Chapter 11 #3
I felt sick, not just from my pounding head, but something was twisting in my stomach as she slowed down and turned into a drive where the gates automatically opened.
There were spotlights lighting up the drive as we crawled down it.
There had to be like five bedrooms. More maybe.
Fuck. Oh fuck. Wait a minute. We pulled up into a sort of open building where there were two other cars.
Oh, fuck me. She must have had a family. What the fuck was I doing there.
I felt frozen as she got out of the car, smoothly grabbing her trench coat before she moved over to my door and opened it gently. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to meet her fucking family. I shouldn’t have been there.
She tilted her head at me. “Don't make me throw you over my shoulder, Alex.”
Whoosh, there went my stomach again. The way she said that, like she’d fucking enjoy it, and yeah, well…
so would I. I took a deep breath and slowly got out of the car, because what else was I supposed to do.
She closed the door behind me, and just to make me feel even dizzier, she wrapped her arm around my waist, grounding me.
I didn’t need her to. I could walk fine, but I didn’t say anything.
Dr. Carter opened the front door, the movement smooth and silent.
As she guided me over the threshold, the bite of the cold night air was instantly replaced by a rich, subtle scent—something clean, warm, and expensive.
She closed and locked the door behind us, the heavy deadbolt sliding shut with unnecessary finality.
I guess I was the type of idiot who walked right into her own fucking abduction.
I took in the house, and fuck me. The hallway was vast, floored in dark wood that gleamed beneath soft overhead lights.
A grand, sweeping staircase rose up toward the second floor.
A closed door sat to the right, but the one on the left stood wide open, hinting at a massive fuck-off living room shrouded in darkness.
The entire place was spotless—surgically clean.
Dr. Carter moved toward a discreet cupboard near the entrance.
Slipping it open, she revealed a perfectly organised closet lined with outerwear that practically screamed money.
She hung her trench coat inside before gently easing my jacket off my arms and taking the strap of my backpack from my shoulder. She stowed them both neatly inside.
I didn't even try to stop her. I was way past that point then.
Then she looked down at my feet. I immediately slipped off my shoes, obedient to her order, and she placed them near a row of designer-looking boots and flats.
I felt utterly breathless. What was I fucking doing there?
I spied into the cupboard before she secured the door, noticing only women’s coats and shoes.
She must have had a wife, then. I felt sick; I couldn’t even celebrate that I was right about her being gay as I imagined a woman upstairs, asleep.
Like, what the fuck. How had her wife been okay with her being out so late, picking up a fucking student from work?
And what would she think when she inevitably woke up and found me there? This was just fucking weird.
Dr. Carter closed the cupboard. “Come on.”
I chewed on my lip as Dr. Carter walked past me and down the hallway.
She’d taken her heels off. She was still tall, but fuck, seeing her like that, in some sort of designer black dress, no shoes, in her pristine home…
Wait, maybe I did fucking pass out, and I was just dreaming right then. That, I would believe.
Dr. Carter opened a door at the end of the hallway and flicked on a small lamp, softly illuminating the open-plan kitchen-diner.
Everything in this woman's fucking life was slick and neat, and I breathed deeply, trying to take it all in.
She pulled out a bar stool at the massive kitchen island, and guided me over to it with a gentle push to my shoulders.
“Sit,” she commanded.
I did. Obviously.
She moved to one of the cupboards and pulled out a first aid kit. She came back over to me and opened it, looking through the contents. She looked at me, her eyes soft. “Will you let me help?”
I sighed in resignation. “Yeah,” I said quietly.
She nodded, carefully easing the towel of melted ice away from my face before tossing it into the nearest sink with practiced ease. Unspooling a strip of paper towel from a sleek, weighted holder, she began dabbing at my skin, soaking up the icy runoff.
I had to force my breathing into check as her fingers slipped into my hair, tugging my bobble free and letting the strands spill down my shoulders. Neither of us said a word; I just sat there, completely at her mercy.
A sharp hiss escaped my teeth when she pressed an alcohol wipe against my cheek, scrubbing away the dried blood. Tear-packaging snapped open again, and with painstaking care, she parted my hair to tend to the wound itself.
She was being so gentle, so caring, and fuck me, she was standing so close. I was engulfed in her perfume, and it was taking everything in me not to stare at her tits right then—and it was fucking difficult because they were right there.
Her voice cutting through the silence made me jump.
“It’s not too deep; you won't need stitches.” She combed her fingers through my hair, and I was sure it was just to check the damage beneath the strands, but fuck, it felt nice.
“Thank fuck for that,” I responded automatically.
She instantly stood back from me and glared. "Just because you’re hurt doesn’t mean you get to use language like that in my home, Alex.”
I groaned. “I am an adult, I should be able to speak however I like.” Oh, well, that was the wrong fucking thing to say.
She clasped her hand on my chin, holding me steady, her fingernails digging sharp and deliberate into my jawline.
I was unable to look away from her brutal eyes even if I’d wanted to.
“I don’t care how old you are. You do not speak like that in my presence, ever.
” She gave my chin one final, punishing squeeze—the bite of her nails lingering like a mark—before letting go.
“You should feel very lucky you’re hurt right now. ”
I couldn't stop myself. “Or what, you’ll punish me?”
She stiffened instantly, her eyes cutting to mine. “Brat,” she warned, before turning to pack away the first aid kit. Fuck. I was grateful for the few seconds to catch my breath and pull myself together. Mia was right—this woman would ruin me, and I fucking wanted her to.
She returned, her gaze tracking over me once more. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
The sudden shift from lethal threat to clinical care was dizzying; my heart couldn't decide whether to hammer in fear or anticipation.
“Not really. My head took the brunt of it,” I answered honestly.
She nodded, closing the distance between us.
Her fingers slipped back into my hair, softly combing through the strands.
There was zero pretence of this being for medical purposes then, and electricity hummed straight down to my fingertips.
Like, what the fuck was she doing? Wasn't there some woman sleeping upstairs right then?
I cleared my throat, the sound awkward in the quiet space. “I should probably leave before someone wakes up.”
Her brow furrowed, her hand pausing mid-stroke in my hair—before a slow smirk curved her lips. “What are you planning on doing that would wake my neighbours?”
Her neighbours? Wait—did she live in this massive place alone? Fucking hell. That was equal parts terrifying, impressive, and a little lonely.
I bit my lip. “Well... probably nothing until my head stops pounding.”
She raised an eyebrow at me and then smiled.
My heart fluttered so hard that I went breathless.
She fucking smiled. It was only brief, barely there, but fuck, she just smiled.
I'd known the woman for over a month and knew the specks of honey that appeared in her eyes when the light caught them, but I had never seen her smile. Fuck, it was disarming.
Her hand trailed from my hair down the curve of my neck, sending an instant shiver straight down my spine.
Jesus fuck. Her thumb brushed lightly over the bruise on my skin, her head tilting as her eyes tracked the mark she’d left on me.
A faint twitch tugged at her lips—no smile that time, just pure, possessive appraisal. I honestly thought I might pass out.
“You have two options,” she said, pulling her hand away and drawing up straight, that cold, severe composure snapping right back into place.
“I drive you home right now—and I mean through the front door, handing you over to someone who will actually look after you—or...” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You stay here for the night.”
My mind went into overdrive. What the fuck was I going to do?
God, I wanted to stay. Who wouldn't, with a woman like her standing there?
But at the same time, the thought of being treated like a helpless child she had to babysit made my stomach turn.
Still, going home and dragging her into my family situation wasn't an option.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to work.
“I’ll stay.”