Filthy Doctor: The Psychologist & The Addict (Obsessive #3)
Chapter 1
Stella
My team consisted mostly of women, and I was grateful for that, but the wider office had an equal mix of both sexes. My past hadn’t followed me into this job yet, and that’s the way I wanted to keep it.
Yes, Stella. Keep your head down and work—no work nights out or Christmas parties.
I was sure my manager thought I was an antisocial bitch. But seriously, all that team-building for morale and sales… pfft.
Give me a quiet night in and no witnesses, and I could survive.
Instead of graduating from university, I was stuck in sales, selling life insurance and pension plans in a call centre. I didn’t need to constantly remind myself of my failures because my parents did a grand job of that.
They were far too polite to say it outright, but the constant disappointment in their eyes over the last six years was plain to see.
I was stuck.
With my ‘condition’.
My low-paid job.
And my general inability to escape.
Myself?
My parents?
Or the entire country?
Who knew.
I picked up my herbal tea bag, tore the paper wrapper off, and placed it into my company mug, letting the string dangle over the rim. Caffeine was too stimulating for me, so this was the only hot drink I allowed myself.
Today it was organic blackberry and blueberry infusion.
With a sigh, I stood up to go to the vending machine for some hot water.
Another day to get through.
?
?
?
The tube rumbled as it began to pick up speed. I swayed in time with the carriage. The movement made me tighten my thighs together, but that only made it worse.
I raised my head.
It was busy.
Bodies crammed together.
My eyes lingered on a man’s butt.
They weren’t bad.
I closed my eyes and tugged on the strap of my bag, slipping my hand into the side pocket for my phone. Most of my apps were deleted, and my accounts lay dormant. Accusations had been made. The backlash had followed.
The angry horde had dragged my friends and family into it.
I learned the hard way that the internet was forever.
No.
No thinking of the past.
I tapped on my puzzle game. It occupied me and prevented me from ogling strangers.
Brakes screeched, and I grabbed the rail.
The movement reminded me of the slow-burning need—the one that never fully retreated, no matter where I was in my cycle or what the lunar phase was. I went to my general practitioner, only to be prescribed an antidepressant that lowered my libido.
It did, but it also made me feel sluggish, and after the first six weeks, I gave the pills up. They made me feel like more of a loser than I already was.
Another three stops.
Then the blue line.
Home.
There was no escaping my parents.
My mum wouldn’t let me eat in my room. Hell, they wouldn’t even let me close my bedroom door, telling me it was for my own good. The only privacy I had was in my bathroom—but if my mum was home, she’d time my visits.
The man standing in front of me moved, drawing my eyes back to where they shouldn’t be.
No wonder I was constantly exhausted.
But I rubbed my thighs and breathed slowly until I felt the lace and silkiness of my hold-ups.
If I raised my skirt a little higher, I might feel the contrast of cool air when the doors opened.
I never left the house without panty liners. They helped keep me dry, but showering twice a day was the only way to really cool off.
The carriage began to empty, and a few more people stepped on. It wasn’t as busy, and now I could see them properly.
It was bad.
Real bad.
Two men sat opposite me, with an older woman between them.
One of the men had a prominent outline between his legs.
I blamed God.
Why did men need to sit with their legs spread open?
Because their reproductive organs hung outside their bodies like a design flaw.
Even with nature’s warning, men still seemed determined to cram them into tight little pants. Men were allowed to let it all hang out without consequence—unlike women. Or women like me.
Heat rose high in my cheeks, and I unbuttoned my jacket. It didn’t help, considering I dressed like a nun on the outside.
I should wear trousers tomorrow.