Chapter 23 #3
I glanced at the screen again. Mia was staring at me, her phone still in her hand, waiting for the confession. I looked at Carrie, who was currently telling Adrian that his firm’s approach to risk management was "optimistic at best," and then back at my phone.
How did I even fucking explain this? How did I tell her that I was not just dating her, but that I was currently being claimed in a dive bar by a woman who met my parents an hour ago?
I started typing back, my thumbs shaking.
Alex: Shut the fuck up. I’ll tell you when I’m not two seconds away from being murdered for breathing the wrong way. Just play it cool.
I looked up, and Mia was already typing again, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
Mia: Too late. I'm calling her Dr. Vixen to her face before the night is over.
An hour slipped by in a blur of low-frequency bass and the growing heat of the crowd. The "Ice Queen" hadn’t just thawed; she’d transformed into a magnetic, commanding presence that seemed to pull the very air toward our corner of the booth. Fuck, she was incredible.
Adrian and Mia returned from the bar, balancing a fresh round of drinks and a tray of dark, ominous-looking shots.
I was feeling happy drunk and I was going to cut myself off after this one otherwise uni tomorrow was out of the fucking question.
In a move that was purely tactical, Mia nudged Adrian out of the way, swapping seats so she was sitting directly across from me, her eyes gleaming with drunken curiosity. Fuck’s sake.
I found myself naturally gravitating toward Carrie, leaning into her side until there was no daylight left between us.
Carrie’s hand had migrated from my thigh to wrap firmly around my waist, pulling me back against her.
It was a comfortable, heavy weight that made me feel anchored, stupid tingles filled my chest and I couldn’t seem to pull away; I didn't fucking want to.
Instead, I rested my own hand on her thigh, my fingers tracing the expensive fabric of her dress.
It was a bold move, especially with Mia watching, but I was past caring.
This woman was mine as much as I was hers.
"Alright, enough finance talk," Mia announced, sliding the shots toward us. "To a night that turned out way more interesting than I expected."
We took the shots without a second's hesitation.
Fucking disgusting. I expected Carrie to grimace at the cheap tequila, but she tossed it back with a practiced, effortless cool that made my heart skip a beat.
She didn't even reach for a chaser. I bit my lip as I placed my glass down; she was so fucking hot.
As the burning heat of the shot settled in my chest, the noise of the bar seemed to fade into the background. Carrie leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of my ear, her breath hot and smelling faintly of expensive whiskey and lime.
"Are you having a good time, darling?" she whispered.
The vibrations of her voice traveled straight down my spine. I looked up at her, finding her eyes dark and focused entirely on me, ignoring the chaos of the bar and the prying eyes of Mia.
"Yeah," I rasped, my hand tightening slightly on her leg. "I am. Surprisingly."
"Good," she murmured, her thumb tracing a slow, possessive line along my ribs. "Because I’ve been very patient, Alex. But watching you under these lights... it’s making it very difficult to maintain my professional distance."
Fuck, heat pooled low and I had to look away from her.
Across the table, Mia was pretending to talk to Adrian, but her eyes were glued to us. She leaned in, her voice hushed but excited. "So, Lex... I think it's time for a girl's trip to the bathroom. Don't you?"
Carrie’s grip on me didn't loosen. She looked at Mia, then back at me, an amused challenge in her eyes. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a low, velvet thread that barely carried over the music. "Take off those tights for me, darling."
I stared at her, my eyes widening. My heart skipped a beat, then thudded violently against my ribs. Was she actually fucking serious? She didn’t blink; she just tilted her head slightly, a silent, imperious look that said she wasn't in the habit of repeating herself.
Shit. Okay. We were doing this.
Mia was already scurrying past Adrian, who caught her for a second to not-so-subtly grab her arse.
She whispered something back to him, looking way too pleased with herself, and headed for the back of the bar.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Carrie smirked but didn’t move an inch to let me out.
I had to practically slide over her lap to escape the booth, the friction of my skirt against her legs making my fucking head swim.
Her hands glided across my hips as I moved, and for a split second, I wanted to forget the bathroom entirely and just sink onto her lap right here in the middle of the fucking bar.
