The Doctor's One Night to Remember

And then he set about proving it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS AN explosion of sensation, tearing through her like the hottest, most blinding light. Everything in her pulled taut. Perfect.

‘So wet,’ Nikhil muttered, his voice almost reverent.

And Isla let the dark, greedy heat close around them both, like a fist. Her sex flooded with need as he stroked her, slowly at first, taking time to build the pace, making her mindless. The more she bucked against his hand, the lower that growl of laughter, so deep in his throat. But he didn’t stop, he didn’t even react, his fingers just kept moving exactly where she needed him most, that lazy, leisurely pace that she found so ridiculously addictive.

Yet it wasn’t the physical act that affected Isla the most. More, it was the knowledge that Nikhil, with his reputation for being so in control amongst his staff, seemed to consistently show her a different side to himself.

And surely it wasn’t too arrogant to think that it could only be because it was her?

But there was no time to voice it, or even consider it. His fingers were sliding over her, sending her off into spirals of pleasure. In ten years together, Bradley had never once made her feel this incredible, this on the edge, this desired.

Perhaps worse than that, however, was the fact that she didn’t think she’d ever cared. Yet right now, with Nikhil, it was all she could think about. The feel of his fingers playing with her, toying with her. And that incredible wave of sensation, swelling deep inside her, bigger, and higher, like a tsunami of lust until suddenly she realised that it was curling back around—so powerful and so fast—that she barely had time to cling hold of Nikhil before it began to crash over her.

And all she could hear were her own greedy sounds, as she was caught up in the most perfect wipe-out she thought she had ever known.

Isla had no idea how long it took her to resurface. She didn’t particularly care. All she knew was that Nikhil was still there, holding her. And that she was desperate for him to feel a fraction of the fervour that he’d just rained down upon her.

She wanted to hear him call out her name, the way he always made her cry out his. And maybe that realisation should scare her more than it did. But, right in that moment, Isla couldn’t bring herself to care.

‘Now me,’ she whispered shak

ily, one hand still clinging to his shoulder for support, as the other hand slid down his uniform to cup him where he was hard, and ready.

Just for her.

The knock at the door could hardly have been timed much worse.

The atmosphere in the room flipped in a heartbeat as Nikhil wrenched himself away from her, leaving her fighting to stay standing on her still-weak legs. But not before she’d seen the expression in his eyes harden, and she knew he’d shut her out—just as she’d been prising away those defences that he kept around him, like armour.

‘Dr Sinclair?’

Another sharp rap seemed to echo through her room.

‘Answer them,’ Nikhil commanded quietly, his fury barely restrained.

But she knew it was directed more at himself than anyone else. Not that it made the situation any less awkward.

‘And say what?’ she hissed, relieved her voice didn’t quake the way she had feared it might.

‘Buy yourself enough time to sort your uniform out, then open the door,’ and then he turned and stalked across her room towards the little seated area with the couch.

‘I...’ She faltered uncertainly, then lifted her voice as confidently as she dared. ‘One moment, please.’

Hastily, she fixed her uniform, hoping that Nikhil couldn’t see just how badly her hands were shaking. Nonsense, really, when she thought of the way he’d just made her shatter around his mere fingers.

But it didn’t matter anyway, because he still had his back to her, apparently searching for something. Her brain couldn’t even begin to deal with him right now.

Taking a step forward, she opened the door and a crew member she didn’t recognise stared back at her.

‘I’m Dr Sinclair,’ Isla offered when the girl didn’t speak.

‘I...is my friend,’ she managed at last in broken English. ‘He is...ill.’

‘If he’s ill, then you should call the medical centre.’ Isla smiled gently.