Under His Care

Completely His

The silk sheets were cool against Aisha's skin as she settled onto the center of Doc's bed, her heart pounding like a wild drum in her chest. The soft amber light from the bedside lamps cast a warm glow across the room, painting her curves in golden hues.

Dic didn't move at first. He simply sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze raking over her with slow, deliberate intensity. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms now, veins and tendons flexing subtly as his hands rested on his thighs — powerful hands that had handled scalpels, managed crises... and worshipped her body like it was something precious.

"You have no idea," he murmured, voice like velvet and smoke, "how perfect you look right now."

He rose from the bed with calm, practiced grace and shrugged out of his dress shirt, revealing a body that bore the marks of a man who'd taken care of himself over decades — broad chest, lean muscle, flecks of silver dusting the hair at his temples and along his strong forearms. Authority wrapped around him as naturally as the air he breathed.

"You're not going to lift a finger tonight, Aisha," he said as he climbed onto the bed beside her, his weight dipping the mattress just enough to make her shift toward him involuntarily. His fingertips brushed the underside of her chin, tilting her gaze back to his.

"Your only job is to feel."

The way he said it made her melt — not just the words, but the command threaded beneath them. He wasn't asking her to surrender. He was telling her she was already his to claim, to explore, to savor.

He started slow — maddeningly slow.

Doc traced lazy, feather-light strokes from her collarbone down her sternum, skimming along the curve of her waist, as though memorizing the topography of her body by touch alone. His mouth followed, lips brushing reverent, open-mouthed kisses to places no one else had lingered on before — the inside of her wrist, the soft dip below her ribcage, the hollow of her hip.

With each press of his lips, each stroke of his fingertips, Emily felt herself unraveling — sinking deeper under his spell.

"You're so responsive," he murmured against her skin, voice thick and reverent.

"Every little gasp, every arch of your back... I could spend hours just learning you like this."

Her breath hitched, her body alive with sensation and tension strung tight like a bowstring. Doc's hand slid up her thigh, his palm warm and commanding, pinning her hips gently but firmly.

"Relax, sweetheart," he coaxed softly, lips grazing her ear.

"You're safe here. With me, you don't have to hold back. I want every sound, every shiver. Don't you dare hide them from me."

The way he spoke — confident, experienced, worshipful but utterly in control — made her head spin. There was no hesitancy in Doc. No second-guessing. He knew exactly what to say, exactly where to touch, exactly how to coax her into giving him everything without ever asking outright.

He moved over her, his broad frame enveloping hers, but his weight never oppressive. His mouth found hers again — deep, slow, and consuming, as though he was claiming her piece by piece. His hand threaded into her hair, angling her head just the way he wanted it, deepening the kiss until her toes curled against the sheets.

And when he finally pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, his breath shallow, but his control — sharp as ever.

"You're mine now," he whispered against her lips, voice dark with promise.

"Body and soul. And I'm going to take such good care of you, Aisha ."

Her lips parted, her entire body trembling under the weight of his words. She didn't doubt him — not for a second.

Because this man, her boss, her secret, her obsession — didn't just want her for a night.

He wanted to own her completely.

And God help her... she wanted that too.