Product: Role Play Compilation: Three Short M/M Erotic Tales (Doctor's Orders)
This compilation contains three short stories that take place over a single day—Dr. Carson Moore and Dex Smith’s anniversary, to be exact. These stories are also available as the first three books in the In Good Hands compilation. 
 
Thoroughly Examined 
 
Dex decides to add a little spice to his anniversary by visiting his favorite doctor for some role-play. Luckily, Carson knows just the kind of medical exam his partner needs. 
 
Dex can tell the moment Carson catches on, his head straightening and that familiar gleam tingeing his eyes, crinkling them slightly at the corner. Good, he’s pleased with the surprise. Dex immediately feels calmer, braver, more sure. It’s a common effect Carson has on him. 
 
This time, his partner’s voice is fully detached. Clinical, but polite. “What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?” 
 
Now or never. “I need some help…” Carson crooks a brow, and Dex rushes the rest of the words out. 
 
“...gettingsomethingunstuck.” 
 
“...Unstuck?” 
 
“Yeah. I mean, yes sir, Dr. Moore.” 
 
Carson eyes him, heat tracing across Dex’s body as if he can feel the touch of that gaze, burning him, branding him. 
 
House Call 
 
Carson isn't the kind of doctor who makes regular house calls, but sometimes, his favorite patient (and partner) needs a little extra attention at home. 
 
"Please, you don't need to do that, Dr. Moore, I'll be good, I will, I'll—" 
 
Dex is struggling, but not hard enough to displace Carson's hand on his back, and Carson knows he easily could. They've done this enough times; if Dex isn't sobbing 'yellow' or using his safe word, there's no reason to slow down. 
 
"The time for that is past, Mr. Smith. You had a chance to be good. You had a chance, and you chose this. You brought this on yourself." 
 
"Dr. Moore—" 
 
"I take an active interest in the wellbeing of my patients, Mr. Smith. And you clearly need an incentive to take better care of yourself. An incentive to behave, if you will." 
 
Bedside Manner 
 
If Carson teases Dex for much longer, he might combust. Every dirty, filthy word he whispers into Dex's skin is like a promise, and he always delivers on his promises, like a good doctor should. He just likes to take his sweet time doing it. 
 
It isn’t necessary for Carson to pin him against the counter, hip to hip. It isn’t necessary for Carson’s hands to skate against his neck while Carson fastens the first knot behind his nape. It isn’t necessary for Carson to have so much skin contact all the way around his waist while he finds the other apron strings, and brings them to the small of his back to complete the second tie. 
 
None of those things are necessary, but lack of necessity has never stopped Carson before, and it doesn’t stop him now. 
 
By the time the apron’s on, Dex is light-headed from how much blood’s re-routed south. He doesn’t even realize he’s rutting against the counter until Carson grabs his hips, hard enough to bruise. He wants it to bruise, he wants to wear Carson’s fingerprints for days after this like a badge. 
 
Like a mark of ownership. 
 
An embarrassingly high-pitched noise escapes his throat, his slack jaw too loose to choke it back.

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