the bed, peeling the duvet back with the steady hands of a fucking surgeon. I had to bite back a groan; she was already lying with her legs slightly parted, and the sight made my entire body tingle with anticipation. We’d talked about the "wake-up orgasm" before, but when I brought up doing it to her, she just gave me that infuriatingly sexy smirk and whispered, “Good luck with that, darling.” Challenge accepted, Dr. Carter.

The bedroom was already heavy with the summer heat, so when I pulled the duvet away, she only stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. I held my breath, hovering over her as I settled between her legs like a fucking jewel thief trying to navigate a maze of lasers. It was so fucking hot. Her nightgown had ridden up in her sleep, giving me a perfect view of her soft cotton knickers.

I moved closer, nearly whimpering when she let out a long exhale and shifted her head against the pillow. She stretched, her legs falling even wider apart, and I froze. I stared at her for a heartbeat—was she awake? Did she know? But the deep, rhythmic pull of her breathing told me she was still under.

Carefully, I hooked a finger into the edge of her knickers and slid the fabric to the side. It was so hard not to moan. I fucking loved this part—the first look, the first intoxicating wave of her scent that made my mouth water instantly.

Tentatively, I leaned in and dragged my tongue along her, just a ghost of a touch. I was not trying to part her folds yet; I just wanted a taste. I wanted to see if I could build the tension slowly, letting the heat rise until she woke up with her body already arching, desperate to come on my tongue.

Very good morning to you, Dr. Carter.

I shifted my focus, my movements becoming more purposeful as I dived into the rhythm. I was not just testing the waters anymore; I was starting to work, my tongue tracing long, firm strokes that made my own head light.

Even in the depths of sleep, her body knew me. I watched, fucking mesmerised, as her legs twitched slightly, her thighs tightening just a fraction around my shoulders as if her subconscious was trying to pull me closer. A tiny, broken sound caught in the back of her throat—not a word, just a soft puff of air that told me the heat was starting to sink in.

I used my thumbs to gently spread her, wanting to feel every dip in her breathing. It was a thrill unlike anything else, having the most composed, formidable woman I knew completely at the mercy of her own instincts while she was still half-lost in a dream. Her hips gave a tentative, involuntary skip against the mattress, chasing the pressure I was applying. Fuck this was amazing.

I picked up the pace, my heart thumping hard against my ribs. I could see the change in her now—the way her chest was starting to rise and fall more rapidly, the way the silk of her nightgown was beginning to dampen against her skin. Her body was reacting, priming itself, building a fire that she had not even opened her eyes to see yet.

I leaned in closer, my tongue swirling with more intent, and I heard it—the shift in her breathing from deep sleep to that jagged, fluttery edge of consciousness. She was close. I could feel the tension coiling in her muscles, the tell-tale signs that she was about to wake up into a world that was already screaming for a release.

I smirked against her skin. Good luck with that, darling, she’d said. She really should have known better than to bet against me.

The rhythmic, insistent heat finally pulled her back to reality. Carrie’s head lolled to the side, a low, disoriented moan vibrating deep in her chest as the fog of sleep clashed with the sheer intensity of what was happening. For a second, she was completely still, her fingers twitching against the silk sheets as her brain tried to catch up with her nerve endings.

Then, her back arched off the mattress. Her breath hitched, turning into a jagged, shaky gasp. "A-Alex?"