Avery watched me with amused, hooded eyes as I crossed my legs and hid my erection behind my notepad. But I maintained my professionalism and began our session as planned. It was attention-seeking behavior, so I knew the worst thing I could do was reinforce it with a reaction.
But that’s the thing about attention-seeking behavior. It tends to escalate until you can no longer ignore it. Which is exactly what happened approximately ten minutes later when Avery began to slowly unbutton her blouse.
At the time, I told myself that I’d let it go on as long as I did because I was being a good behaviorist. I was ignoring the behavior no matter how extreme the escalation, but we both know the truth.
I didn’t want her to stop.
What I wanted was to jerk her infuriating ass out of her seat by the shoulders, slam her against the nearest wall, and give her exactly what she’d been begging for all these months.
But instead, I reached behind me to my desk phone, hit the speaker button, and dialed security.
Once Avery Oliver was escorted, kicking and screaming, out of my office, I told my secretary not to schedule any future appointments with her. Then I locked myself in my office and angrily masturbated into a wad of tissues.
Twice.
“Dr. Keaton, you came.” Avery smirks, her tone on that last word suggestive, as if she can read my thoughts.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
Her predatory eyes, rimmed with perfectly applied makeup that she didn’t even have the decency to fake-cry off, flare at my response.
“You didn’t give me any choice at all. Cheryl won’t book me another appointment. You refuse to take my calls. All I want is to apologize, but—”
“Apology accepted,” I snap. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I turn to go, knowing that every second of attention I give her is only reinforcing her behavior more.
A blood-curdling scream paralyzes me as I reach for the door handle, and the crowd below gasps so loud I can hear them, even over the hum of the industrial-sized air conditioners on the roof.
I turn to find Avery exactly where I left her, lips pursed in delight.
I take a deep breath and place my hands on my hips, staring down the length of my tie at my polished wingtips. It’s too damn hot to be out here in a tie. I loosen it slightly and try to compose myself before addressing the drama queen on the ledge.
She is not going to jump. Therefore, she has no power over you. You are calm. You are concerned. You are in control.
“Ms. Oliver—” I begin to scold.
“Call me Heather, and I’ll sit.” She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows innocently.
“That’s not your name,” I grind out between clenched teeth.
“Do you whisper it when you make love to her, or do you growl it?” She narrows her eyes at me, scorned. “Or do you keep your mouth shut while you thrust into her because you’re afraid you’ll say my name instead?”
“Ms. Oliver, please, just get down from there.”
I reach out an emphatic hand, and Avery takes one deliberate half-step back. The spike of her heel lands mere inches from the edge. The onlookers gasp again, and her amber eyes flicker like twin flames.
“Fine. Heather. Just sit down. Please.” I can almost see the shiver of pleasure my authoritative tone gives her.
Avery sits on the ledge, facing me instead of the crowd below, which is a relief—until she spreads her legs, revealing the blush-pink silk of her panties.
The same color as the blouse she tried to remove in front of me yesterday.
My cock twitches, and I force myself to meet her searing gaze.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says, dropping her eyes as her hands slide down her smooth, exposed thighs. “About the way you spoke to me yesterday. I’ll bet you’re a dominant lover. All that repressed anger. Your wife doesn’t like it rough, does she? Spanking. Choking. You could do those things to me, Dr. Keaton. You could do anything you want.”
I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth. “You don’t know anything about my wife.”
“Oh, but I do. She goes to a spin class at Atlanta Fitness on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays before grabbing a coffee at The Dogwood Café on her way to work. Americano with a splash of almond milk. So sophisticated. I know which barista she likes to flirt with, too. The scruffy one with the man bun. His name tag says