Page 92 of Stranger to Love

Carrie’s hands were firm on my hips, guiding me with a seasoned, confident grace. She didn't just let me move; she choreographed the friction, pulling me down and tilting my pelvis until I was meeting her mouth at the perfect angle. The control she had was staggering, and it made my head swim.

She found my rhythm and then shattered it, her mouth sealing over my clit as she began to suck with a deep, rhythmic pull. A low, guttural groan vibrated through her throat and directly into me—a raw sound of hunger that made every nerve ending in my body scream.

I felt those vibrations deep in my core, a humming heat that pulsed in time with the thudding of my heart. My grip on the headboard tightened until my arms ached, my back arching so high I was barely touching the mattress.

"Carrie—oh god, Carrie," I choked out, my voice breaking.

The sensations built into a blinding, white-hot pressure. It was too much and not enough all at once. Just as I thought I couldn't take another second of it, the vibrations from her groan caught the crest of my tension and pushed me right over the precipice.

I shattered. My release hit me in violent, pulsing waves that made my muscles lock and my breath catch in a silent, jagged scream. Carrie didn’t pull away; she held me through it, her tongue relentless and her hands steady on my hips, anchoring me as I finally, completely came apart under her touch.

My release was absolute, a flooding warmth that Carrie met without flinching. My legs began to tremble violently, the muscles in my thighs turning to water from the sheer intensity of the position, but Carrie’s grip on my hips was iron-clad. She held me still, anchoring me to her as the waves of pleasure crashed over me, her tongue tracing every sensitive inch and licking me clean with a focused, reverent thoroughness.

I was reduced to pathetic, broken whimpers, my forehead pressed against the headboard as the last of the tremors racked my body. Only when she was satisfied that I’d reached the very end of it did she gently guide me down.

She pulled me back until I was lying flat on the mattress, and then she was there, crawling up the bed to collapse beside me. We lay there in a tangle of limbs and damp skin, the only sound the synchronised, heavy thrum of our breathing. My chest was heaving, and I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, matching my own.

The silence wasn't awkward; it was thick with a new, terrifyingly honest intimacy. The red dress was a crumpled heap on the floor, the title had been stripped away, and all that was left was the cooling air of the room and the weight of what we just did.

Carrie shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at me. Her hair was a chaotic mess, her lips were flushed, and her eyes had lost every ounce of their professional steel. She looked human. She looked beautiful. Fuck. She looked like mine.

"Alex," she breathed, her voice little more than a raspy ghost of itself.

I turned my head toward her, reaching out a shaky hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "Yeah, Carrie?"

She didn't say anything at first. She just leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead—a gesture so tender it made my throat ache more than the screaming had.

Carrie bit her lip, a playful, private smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she shook her head, as if she still couldn't quite believe the intensity of the last hour. She leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened.

A low groan vibrated between us as we both realised we were tasting ourselves on each other’s lips—a sharp, salty reminder of exactly how far we had just gone. It was intoxicating, a cycle of intimacy that made my stomach flip all over again.

When we finally pulled away, Carrie was hovering just inches from my face, her eyes bright and searching. The formidable Dr. Carter had been replaced by a woman who looked thoroughly wrecked in the best possible way. She let out a soft, breathy chuckle and smirked, her thumb grazing my lower lip.

"As much as I’d love to stay right here," she said, her voice still a raspy, low hum, "we should probably shower. And then..." She glanced toward the door, likely thinking of the abandoned plates downstairs. "...we should actually eat that dinner I spent time preparing."

I let out a huff of a laugh, my body feeling heavy and blissfully spent against the sheets. "You mean the pasta that's currently a cold, congealed mess on your table?"

"It was very good pasta, Alex," she retorted with a mock-offended lift of her brow, though the smirk never left her face. She started to sit up, the movement fluid and graceful even in her exhaustion. "And I suspect we’re both going to need the energy."

I watched the way the amber light caught the line of her back as she moved, and for the first time in months, the weight of the "real world" felt miles away.

"Shower first," I agreed, reaching out to catch her hand before she could stand up. "But I’m not letting go of you."

Carrie squeezed my fingers, her expression softening into something so warm it made my heart skip a beat. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Chapter 22

Alex

I couldn’t bring myself to move.

Staring at the ceiling, buried in a cocoon of warmth, I didn't even mind that my alarm had gone off ages ago. I had missed my morning shower, but it didn't matter. I had had the best shower of my life the night before at Carrie’s. With Carrie. The memories of yesterday played on a loop in my mind—a film I wasn't ready to stop watching.

I didn’t stay the night. After we showered and reheated the pasta, it was only 8:00 p.m. As much as it physically pained me to leave, we both knew I had to go home. The frantic passion from earlier had settled into a soft, terrifyingly real comfort. Like the early stages of dating.

Dating. Fuck. I hadn’t done this before—not properly, not for real. Not with someone who made me feel like the ground had shifted beneath my feet.

She drove me home, her hand laced with mine for the entire trip, doing ridiculous things to my heart rate. And I let her take me all the way to my house. No more hiding around the corner. When we pulled up, I felt physically sick, my eyes fixed on the peeling paint of my front door. But she didn't look at it with judgment. She brought my hand to her lips, kissing my knuckles softly.