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Extending her fingers, Isla plucked the key card from his hand and slid it home, stepping over the threshold and turning to face him. Her hands lifting up until her palms were pressed against the warm, impossibly sculpted ridges of his chest.
Moving over them.
Acquainting herself with them.
‘I wasn’t,’ she murmured, raising herself on tiptoe and letting her lips graze his. ‘I didn’t change my mind for a moment. And I don’t intend to now.’
Then, before he could answer, she closed her fists around his lapels and tugged him off balance, right over the threshold to her room.
* * *
Nikhil fully intended to take his time. To taste, to sample, to tend to Isla’s needs before he even began to think about his own. But, uncharacteristically, he found she’d caught him off-guard, his wondrous ‘Little Doc’, and he found himself fighting his own urgency.
No other woman had ever made him feel so intoxicated. So possessed.
Stumbling inside, he managed to close the door before spinning her around so that her back was against the door, his hands exploring her ravishing body.
And she let him. She more than let him, she actively spurred him on, wrapping her arms around his neck and fitting herself to him. Moulding herself as though she were hand-crafted—just for him. The prospect should have been enough to set off warning bells, loud and clear, in his head.
He deliberately didn’t stop to consider the fact that it hadn’t.
Instead, Nikhil focused his entire thoughts on lowering his head to claim her mouth with his. Hot, demanding, hungry. From the slide of her lips to the slick of his tongue, all of which elicited from her the greediest little moans of approval, and all of which his body lapped up.
He didn’t think he’d ever been so hard, so needy his entire life. How had this woman slid under his skin? It was ridiculous. He had to slow down.
Setting one hand against the flimsy door beside her head, Nikhil slid the other down the side of her body, letting it curve around her waist, feeling her heat seep into him. His mouth never leaving hers. Slowly, he moved his fingers, a teasing caress, walking his way across her abdomen, not quite enough to tickle, but feeling her stomach clench sensitively nonetheless.
Anticipation. Usually, he was all about it. All about the build-up. Today, with this woman, it was taking every bit of self-control he had not to simply rip her clothes off and bury himself inside her. The way her rocking body kept urging him on was enough to drive him out of his mind. Enough to make him forget he’d ever wanted any other woman in his life before her.
He’d certainly never wanted them with this ferocity. And still she shifted and rolled her hips. Searing heat against the hardest part of himself.
He made himself ignore it, though he had no idea how he managed it, choosing instead to concentrate on the feel of movement of her diaphragm beneath his hands as she breathed. Heavily, he noted with satisfaction. He took his time walking his fingers a little further, a little higher, and then he was pushing her bra aside and cupping her breast in his hand, testing it, letting his thumb pad rake over her hard, proud nipple.
The urge to lower his head and take it in his mouth was overwhelming. And so he did. Tugging the flimsy material of the dress and the lace of the bra out of the way as he did.
Isla gasped, her fingers raking through his hair and her head dropping back. Nikhil revelled in it. She tasted of pure desire. Ripe and unrestrained, and as Nikhil used his tongue to toy with the taut peak he couldn’t resist moving his hand to free her other breast from its fabric constraints and lavish upon it an equal amount of attention.
The world seemed to stop, or maybe it spun faster, but he refused to be hurried. He might be teetering on the edge of control, but he’d be damned if he gave in to this overwhelming, aching desire for her, until he’d brought her pleasure first.
Brushing his hand over her body, down her belly and to the hem of her skirt, he lifted it with a forced laziness, relishing the way Isla’s breath caught, and fractured.
And then, so slowly, he grazed his fingers up the inside of her thigh and skimmed where she was so very hot, so very wet, that it was almost his undoing. He was so hard, so aching, that it was almost like pain, and he had no idea how he managed not to simply bury himself inside her.
* * *
Isla was going out of her mind. She was sure of it.
She briefly wondered how Nikhil kept his control when she’d long since lost hers, but then he hooked his finger inside her panties and stroked her core, and she ignited. Over and over he stroked her, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. It was like nothing that had ever gone before.
Instead, lost between his mouth at her neck and his fingers on her sex, she simply let her body listen to the rhythm that he was setting. Meeting it. Matching it. And surely those needy, visceral noises couldn’t possibly be her?
Still, he kept stroking her. Over and over, like the most exquisite kind of torture, driving her onward, and upward, until she realised—almost too late—that she was toppling over the edge.
Isla just about managed to cling to Nikhil’s strong shoulders as she fell. Hurtling weightlessly, pleasure fragmenting around her. And she had absolutely no idea how long she fell, she was only vaguely aware of holding him tightly—as if afraid that if she let go he would disappear—as he wrapped her legs around his waist, and carried her to the huge bed in the middle of the room.
She could only watch, spellbound, as he stripped her off. And then again, as he ruthlessly shed his own clothing. Naked, hard, and clearly ready for her. Undoubtedly the most beautiful man she’d ever known in her life.
Isla reached for him.
