Page 72 of Passionate Defense

He worked his finger deeper, well beyond what was required for a simple temperature reading.

“As I was telling you earlier, I was pre-med in college. I took anatomy, a basic physical assessment class, and a few other health science prerequisites. They were interesting, and I learned a lot—or at least enough to be dangerous.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He chuckled softly but didn’t stop, carrying on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I hated microbiology, Latin, and the endless terminology and switched to pre-law/criminology, which was a complete U-turn. I was an impulsive twenty-year-old with a hard-on for Tara Wilson on Boston Legal, which, thinking back, may have played a part in it.”

“You changed majors because of a TV show?” Her voice cut off abruptly when he inserted a second finger, twisting it and preparing her more, which at this point was overkill. She didn’t complain, however, since the stimulation helped to offset the tingling warmth of the gel.

“Not a show,” he clarified. “I changed because of a character. I had a thing for sexy attorneys with long dark hair even back then. It seems to have worked out well for me.”

As he played, the tingling spread to adjacent places and moisture gathered with each stroke and twist. Soon, the burning ache in her pussy eclipsed that of where his fingers were buried.

“My two years of pre-med didn’t all go to waste. I learned useful skills that helped me care for my baby while she was sick.”

He spread his fingers, stretching her until she couldn’t hold back anymore. A breathless moan slipped out. But just when it was getting good—and she was sure he knew it, darn him—Ethan announced, “I think you’re ready.”

In went the thermometer, the plastic probe barely perceptible after his broad fingers. When it was in far enough for his satisfaction, he anchored it securely. His hand spread wide across her bottom felt nice, as did the other, which had resumed slowly massaging her back.

When ten seconds ticked by, and the thermometer didn’t beep, she pointed it out. “Time must be up. Are you sure it isn’t broken?”

“A core temperature reading can take longer. Up to three minutes.”

Lanie groaned but draped over his lap. Being cared for and comforted, she better understood the appeal of age play for Beth and Steven. She imagined she could get into some of it, like the dressing up and the closeness her friend spoke about, but she still had reservations about some things she’d read about. Pacifiers and bottles, cribs and high chairs, diapers and enemas were so not her thing. Not that she judged her friends. To each their own, as she’d told Beth that long-ago day at the mall. The nurturing, the cuddles, and caretaking, the role-playing games that they both got into, and the spankings—especially the spankings—were more her speed. She could play a teenage brat if Ethan ever wanted to go there; she’d perfected the role without even trying to while sick, but she wasn’t sure she’d feel comfortable beyond that.

The thermometer beeping had her tensing again. After Ethan withdrew it, she waited expectantly for the reading. “Ninety-nine degrees.”

Crap! Was this all for nothing?

“Does that mean I can’t get up?”

He chuckled while gently patting her butt. “No, sweetheart. A rectal temp is a degree higher, so you’re good to go—after your exam.”

Ethan helped her stand and led her to their reading nook in the corner. With a love seat, a big comfy chair-and-a-half that was big enough to fit them both snugly, and several reading lamps, she and Ethan loved to spend quiet time there together. Now it seemed it would double as Dr. Fischer’s clinic.

She waited as he spread a thick towel over the sturdy walnut coffee table. He patted the top. “Hop up and get comfortable.”

Lanie hesitated, doubtful that was possible.

“On your back, knees bent, heels against your ass.” He stroked her hip and gave her bottom an encouraging squeeze before he moved away. “Be right back.”

Lanie settled awkwardly atop the table, propped on her elbows, knees pressed tightly together, not precisely as ordered. When he reappeared from inside their ginormous walk-in closet, he’d removed his jacket, had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and carried a black leather bag. The noticeable clink it made when he set it on the floor made her heart lurch.

“What’s in there?”

“The tools I need for your exam.”

She eyed the traditional doctor’s bag with its short handle and brass latch. As she considered what diabolical tools it might contain, an uneasy feeling crept into her belly. If he was as smart as she thought he was, he had a crowbar. Better yet, the Jaws of Life, because if he pulled out anything she’d find at her gynecologist’s office, he’d need it to pry her legs apart.

Lanie held her tongue before that comment slipped out. This was Ethan. She trusted him, and she’d never had a complaint about playtime before.

He knelt on the floor and leaned over her, his gazed filled with love and affection. Tenderly, he cupped her cheek as his lips brushed hers. “This won’t hurt a bit, and I mean that. Trust me, baby.”

She did, absolutely, but fear of the unknown, and more so, the lack of control was her nemesis. Searching his handsome face, she noticed the little creases between his brows as a slight frown formed. He read her so easily.

“Didn’t you ever play doctor?”

“Yes. But my kit had plastic Band-Aids and a toy stethoscope. It also didn’t rattle and clink when I set it down like my dad’s Craftsman tool box.”

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