She beams. "Thank you. Is it okay if I add it to the schedule? Say in a few weeks? You have a couple of openings."
I clear my throat. "Sure, Amy."
"Great! Thanks, Dr. Mercer," she chirps and disappears.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly through my nose, fighting anger and lust. My brain reaches for intensity when it feels threatened. Power and care can easily tangle if I'm not vigilant. I need better control over my bodily reactions.
I glance between my legs, and another vision of my Bluebird, with flushed cheeks, wide, glassy eyes, and her swollen mouth over my cock, tempts me. Then another image of Amy sitting across from me, hanging on every word I give her about her work performance, makes my erection hurt.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter, then get up, go into my private bathroom, and splash cold water on my face. I stare at my reflection until my pulse slows.
Get it together.
Instead of obeying my orders, I pick up my phone and text.
Me: Amy just asked for a performance review.
Blue responds with three fire emojis.
Me: Are you doing okay?
Blue: Yes. When is the review?
Me: What are you and Demi doing?
Blue: Your dick is hard as a rock right now, isn't it, Dr. Mercer?
I groan.
Blue: Between now and then, figure out a nonchalant way to keep one hand under the desk so you can keep me at the pace you want.
"Fuck," I mumble.
Blue: Have a good day!
Sessions begin. I listen, respond, and guide. I do my job well because that's what I know how to do when everything else feels unstable. Between appointments, I check my phone, but Blue hasn't sent any other texts.
By midmorning, my chest is tight with restrained energy. I text Demi.
Me: How's she doing?
Demi: Quiet. On the couch. Drinking coffee. Watching something dumb. I'm here.
Relief hits, then my phone buzzes with an unfamiliar number. I answer cautiously. "Dr. Mercer."
"Red," a woman says, voice strained but controlled. "This is Blue's mother."
My spine goes rigid.
"I'm standing outside your office door. I need to speak with you."
Every alarm in my body goes off at once.
"I can't discuss?—"
"I'm not asking about treatment. I'm asking about my daughter and you."
I close my eyes briefly, already knowing this conversation was bound to happen at some point. "Come in. But there are boundaries I won't be able to cross."
