Page 25 of Doctor Bossy

I had already put off this meeting for as long as possible and knew I couldn’t put it off anymore. But accepting it didn’t make this any easier.

Branches didn’t look all that different from when I left. Same broken street lights and graffiti walls, signs riddled with bullet holes and cracked plaster, and burglary-proof protections at every store. I refused to venture any deeper into town and insisted that my mother meet me on the outskirts instead. Still, I watched over my shoulder, ready for anything at any moment. I always hated coming back here because it reminded me of the life I left behind. And I had only come for one thing.

To see my mother.

I stepped into the crowded restaurant on the outskirts of Branches, feeling like I was going to throw up as the smell of raw meat permeated my nostrils. The restaurant was really a dive bar, and on evenings like this, it was mostly populated by blue-collar workers who were off duty and degenerates who came awake at night. I could sense them sizing me up as I walked in, and I remained alert even as fear ran down my spine.

I didn’t want to be back here. I never wanted to be back here again.

The guilt for not coming back earlier than I had to return had driven me to distraction for the past few days already, and I could tell it was starting to affect my work. The other day, I’d mistakingly placed some of the genetic material I was testing on the same work table as some key Terradol components and then nearly got chewed out by Leila for it. And wouldn’t you know it, Dr. Griffin picked that exact moment to walk into the lab.

Damn, that was embarrassing.

And it was embarrassing enough that I was getting scolded like a little girl in front of him, but then I’d had to take it one step further and wave at him, only belatedly realizing that I shouldn’t have. It made me seem like I was a schoolgirl with a crush.

How mortifying.

Predictably, he hadn’t responded to it, for the same reason why he rarely spoke to me privately anymore. He didn’t want to give the impression that we were closer than we were or that he had given me the job on something else besides merit. It would not only harm both our reputations in the lab, but it might also make it seem like I was given the job as a favor. Even though he totally had. I wasn’t ashamed at all to admit it because I knew my merit would definitely show up in the long run.

Still, in the meantime, there could be no friendly conversations over lunch, no jokes, and especially no touches.

But God, I missed it.

And I dreamt about it still, dreams so intense that I sometimes swore they were memories. And it was always a similar theme. Last time, he intensely scolded me over an equation I got wrong, and then, without warning, he put me over his knee and proceeded to spank me.

But not the painful kind.

The erotic, nerve-shattering kind that I always read about in books but never experienced in real life.

It was strange. I knew a little bit about submission in the bedroom, but I never thought it applied to me until now. But the feeling of his wide hand on my skin, slapping, then caressing, then slapping, then caressing…

The near orgasm was what jerked me awake.

I pondered about it during the cold shower after.

Perhaps it was just the doctor’s energy inspiring my dirty thoughts. I’d never met a man so intensely dominant before, a man who didn’t need to even say a word for his presence to intimidate. He brought out the submissive side of me that I didn’t know I had, and it was hard to suppress that desire.

And truth be told, I didn’t try very hard to.

There were very few good thoughts in my head, and he was one of them. The fantasy kept me sane through weeks of work and the growing unease day by day when the cursed date on my calendar approached.

But now that I was here, even thinking about my hot sexy boss couldn’t lift my mood.

Ireallydidn’t want to be doing this.

I saw the wispy, brown hair at the corner of the bar and swallowed, fortifying myself before moving toward her. She hadn’t seen me yet, so I took my time analyzing her as I walked.

Knowing what mood she was in was always the key to survival when dealing with my mother.

Her face was set in a frown that didn’t wrinkle her fine features. My mom looked far younger than her forty-three years, genetics giving her a youthful face that got her out of many parking tickets back in the day. That, combined with her lithe body and innocent eyes, belied the fact that she could be very cunning when she wanted to be. One might even be tempted to believe the best in her, right up until she stabbed you in the back by using up all your college savings for an impromptu shopping trip.

The memory still managed to make me angry.

Nevertheless, she was my mother, so here I was.

I slipped onto the bar stool and pasted a smile on my face when I said, “Hi, Mom. Have you been waiting long?”

She frowned even deeper at me. “‘Hi, Mom?’ Is that all you have to say to me?”

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