I headed toward the toilets with Mia, stealing a glance over my shoulder. Carrie was leaning back, cradling her whiskey and watching my every step with a gaze so heavy I could feel it on my skin. It made my stomach do a slow, nauseous flip of pure excitement. Fuck me.
As soon as the bathroom door swung shut, Mia whirled on me, her face glowing with giddy, drunken energy.
“Fucking hell!” She gave me a playful, forceful shove. “Shit, Alex. That woman has you wrapped around her little finger. Like, what? Are you actually exclusive now?”
I leaned back against the graffiti-covered wall and let out a long, shaky exhale. I bit my lip, unable to stop the grin that spread across my face. Because, fuck, we really were. “I guess we are,” I admitted.
Mia let out a muffled squeal and lunged forward, pulling me into a suffocating, "tits-in-my-face" hug. “Mate, good for you! She is genuinely the sexiest woman I have ever seen in my life, and she’s fucking terrifying.”
I chuckled, gently pushing her back. "Tell me about it."
We headed into the stalls. Between those drinks and my nerves, I actually did need to piss.
As I sat there, my heart still hammering, I started unlacing my Docs.
I couldn’t believe I was actually fucking doing this.
I peeled the thick tights down my legs, the air hitting my skin with a sudden, sharp chill.
It was December, but the heat from the crowd and the alcohol in my system kept the cold from biting too hard. Thank fuck.
I rolled the tights into a ball and shoved them deep into the toe of one of my boots—they were a little too big anyway, and I didn't have pockets. I laced my boots back up, washed my hands, and headed back out to the bar with Mia.
She didn't even notice. She was too fucked and eager, rambling on about her plans with Adrian for later tonight that were way too fucking graphic. I was barely listening to her; my entire focus was locked on the booth. As we approached, Caroline’s eyes immediately dropped.
She tracked the line of my bare legs under the wrap skirt, her expression darkening with a look of pure, predatory approval.
Every fucking inch of my body started to tingle.
When we reached the booth, Mia and Adrian were already lost in their own world.
Mia was whispering something giddily into his ear, her face flushed, while Adrian’s hand trailed lazily up and down her waist. It was the kind of standard bar flirting I’d seen a thousand times, but tonight, it felt like white noise compared to the frequency Carrie and I were vibrating on.
I moved to slide past Carrie, expecting to take my usual spot boxed in against the wall, but she had other plans. As I tried to shimmy by, her arm hooked firmly around my waist, halting my progress.
She didn't say a word.
She just pulled, her strength surprising me, until I was forced to sit directly on her lap.
I let out a small, startled gasp, my hands flying to her thighs for balance.
She settled me comfortably against her, her legs solid beneath mine, refusing to let me go any further toward the empty seat. Fuck, this was better than any seat.
The sensation of my bare skin against her—the contrast of the cool air in the bar and the radiating heat of her body—was enough to make my head fucking spin.
"Stay," she murmured, the command vibrating against my spine as I leaned back into her chest.
Then, her hand moved. And fuck...
She didn't go for my waist this time. Did she fuck. Her hand slid beneath the hem of my wrap skirt, her palm hot and heavy against my bare thigh. I froze, my breath hitching in my throat as her fingers trailed upward, slow and agonising, until she found the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
She gripped me there—not enough to bruise, but firm enough to be an absolute, undeniable claim.
It was a possessive hold that made it crystal clear: I told you to take them off, and now you’re mine to touch.
My heart was hammering. I was usually the confident one, the one teasing other women and taking control, but the flip switched the second it came to her. No one had ever done this to me before.
Across the table, Mia and Adrian were too preoccupied with each other to notice the shift.
To them, we were just sitting close. But under the table, in the dark shadows of the booth, Carrie’s thumb was tracing slow, rhythmic circles against my skin, driving every fucking coherent thought from my brain.
I leaned my head back against her shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut. The music, the smell of alcohol, the shouting of the crowd—it all disappeared. There was only the weight of her hand on my thigh and the fucking terrifying, beautiful realisation that I would let her do anything to me.
She leaned in, her lips brushing the sensitive spot just behind my ear. "Good girl," she whispered, her voice a low, lethal purr. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to feel your skin since we left the house.”
Oh fuck.