Page 63 of Stranger to Love

Before she could even formulate a verbal response, before she could demand an explanation for what it meant to be tolerated under my jurisdiction, the final, agonising thread of restraint snapped.

I crashed my mouth against hers. It was a harsh, immediate claiming. Her lips were firm beneath mine, but they parted under the sudden urgency of my access. The hand anchored at her neck held her entirely captive, driving her head back against the plaster, while my palm on her hip grounded her, hauling her lower body flush against the tailored wool of my dress and the unmistakable heat rising between us.

She let out a muffled, desperate moan straight into my throat, every ounce of her bratty resistance dissolving into the ether. She kissed me back with a wild, unvarnished hunger, the volatile tension we had spent forty-eight hours accumulating over the weekend detonating between our lips. I felt her long fingers rake up the contours of my forearms, her nails sinking into the premium grey fabric of my sleeves to anchor herself.

I devoured her. Her breath was shallow, her chest heaving against mine as her lungs begged for oxygen, but I refused to grant her a single inch of reprieve. She was completely undone, her mouth moulding to mine with a soft, perfectly sculpted symmetry I hadn't allowed myself to visualise until this exact second.

Her hands shifted to my waist, her fingers tightening as she attempted to pull me impossibly closer. In response, I dug my fingers deeper into the line of her jaw, forcing her head to a sharper angle to deepen the intrusion of the kiss. She was practically sinking down the plaster beneath my weight, straining on her toes to maintain my height, but her defiance had entirely converted into submission.

I slid my tongue into her mouth the moment her lips gave way, extracting another fractured moan from her throat. She tasted faintly of coffee and sharp mint, an intoxicating combination that made my own control slip further. Boldly, one of her hands dropped from my waist, her palm gliding down the side of my dress to grip tightly at my thigh. I felt the possessive, white-knuckled squeeze against my muscle, a reckless display of audacity that should have infuriated me, but only caused the coil in my core to tighten into a vice.

The need for oxygen had become desperate. We pulled back simultaneously, our lips parting with a wet, ragged gasp as we fought for air. I refused to release her, keeping my hands locked like iron clamps around her throat and her hip. We stared at each other, eyes wide and completely dark, the reality of the boundary we had just obliterated hovering in the inches between our faces.

“You possess far too many undone buttons to be considered professional today,” I whispered, my voice thick, uneven, and laced with a breathy weight I scarcely recognised as my own.

Alex chewed fiercely on her lower lip, her dark eyes glittering with that resilient, mocking spark. “Really? I didn’t think there were nearly enough.”

The sheer arrogance of her banter, the instinctual drive to fight for a psychological one-up even while pinned against my wall, sent a surge of adrenaline through my veins. It was an undeniable, magnetic pull for more of her—a total destabilisation of my order that I should have rejected, yet I found myself utterly powerless to resist.

I offered her a slow, dangerous smirk and leaned back in, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I found the messy, yellow-green shadow of the bruise I had left the previous week and bit down on the marked skin. She let out a guttural groan that vibrated against my lips. Her hand on my thigh rode up the length of my torso, her fingers hovering tentatively at the base of my neck, hesitating to ruin the immaculate structure of my hair.

I pulled back just far enough to brush my lips against her earlobe, catching the soft cartilage between my teeth. She immediately pushed her hips forward, grinding her lower body against mine in a silent, desperate plea.

I let out a low, amused chuckle directly against her skin. “Darling... you are being exceptionally needy.”

Her breath caught, a flash of genuine irritation crossing her features. “Are you fucking serious?” she breathed out.

The curse word cut through my amusement instantly.

My hand tightened around her throat, cutting off her speech, choking out a sharp gasp. With a swift, unyielding jerk of my wrist, I tilted her head back until her eyes were forced to lock directly onto mine. I was not restricting her airway, but I could feel the frantic, terrified rhythm of her pulse hammering violently against my palm.

Leaning down, I caught her bottom lip between my teeth and bit down hard, causing her eyes to slide shut as a tremor rippled through her frame. Before the pain could fully register, I soothed the sting with a slow, deliberate stroke of my tongue.

I shook my head, my gaze boring into hers. “I explicitly gave you an instruction. Never swear at me.” I lowered my head, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I dropped my voice to a lethal, suffocating whisper. “The only time you’re allowed to swear is when I’m making you lose control to a point you don’t even know what you’re saying, darling.”

I nibbled the sensitive skin of her lobe, and a small, broken whimper escaped her throat, entirely unbidden.

“Now,” I murmured, my authority absolute. “Say that you are sorry.”

I watched her chest heave as she took a long, steadying breath, her eyes searching mine for any sign of leniency. Finding none, she finally submitted to my unerring discipline.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I let out a low hum of preliminary approval, but I kept my brow arched, refusing to release the pressure at her neck. “You’re sorry to whom, Alex?”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Carter,” she clarified, her voice entirely rough and her gaze dropping to my mouth in hope.

The unequivocal submission was more intoxicating than the physical contact of her skin. I rewarded her obedience, letting my gaze sweep over her flushed features with absolute, heavy satisfaction.

“Good girl,” I murmured. The phrase echoed the quiet command from my kitchen, but this time, the cadence was drenched in an intense, territorial heat.

I maintained the suffocating eye contact for one final, agonising beat, my thumb resting directly over the throb of her pulse point, before I finally, slowly, began to grant her space back. The iron pressure at her throat eased as I withdrew my hand, though my other palm remained firmly anchored on the high curve of her hip, maintaining the boundary.

The space between us widened by barely an inch, but it was enough to allow her a deep, shuddering gulp of air. Her back remained pinned entirely flush against the cold plaster, her dark eyes still wide, tracking my every movement with a mixture of raw shock and unvarnished desire.

I took a slow, deliberate breath to anchor my own fractured composure. "We are in my office, Alex," I reminded her, ensuring my voice returned to a low, instructional cadence, though the undertone was still heavily thick with the lust vibrating in my veins. "The door is locked, but we are not reckless. You will collect your things and proceed to the library as you usually do."

I watched her mind practically scream in protest. The sheer disbelief etched into her features was exquisite. Go to the library? After that? “You can’t be serious,” she whispered, her voice still rough, her long fingers tightening in a desperate clutch against my hip, refusing to break the physical connection.