The Doctor's One Night to Remember

‘What’s the rush, Little Doc?’ he drawled.

But she heard the tightness in his tone, as though he wasn’t quite as restrained as he wanted to appear. It was a thrilling notion and one which she considered exploiting—right up until she watched him lodge himself between her legs, his mouth impossibly close to where she was already molten.

‘I don’t think I can again...’ she whispered shakily.

There was no other way to describe his grin but as decidedly wicked.

‘I disagree,’ he murmured.

Then, before she could add anything more, he lowered his head and licked his way into her.

She screamed his name. It was impossible not to. And somehow her hands had made their way to his head as she threaded her fingers into his hair as if to give herself better purchase as she bucked her hips beneath him. Towards him.

As if she was utterly incapable of doing anything less.

As if he had completely taken over her. And she couldn’t have resisted, even if she’d wanted to.

Was this what she’d been missing? All these years? It made a mockery of everything that had gone before. Had she really been happy to settle for less with Bradley—and not even realised it?

For the first time, Isla felt as though her eyes had been opened. She felt alive. In a rush, she realised that, as transient as tonight would be, she would always remember Nikhil for showing her how much richer her life could be.

And then she couldn’t think any more.

She could only feel, as he used his mouth, his fingers, weaving some kind of spell around her, more carnal than she’d ever dreamed possible. With another sweep of his tongue he toppled her straight back into the flames, and she briefly considered that even if she burned alive she wouldn’t care.

She bucked, and she let her hips roll. And this time when she gave herself up to him, breaking, splintering, she somehow knew that this was the way she was going to make herself anew.

And for the first time in her life Isla let herself go completely.

By the time she came to, Nikhil had moved his body up to cover her

s, carefully and gently, as though to give her time to regain her breath. Nonetheless the evidence of his desire pressed deliciously, like velvety steel, against her belly.

Isla ran her hands over his body, taking it all in. From the knotted muscles of his back, to strong biceps, and then the solid bulk of his shoulders. She frowned slightly at the rough scar that adorned one of them. It was old, but it caught her doctor’s eye instantly.

‘What was this from?’

She hated the way his eyes shuttered on her.

‘Old war wound, as they say.’

‘It looks like a knife wound. A deep one at that.’

His eyes held hers. So intently that she almost forgot to breathe. And she didn’t know why it was so important to her, but she found herself urging him to talk to her. Not to shut her out again.

‘We’re not here for story-telling, Little Doc. We don’t have to share life stories.’

Disappointment rolled through her, but she pasted on as much of a smile as she could.

‘I only asked what the scar was from. I wasn’t asking for your life story, Nikhil.’

He watched her a little longer before offering an almost imperceptible dip of his head.

‘You’re right; it was a knife wound,’ he confirmed. ‘A kitchen accident with a carving knife. Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

She wanted to say that it didn’t. That she hated the way he was pulling away from her. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Nikhil was right. They weren’t here to share life stories; they were here for sex. Incredible sex. But still sex. She was an idiot for making it so personal. And now she’d broken the moment, and the mood.

She cranked up her smile another notch.