Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series by Tara Crescent

he asked.
    “Two months. I’ve a contact at the planning office; he speeds things along for me,” I replied. He was asking me work questions, and I was in my element.
    “What will it cost?”
    I shrugged apologetically. “I’ll have to redo my numbers; the upstairs porch was probably the most expensive bit. But if you want the whole house done, it’ll probably cost you about four or five hundred thousand dollars.”
    He didn’t even blink. “Seems reasonable,” was all he said. “Do it.”
    “Patrick,” I protested. This felt weird. “Listen, I’m happy to give you advice; steer you towards someone else; this feels strange.”
    “Why?” he asked directly.
    “Cause it feels like I’m using you for your money,” I answered, exasperated.
    His lips twitched. “Are you?” he asked me.
    “No,” I said, a little offended.
    “Then stop worrying about it,” he said. “Your quote is reasonable, and I love your work. Do you need an advance to get the permit process started?”
    My typical answer would have been yes; I got paid ten percent up front. But the situation was strange enough, and I didn’t want Patrick writing me a check. “No,” I muttered.
    Who was I kidding? Despite the risk of complication, I wanted to do his house. I wanted to entwine myself in his life; make him part of mine. I was walking on a ledge though, one that could crumble at any moment. That was the risk I took.
    “Okay, on to more important things,” he said, leaning back in his chair. We were alone in my office; Natalie was only coming in at noon. “Am I seeing you tonight?” His question was direct.
    I looked at him. After Wednesday, we hadn’t made plans on when we were going to see each other again. But I’d hoped it would be tonight, and I’d cleared my schedule, opting out of drinks with my crew, on the off-chance he’d call.
    “If you want,” I said softly.
    “Oh, I want,” he replied, his eyes roaming all over me. “Come here,” he ordered, patting his lap. “Come sit down on my lap, I want to feel your pussy grind against me.”
    I flushed at his words. “Is this what you think design services include?” I asked snidely.
    He laughed, long and hard. “Lisa, Lisa. The things you say.” He grinned at me. “But that gives me some ideas of the way to handle things when delays happen, as they undoubtedly will.” He sipped his coffee; looked into my eyes, and continued. “I want you to come sit in my lap because for the last thirty six hours, all I’ve been thinking about is the way you feel against me.”
    My breath caught in my throat; I got up and walked towards him. I was wearing a pencil skirt; Patrick urged it up so that it bunched around my hips. Underneath, I’d worn a pair of purple silk panties with strategic lace insets; Patrick’s breathing stilled as they came into view.
    “Was this for me?” he murmured, reaching out and tracing the outline of the panties against my hip. I held my breath; feeling the tingles of arousal run through me.
    “A little,” I said honestly. “But mostly, I just like lingerie.”
    He smiled at me. “Good to know,” he said. “And if I bought you something, would you get offended?”
    “No,” I said, my cheeks flushed as I contemplated that image, wearing something he’d picked out for me; something he had imagined me in. “That would be pretty hot, actually.”
    He grinned. “Such a good girl,” he said, pulling me onto his lap so I was sitting facing him, legs straddling the sides of the chair. He leaned forward; kissed me, his tongue sliding into my mouth insistently; and I surrendered without a fight, grabbing the back of his head to pull him closer to me, opening my mouth with a sigh.
    As our tongues danced together, his hands were at my front, unbuttoning my black silk shirt, parting the front to see the matching purple bra underneath. His fingers traced the outline of the bra, then his mouth followed; his tongue licking where my skin met the