Chapter 22 #2
"You think I’m angry because you were flirting, Alex?
" she whispered, her gaze dropping to my shoulder where Billie’s hand had been.
"I’m not a jealous schoolgirl. I know exactly who Billie Davies is.
I’m angry because you let her touch you.
I’m angry because you sat there and allowed her to mark you in my classroom, while I was forced to maintain 'professional distance. '"
She reached out, her fingers hooking firmly into the collar of my shirt, pulling me forward until our faces were inches apart.
"If you ever let another person touch you like that again—especially in my sight—you will find out very quickly exactly how little I care about giving us away. Do I make myself clear?"
My breath hitched. The sheer force of her jealousy was intoxicating. My hands found her waist, pulling her flush against me. "Perfectly," I rasped. "I’m yours, Carrie. Only yours."
Her expression softened a fraction. She let out a shaky breath, her forehead dropping against mine. "Good girl," she murmured.
Then, her hands shifted, firmly putting a few inches of air back between us.
"Go," she said, her voice regaining its crisp, academic edge. "There will be another class in here in ten minutes, and I have no intention of giving the board a reason to look at the CCTV."
I reluctantly let my hands slide off her waist, but she hitched my collar one last time, her thumb grazing the side of my neck.
"And Alex? I wasn't joking. I don't share.
Not even a glance, and certainly not a touch.
If you decide to push me—if you decide to act like a brat and test those boundaries just to see what happens—I will be forced to punish you.
And believe me, darling, you won't find that experience quite as charming as my seminars. "
A violent shiver raced down my spine. The word punish, delivered with her effortless authority, made my head swim.
"I understand," I rasped.
She let go, smoothing the crumpled fabric of my shirt with a proprietary pat. "Good. Then I’ll see you tonight. Six o’clock in the car park. Don't be late."
I nodded, backing toward the door, feeling like I was walking on air and broken glass all at once. I slipped out into the hallway and leaned against the wall, trying to remember how to breathe.
Those sharp, insistent tingles were back, fiercer than ever. I actually liked her. Like, I fucking really liked her. I walked away, desperately trying to pretend I was not having actual, terrifying feelings.
Because, fuck, I didn't do this.
The drive back to her house was silent, but it wasn't the heavy, suffocating quiet from earlier. Instead, the air in the car felt thick with a low-frequency hum, a charged vibration that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. I sat there, staring out the window, fighting the voice in the back of my head that kept insisting I was going to fuck this up. It was a familiar internal monologue—the certainty that my old habits and messy patterns were just lying in wait. I felt like I was drowning in my own mistakes before I’d even made them, yet here I was. She still wanted me here.
The routine was seamless, practiced. We shed our coats and shoes, and Carrie tucked them away in the hallway cupboard with her usual meticulous grace.
When the door finally clicked shut, the sound echoed through the quiet house like a final, private seal.
I must have looked like I was waiting for the floor to fucking drop out from under me, because Carrie turned to me with a slow, knowing smirk.
She arched a single, elegant eyebrow and let out a soft, breathy chuckle that sent a fresh wave of heat straight to my core. Shit, she was gorgeous.
"You don't need to look so scared, darling," she said, her voice dropping into that smooth, velvety tone that made me feel like I was fucking melting.
I wasn't scared of her—not really. I was fucking terrified of this.
I was terrified of entering something real and knowing I was the only one who could ruin it.
But the desperation to be near her outweighed the fear every single time.
She took a step closer, and I instinctively retreated until my back hit the cool, solid surface of the hallway wall.
I felt like a total fucking idiot for backing away, but she didn't stop.
She moved into my space until I was completely boxed in, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating.
"I know that you are a flirty, teasing woman," she murmured, her eyes searching mine with a terrifyingly sharp intelligence. "I know you've caught many eyes, and I know you'll continue to catch many more. That is simply your nature."
Her words held me in a fucking trance. Part of me wondered if she was telling me she didn't mind my bullshit, but I knew better.
