Chapter 27 #2
It was not one, but two fucking sofas. They weren’t the sleek, ultra-modern Italian leather pieces I’d come to expect from Carrie’s own taste.
Instead, they were deep, plush, and upholstered in a soft, charcoal-grey fabric that looked like a fucking cloud.
She’d clearly put thought into it—choosing something that matched my parents' more relaxed, cozy style while still looking ten times more expensive than anything else we fucking owned.
They fitted the small living room perfectly, facing each other in a way that made the space feel like a high-end lounge rather than a cramped terrace house.
The delivery team assembled them with terrifying speed, clicking the legs into place and plumping the oversized cushions while we all stood there like fucking statues.
Carrie stepped forward, her hands tucked elegantly into the pockets of her coat as she surveyed the room. She looked at my stunned parents, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
"Merry Christmas," she said simply, as if that one fucking phrase was supposed to explain the fact that she’d just staged a hostile—but very comfortable—takeover of their living room.
"Caroline," Dad rasps, finally finding his voice. He looked at the new sofas, then back at his old armchair, which was currently being loaded into a van. "I... I don't know what to say. You didn't have to do all this."
"I know I didn't," Carrie replied smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "But the crazy amount of Christmas films Alex has planned for this afternoon requires a certain level of comfort. And I believe Karen deserves a proper place to rest her legs while she recovers."
Mum looked like she was about to cry again, but Carrie was already moving toward her, gently guiding her over to the new furniture. "Sit, Karen. Tell me if it’s firm enough."
I caught Carrie's eye as she passed me, and the wink she gave me was so full of I do what I want energy that I couldn’t help but laugh.
She was a fucking force of nature. And as I watched my dad tentatively sit down, realising for the first time in a decade that he was not going to sink through to the floor, it hit me: I was never going to win an argument with this woman.
As if I didn't already fucking know that.
The rest of the day was a blur of indulgence.
The pancakes arrived exactly when we needed them—delivered by a courier so discreetly that I didn't even fucking notice until Carrie was setting the plates down.
I just shook my head at her, muttering about her being on a "power-trip spending spree," but the woman didn't even blink.
She just nudged a fork into my hand and told me to eat.
By late afternoon, we were all settled into our designated spots.
The new sofas were as fucking soft as they looked; Mum was propped up with pillows, looking more relaxed than I'd seen her in years, with Dad glued to her side.
Across from them, Carrie and I were snuggled together, her arm draped over my shoulders and my head resting in that perfect fucking hollow against her chest.
The alcohol had been flowing steadily. Dad’d moved from beer to whiskey, and Carrie had been nursing a glass of red wine that looked like it cost more than my dad's fucking van. Mum drifted in and out of sleep, her head resting on Dad’s shoulder; between the meds and the comfort of the revamped room, she was finally at peace.
Dinner was a casual, deceptively high-end affair—a buffet of the gourmet stuff Carrie had "Tetris-ed" into the fridge earlier in the week.
We ate off our laps, the flickering light of a Christmas classic illuminating the room.
I was feeling a bit fucking giddy from the wine, a loose, warm sensation spreading through my limbs.
I found myself giggling as I fed a bit of a miniature quiche to Carrie.
She let me, catching my fingers with a playful nip of her teeth and a smirk that told me exactly what she was thinking.
Fuck, everything fucking tingled now.
Before we knew it, the darkness of Christmas Eve had fully descended. Dad stood up, stretching with a satisfied groan, and gently woke Mum.
"Time for bed, Karen," he whispered.
"Go on," I said, waving my wine glass and feeling incredibly content. "I insisted on the TV, remember? You have to go up and fall asleep with a film on in the background. It’s the law."
Dad chuckled, helping Mum to her feet. He looked over at Carrie—not with suspicion or even pride this time, but with genuine warmth. "Goodnight, you two. And Caroline... thank you. Truly."
Carrie nodded once, a regal, graceful movement. "Goodnight, Phil."
The sound of their footsteps on the stairs eventually faded, leaving the lounge in a heavy, comfortable silence broken only by the crackle of the TV. I reached for the remote and put on another film, but my focus wasn't on the screen.
I turned in Carrie's arms, my face inches from hers. In the quiet of my childhood home, everything felt softer.
