Chapter Three #2
With another breath of frustration, I blew a strand of hair from my face, as Mr. Serious took a seat behind his desk.
With the hair still in my way, I swatted at it, and of course, hit my face instead of the hair.
And, completely losing myself in a swirl of irritation, dumped my head forward and ripped out the elastic holding it in a messy bun.
Swinging my head up, I was so dizzy I almost fell over, but covered my fragile condition by plopping down into the chair opposite his desk.
It was a cushy chair, but I couldn’t get comfortable.
My feet didn’t touch the floor, the seat was far too broad for me.
I was used to feeling a little undersized for the world around me, but not like this.
I felt like a child in Papa’s study, only this Papa wouldn’t give me a distracted scold and a hug and send me back out to play.
Dr. Vitale watched me with a look I couldn’t decipher. I assumed the man was assessing my mental health and I was coming up wanting.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
The silence stretched between us.
I hated silence.
Silence left too much room for thinking.
Too much room for remembering.
Too much room for fear.
My pulse throbbed behind my eyes.
I hadn't slept properly in days. Hadn't eaten anything more substantial than vending machine snacks and coffee. So much coffee.
The office blurred for a second and I blinked hard.
Not now.
Please, not now.
I could not afford to fall apart.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
Not when every mistake I'd made over the last four days was lined up in my head like witnesses waiting to testify against me.
The ruined surgical tray.
The delayed procedure.
Falling asleep standing up.
The constant fear that someone would look too closely at my employment records and discover I wasn't who I claimed to be.
That Gaby Cala wasn't real.
That Gabriella Bellini had never truly disappeared.
A knot formed in my throat.
For one terrifying moment, I thought I might cry.
The realization horrified me.
I wasn't a crier.
I was a survivor.
Survivors adapted.
Survivors endured.
Survivors kept moving.
Even when they were hanging on by a thread.
“What?” I asked, a little louder than necessary.
His cold expression did nothing to hide the hint of amusement in the depths of his eyes.
“Are you ready for your dressing down, Miss Cala?”
I crossed my arms across my chest, blowing by habit at a strand of hair that wasn’t bothering me in the least, but it did help express my irritation.
“If that’s what this is, then go ahead. But just so you know, doctor, this is your fault as half your damn nursing staff is off sick.
Maybe you should give yourself the dressing down, as you called it.
In fact,” I stood up, literally shaking with rage, “why don’t you go fuck yourself, I don’t need this stupid job anyway! ”
I was unhinged, shaking, and yelling for no reason at all. I knew this, but couldn’t control myself enough to stop doing it.
Unfazed, Dr. Vitale stood up and moved around to my side of the desk. His cool composure and steely gaze brought my outburst to an immediate stop. Panting, I glared at him, silently daring him to say anything that may piss me off.
“I believe you need some stress relief, Miss Cala.”
Before I could question him, he planted his foot on the chair and seized me. The room spun. I landed with a Whoomph! over a strong, muscular thigh, my legs and arms left to dangle in the air, I gripped the only thing I could reach—an equally muscular calf and shin.
“What are you doing?” I screeched. “Put me down at once!”
A hand as unyielding as a wooden breadboard landed on my ass with a report that pierced the air.
He just spanked me! I wanted to protest, I really did, but it was like I’d forgotten how to speak.
Smack! The sound of his hand hitting my backside was so loud, I was sure his secretary could hear it.
Heat filled my face, but not as hot as my ass.
The sting was unbearable and finally, finding a will to fight, I began squirming over his thigh to escape the punishing strokes. The real protest, however, had nothing to do with the hard swats, but with hiding the reaction to his dominance in taking me in hand.
The moment my brain caught up to my body and realized our predicament, a more primal response started triggering my sex. Beneath my standard-issued medical scrubs, my panties were soaked. If I could smell my excitement, surely, he could too.
As if reading my mind, I suddenly found myself on my feet having my pants ripped down.
He sat on the chair his foot had been on, and deposited me over his thighs with my upper body so low, my nose almost touched the ground.
That was saying something since I only stand 5 feet 1 inch.
And with my head so close to the floor, that meant my ass was raised, front and center.
I tried kicking my legs, but he wrapped one of his much larger ones over mine, thoroughly trapping me.
“I see a little pain excites you, Miss Cala. You long for me to touch you and bring you relief.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement issued as a fact. His fingers teased over my wet panties, and I did the unthinkable, moaning aloud.