Flirting was just a game, a way to keep people at arm's length, but I’d never take anyone up on it now.
Not when I had a woman like her. She stepped closer still, forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
Her hands didn't touch me yet, but I could feel the ghost of her warmth radiating off her body.
"But," she whispered, her gaze dropping to my lips before locking back onto my eyes with a possessive intensity that cemented itself between us. "I also know that you are mine. Isn't that correct, Alex?"
I fucking was. It wasn't a question. It was a reminder. A claim. And as I looked up at her, trapped between her body and the wall, I realised there was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.
The air in the hallway felt suddenly thin, and my mouth went bone-dry.
I had to close my eyes for a second, just to ground myself, before I opened them to meet that terrifying, beautiful gaze again.
"I am," I whispered. The words felt like a vow, heavy and irrevocable.
Her smirk deepened, and she pressed even closer. Fuck, I loved the way we fit—the height difference, the way the soft curves of her body met the jagged edges of mine. She leaned in, her lips ghosting over mine as she whispered, "So, you can flirt, darling. I don't mind. Really."
Her words were a permission slip, but her tone was a fucking death warrant. It was lethal, vibrating with a warning that made my blood sing.
"But," she continued, her voice dropping to a velvety hiss, "if anyone dares to get close—if they reach out and touch what belongs to me—it’ll be you who faces the consequences. Understood?"
I felt like I was fucking hovering an inch off the floor. The room was spinning, and I was pretty sure I was about to faint or combust, possibly both. I moved my head slowly, our noses brushing gently, the friction sending static through my nerves.
"Understood," I managed to rasp.
Fuck, I did understand. But there was a sick, rebellious part of me—the brat I guess I’d always been—that wondered what those consequences would look like.
A thrill raced through me at the thought.
She gave me a smile that was a pure, unadulterated threat.
I took a fucking gamble anyway, reaching up to gently nibble on her bottom lip.
The reaction was instant. One of her hands left the wall and wrapped around my throat—not enough to hurt, but firm enough to send a riot of sparks across my insides.
I released her lip, but she didn't let me get far.
She chased me, crushing her mouth against mine in a searing, desperate kiss that felt less like a greeting and more like a contract.
We were exclusive. We belonged to each other.
And honestly? Good fucking luck to anyone else who even thought about taking an interest, because it turned out we were both possessive psychos.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I had never been exclusive—never fucking wanted to be, never even considered it.
But now? Now, all I could think about was her.
And it wasn't just because of the way her mouth was on mine, making my knees feel like they were about to give out. It was because when I looked at her, I didn't just see the possessive, sexy supervillain.
I saw the woman who rolled her eyes fondly at my stupid jokes.
I saw the woman who protected me when I was hurt.
I saw the woman who was terrified of a fictional horror film, but sat through two of them just because they were my favourite—and then sought me out for comfort when she started jumping at her own shadow.
I saw the woman who used her spare time to help charities find funding and then brushed it off like it was nothing. She had built this life from nothing; she had earned every single fucking brick of this house.
She noticed things. She noticed me.
I was fucking gone. I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted Caroline Carter.
When she pulled away from the kiss, I couldn’t stop the whimper that bubbled up in my throat. I opened my eyes heavily, my head spinning as I looked at her. She smirked, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek.
“Come on,” she whispered. “I’d better start making dinner before it gets too late for you to head home.”
My stomach did a pathetic little flip. I reached out, catching her before she could step away and pulling her back into my space.
She raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than annoyed.
I ran my hands up her toned thighs—the fabric of her tailored trousers smooth under my palms—and up to the crisp white shirt that fit her perfectly.
Finally, I buried my fingers in the deep, dark strands of her hair, raking my nails across her scalp.
She closed her eyes, leaning into the touch with a soft sigh.
I straightened up, leaning in to whisper directly into her ear. “You can’t wear your hair down at uni again.”
Her eyes snapped open, sharper now. “Excuse me?”