"You really did it," I whispered, my voice thick with wine and affection. "You gave them the best Christmas they’ve had in a decade."
Carrie ran her thumb across my jaw, her touch lingering. "And you, my darling? Are you having a good Christmas?"
I smiled, leaning into her palm. "It’s perfect."
I looked away for a split second to click on the next film.
Deck the Halls started playing—a total classic in my eyes.
But when I looked back at Carrie, the air in my lungs fucking vanished.
My throat went dry because she was giving me that look—the one that instantly made me want to fall to my fucking knees.
She leaned in, capturing my lips in a way that made me drop the remote instantly. It clattered to the floor, forgotten, as I laced my fingers through her hair. I fumbled with her clip, desperate to let her dark hair fall free. Finally, it spilled over her shoulders—down just for me.
Carrie smiled against my lips as she shifted, sitting up more and bringing me with her. Slowly, purposefully, she started to press me down into the plush cushions of the new sofa, her body hovering over mine. Fuck.
Through the haze of the wine and the mounting arousal, my eyes flew open. Panic. This was my parents’ living room. The door was still wide open to the hallway, and the blinds weren't fully fucking closed.
"Carrie—" I gasped.
She just smirked, ignoring my protest as she trailed kisses down my neck. She nibbled lightly on my pulse point before pulling away, leaving me to let out a pathetic, fucking needy whimper.
She stood up, but she wasn't leaving. I watched, mesmerised, as she moved to the windows.
With a single, fluid motion, she snapped the blinds shut and drew the heavy curtains, plunging the room into a cozy, flickering dimness.
On her way back, she caught the edge of the door, closing it with a soft, decisive click.
My belly did a violent fucking flip as she stalked back toward the sofa, her gaze locked on mine with predatory intent. The "Dr. Carter" mask was gone, replaced by the woman who owned every fucking inch of me.
"Now," she murmured, her voice a low, dangerous vibration in the quiet room. "Where were we, princess?"
Carrie's weight was a warm, solid pressure that pinned me into the plush charcoal fabric.
She didn't waste a fucking second; her lips were back on my skin, blazing a trail of fire down my throat.
Her hands slid under the hem of my t-shirt, the cool air hitting my skin for only a heartbeat before she was pulling the fabric up and over my head, tossing it somewhere into the shadows of the lounge.
I was really fucking glad I knew my parents. Between the whiskey, the meds, and the new TV upstairs, they’d be out like a fucking light. The festive music from the film playing in here provided a perfect, shimmering veil of sound; there was no way they’d hear a fucking thing.
Carrie was a woman on a mission. The patience she’d shown for the last two weeks—the soft, supportive nurse—had finally reached its fucking limit.
"I have been very, very patient, Alex," she murmured against the hollow of my collarbone, her voice thick with a hunger that made my blood boil. "Even though I’ve wanted you moaning my name every single second we’ve been together.
Every time you acted like a brat, every time you tried to push me away...
I wanted to clear every single thought from your mind until only I remained. "
I was panting, my back arching off the soft cushions as she deftly stripped me of my joggers. I felt fucking exposed, vulnerable, and completely electrified. I reached out, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of her silk lounge shirt, desperate to feel her skin against mine.
But Carrie’s hand snapped out, catching both of my wrists in a one-handed grip that was effortlessly firm. She pinned them above my head, her eyes darkening to a shade of brown that was almost black. Motherfucker.
"No," she whispered, a dangerous edge to her smile. "Bad girls don't get to touch, princess. You’ve been pushing my buttons all week, testing my limits with your guilt and your burdens. Now, you’re going to lie there, and you’re going to let me do exactly what I want with you."
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. The contrast between the festive, twinkling Christmas lights in the corner and the fucking sheer, dominant intensity in her gaze was enough to make my head spin. I was completely at her mercy in the middle of my own fucking living room.
"Yes, Dr. Carter," I rasped, my voice breaking.
She hummed, a low sound of approval that vibrated through my entire body. "Good girl. Now, keep your hands still and your mouth open. I want to hear exactly how much you've missed me."
The flickering lights of the Christmas tree cast long, dancing shadows across the room as Carrie stripped away the last of my defences. My underwear was tossed aside, leaving me completely fucking exposed on the new sofa.