Chapter 27 #4
Carrie’s pupils blew out until her eyes were fucking solid black. She let out a shaky, triumphant breath, her composure finally fracturing. "Good girl," she growled.
She didn't wait another second. She attacked.
Her fingers moved with a sudden, blurring speed, and her thumb pressed down hard, grinding against my clit in a way that shattered my fucking control instantly.
I didn't just come; I fucking exploded. My body jerked, my legs locking around her waist as I screamed into her mouth, the sound muffled by her lips as she drank in my surrender.
I was vibrating, my entire nervous system on fire, as she held me through the most violent climax of my life. I was hers. Completely, utterly, and devastatingly hers. And I knew she was going to keep reminding me of that until my brain was fucking mush.
Carrie pulled me closer, her arms wrapping around me with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness that was almost as fucking intense as the sex.
She gushed over me, her voice a low, prideful murmur against my temple.
"Look at you," she whispered, sounding genuinely impressed.
"You did so well for me, Alex. My clever, perfect girl. "
I couldn’t even look at her. I was a fucking mess of raw nerves and lingering tremors, so I did the only thing I could: I shoved my face into the crook of her neck, hiding my burning cheeks against her skin.
The scent of her—expensive perfume and the sharp, salt-tang of the night—was the only thing keeping me grounded.
I heard a wet, rhythmic sound and realised she was fucking licking her fingers clean, a low groan vibrating through her chest and into mine. Then, she let out a dark, amused huff of laughter.
"I have to say," she smirked, her hand smoothing over the charcoal fabric of the cushion beside my hip, "I’m very glad I paid the premium for the wipeable upholstery. You’ve made quite a mess of my gift, princess."
I froze, my brain fucking short-circuiting.
I didn't don’t know how to respond to that.
I didn't think there was a fucking response to that.
I just groaned into her neck, my face feeling like it was actually on fire.
"Carrie, shut up," I whined, though we both knew I had zero authority left. If I ever fucking had any.
"Is that any way to speak to me?" she asked, her voice dropping back into that dangerous, honeyed register.
She shifted, moving her hips against mine, and for the first time, I realised just how much this had affected her too. Through her silk trousers, I could feel the damp heat radiating off her. She was fucking vibrating with a tension that matched my own.
She hooked a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Her expression was soft, but her eyes were predatory, dark with a need that hadn't been satisfied yet.
"Now," she whispered, her breath hot against my lips. "Is my good girl going to repay the favour? Because Mommy is absolutely soaked for you, darling, and I think it's only fair you take care of me now."
The room seemed to fucking spin. The word—that word—coming from her so naturally, so confidently, made my core ache all over again. I looked down at her, seeing the way she was looking at me, and any lingering shyness vanished.
"Yes," I rasped, my hands reaching for the buttons of her shirt, my heart hammering. "Yes, Dr. Carter."
"That isn’t the name I want to hear right now," Carrie corrected, her voice a low warning wrapped in velvet.
She didn't wait for me to apologise; she simply leaned back into the plush charcoal cushions, spreading her arms wide and offering herself to me.
Fuck, this was the best sight in the world.
Her gaze never left mine, watching me with a look of possessive pride as my trembling hands finally got to work on her silk shirt.
I felt like I could barely fucking see—my vision was hazy with wine and the lingering aftershocks of the most intense hour of my life—but the desperation to touch her, to finally taste her after weeks of distance, was like a physical fucking ache in my chest.
I peeled the fabric away, and she was magnificent.
I moved effortlessly down her body, my hunger taking over.
I captured her nipples in my mouth, sucking hungrily, mirroring the way she’d just taken me apart.
Carrie’s back arched off the sofa, a sharp, ragged gasp escaping her as my fingers slid into her soaked core.
She was fucking drowning for me.
"Yes, Alex," she moaned, her head falling back against the cushions. "That’s it... Mommy likes that so much, darling. You’re being such a good girl for me."
Hearing her say it—owning the title with such decadent, unshakeable confidence—made me fucking drip. Every moan that left her throat felt like a reward, a confirmation that I could affect her just as much as she dominated me.
I didn't fucking stop. I moved further down her body, my fingers maintaining a relentless, driving rhythm inside her that had her hips bucking. I positioned myself between her thighs, and when my lips finally closed over her clit, Carrie let out a loud, unrestrained cry that made me shiver.
She wasn't the composed Dr. Carter anymore. She was a woman coming apart in my hands, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer as I lapped at her, fucking drinking her in. The taste of her was intoxicating—dark, sweet, and entirely hers. Fuck, I’d missed it so much.
I used my tongue with a feverish intensity, circling and sucking until I felt her entire body go rigid.
"Alex... oh god, Alex," she gasped, her voice breaking.
She didn't hold back. She came with a force that vibrated through my jaw, her internal muscles clenching desperately around my fucking fingers. I stayed there, holding her, tasting her until the very last tremor faded into the quiet of the room.
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of sex and the hum of the film. Carrie was still breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in the dim light, her eyes closed as she slowly descended from the peak of her orgasm.
I didn't pull away immediately. Instead, I lingered, fucking hungrily licking up the evidence of her climax, my tongue sweeping across her skin before I slowly drew my own fingers into my mouth. I tasted her—dark, sweet, and entirely overwhelming. Fucking paradise.
Carrie’s eyes snapped open, her gaze landing on me with a look of raw, unshielded hunger.
She reached out, her hand tangling in my hair to haul me up her body until our faces were inches apart.
She didn't wait; she crashed her lips against mine, kissing me greedily.
We both fucking moaned into the contact, our tongues tangling as we tasted ourselves on each other, a dizzying, recursive loop of intimacy that made my head fucking swim all over again.
She pulled back just a fraction, her teeth catching my bottom lip in a sharp, playful nibble that made me shiver. Her pupils were still blown wide, reflecting the flickering fairy lights of the Christmas tree in the corner.
"There," she whispered, her voice a low, satisfied purr that vibrated against my skin. "That’s much better."
She ran a thumb over my swollen lip, her expression softening into something incredibly tender yet still undeniably possessive. She looked at me—really fucking looked at me—as if I was the only thing in her world worth owning.
"Merry Christmas, Alex," she murmured, the words a soft promise against my mouth.
I leaned my forehead against hers, my eyes fluttering shut. "Merry Christmas, Dr. Carter."
She hummed, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. "I think you mean 'Mommy,' princess. But we’ll work on that in the morning."
I chuckled, the sound muffled against her collarbone as I finally let my body go limp, curling into her embrace like I was made to fit there. My mind was a hazy, blissful mess, but one thought kept looping through the fog: Mia.
I was so ready to fucking murder her. I was ready to delete her number and let her suffer through the Christmas Eve shift alone every fucking year for even suggesting something so mental.
But as I felt Carrie’s heartbeat steady against my cheek, and the lingering, electric hum of her discipline still vibrating in my bones, I realised I might actually owe that absolute idiot a drink.
My whole world had shifted on its axis in the span of a single hour.
The woman who walked down those stairs was drowning in debt and guilt; the woman lying here now was something else entirely.
I was protected. I was provided for. And apparently, I was a good girl who belonged to the most dangerous fucking woman I've ever met.