Page 55 of Stranger to Love

I’d never felt anything as charged as that. Never. I had had women begging in my ear, our naked bodies flush together in anticipation, and not one of those moments had ever felt like this. Fuck.

Her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but the sudden ring of her phone made us both flinch. Glancing down at her watch, she closed her eyes, taking a brief second to centre herself before stepping away.

“I need to jump on my calls.” She turned, grabbed her phone from the kitchen island, and left the kitchen in a way that was composed and not like she had just tilted my world on its axis.

Maybe just me then.

“Fuck,” I breathed out, my hands gripping the kitchen sides. What the fuck was that? I held my hand to my chest; she was like a fucking addiction. My brain just couldn’t comprehend how I was there, how we had become so close in such a short amount of time, and how I wanted to chase after her and close that gap. Fuck, maybe she would let me. My body felt on fire, and I seriously needed a fucking cold shower. Right now.

Don’t be a fucking whore. You can't sleep with your fucking lecturer. And certainly not this one.

“Get a grip,” I mumbled to myself as I headed upstairs to cleanse not just myself, but my mind.

I washed my hair tentatively, hissing slightly as the shampoo stung my cut, but I was careful not to disturb the healing scab. Once rinsed, I let the water just hit my face, trying to get myself to ignore my body. Because fuck. Dr. Carter was the hottest fucking woman I had ever seen, and she let me just hold her hip. I might not have been two fingers deep in the woman, but to have touched her like that, I might as well have been.

Her eyes. Those dark brown eyes I then knew also held dark green flecks, because I'd been so fucking close they stood out. Fuck, the thought of her modelling for that class, her naked body on display, and some random artists tracing her curves, her muscles, and putting that on canvas made my body shiver even in the heat of the shower. I should’ve turned it cold, blasted myself like a fucking bad dog. The image of her in that tight black dress the night before made my stomach tighten and I couldn’t bring myself to change the temperature.

Before I even realised I was doing it, a hand glided down my own body, and I moaned as I flicked my own fingers through my folds.

“Fuck,” I gasped, and my free hand shot out to steady myself against the cold tiles. “Shit.”

I was fucking wet. That woman made me wet from what? Touching my hair? Standing close to me? I moaned as the memory of her sucking on my neck hit me like a truck, and I began to circle my clit. I bit my lip to keep myself quiet. Fuck, the shots of arousal around my body made me shiver, even through the heat of the water. I could feel her breath against my neck as I quickened my movements, how she had called me a brat echoing in my ears. Fuck, I could be her brat if she wanted me to be. The thought made me moan out loud, and I pressed my forehead against the cool tile.

My breathing was coming rapidly then, and I built myself, brick by brick, towards orgasm with thoughts of her. Thoughts of her sculptured body under mine, of tasting her myself and having her moans in my ear. Shit, shit, shit. I could feel myself tightening; fuck, I was close. I couldn’t believe I was doing this—having a fucking wank in her shower, picturing her. I gasped as I pushed myself, sliding two fingers inside, and fuck me, they slid in easily. Even without her touching me, just the thoughts of her made me fucking ready.

I imagined them to be hers, that she was in there then with me, fucking me, and I gasped out loud. “Fuck. Fuck.” Her hands, her fingers, I knew just by looking at them that they would feel like fucking heaven inside of me. I fucked myself as hard as I could, my free hand gripping onto nothing but the cold tile as I groaned, tightening around my own fingers, and I pushed my forehead harder against the wall as the waves crashed over me. “Fuck. Dr. Carter.” I couldn’t help but moan her name as my fingers were coated with my own release.

Fuck. I moved slowly, bringing myself down before extracting my fingers, making myself shiver. I ran my fingers under the shower head without even looking, still keeping my head pressed against the wall, my eyes shut. What the fuck was I doing?

On the plus side, my headache was gone. I actually laughed out loud. I was fucking messed up. This was not going to be easy to look at her again, not when in my mind she had just made me fucking come. Also, I reckoned I’d be less terrified around her. I hoped.

Eventually, I pulled myself out of the shower and wrapped myself in an insanely fluffy towel. Once I was mostly dry, I moved back into the bedroom and stopped dead when I noticed a neatly folded set of clothes on the bed. Oh fuck. She must have left those for me whilst I was in the shower.

Fuck. Did she hear me? Why was I always so fucking loud? What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d assumed the roar of the shower would drown out any noise, but what if it hadn’t? What if she’d heard? And oh god—what if she’d heard me gasp her name?

Panic started to claw at my chest, but I forced my breathing down, desperately talking myself off the ledge. I was just being paranoid. Concussed and out of my mind. That was it. Dr. Carter wasn't the type to linger or pry; she was far too disciplined for that. She’d obviously just slipped in, dropped off the clothes, and left immediately. It was the only logical explanation.

Okay. Cool. No big deal.

I found a hairdryer tucked away in a drawer beneath the sink in the ensuite. I quickly dried my hair, wincing slightly as the heat and movement tugged at the healing cut, but I was careful not to disturb the scab.

Once done, I moved back into the bedroom and approached the clothes Dr. Carter had left. It was a soft leisure suit—heavy, comfortable-looking material in a deep navy. I slipped out of the towel. To my surprise, there was also a pair of soft cotton knickers, but no bra. I put them on, forcing my brain to remain clean and assume those were a clean, generic pair she kept for emergencies, refusing to entertain the thought that they might be a clean pair of Dr. Carter’s own.

I quickly dressed in the leisure suit. It was ridiculously soft and fitted surprisingly well, though the trousers were slightly long. I felt immediately better for being clean, but the feeling of being in her clothes, in her house, was still fucking weird.

I forced myself to move, scooping up my laptop and making my way back toward the lounge. The hallway was dead silent. There was no sign of Dr. Carter—I figured she was still tucked away in her office, working.

Settling back onto the massive sofa, I pulled the screen onto my lap and plunged into my coursework. Anything to drown out the spiralling realisation that I’d just had a wank in her shower, and there was a very real, very horrifying chance she’d heard every second of it.

I jumped as my phone vibrated with a message from Mia:

Mia: Girl, I wish you were clocking in right now but actually fucking glad you're actually looking after yourself for once. Try to chill and call me next week, I want to know all about what you and Dr. Vixen get up to ;)

I chuckled; Mia was relentless. I typed back, knowing I was deliberately being vague, even to my best friend, because I fucking wished there was something to tell her that went beyond just soup and a concussion check.

Alex: I fucking wish. No drama, just studying. I’ll call, try not to kill the newbies tonight!

The drone of the background film I had put on and the familiar rhythm of the keyboard actually managed to pull me into my work. For the next hour or so, I was focused, the headache a manageable dull ache, and the image of Dr. Carter receding to the background. I was actually making good progress on my critical evaluation for International Business.