Page 92 of The Unlikely Spare
His free hand skims down my side, touch light enough to make me shiver, to make me rock forward for more contact. He seems determined to take his time, to drive me absolutely mad with want.
“Eoin,” I say, not caring that it sounds like a plea. “Touch me. Properly.”
“I am touching you,” he replies, maddeningly reasonable as his fingers trace patterns on my ribs, my stomach, everywhere except where I need them most.
I buck against his hold, but he just increases the pressure on my wrists, keeping me firmly in place. His touch is gentle but firm, and the contrast makes my head spin.
“Patience, Your Royal Highness.” There’s just enough mockery in the title to make it clear he’s not addressing the prince now, just the man squirming beneath him.
“I’ve never been particularly good at patience,” I gasp as his mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing a spot that makes me see stars.
“I’ve noticed,” he replies dryly against my skin. “But perhaps it’s time for a lesson.”
His mouth travels lower, across my collarbone, sucking on the skin there until I’m squirming desperately. I strain against his grip, not really wanting to break free but needing him to know I’m not surrendering completely. He understands, tightening his hold just enough to remind me who’s in control right now.
It’s intoxicating, this giving over of myself to someone else. I’m always expected to maintain perfect poise and dignity at all times. But right now, with Eoin’s weight pressing me into themattress, I don’t have to be anything but the man coming apart under his touch.
When his mouth moves down my chest to close around my nipple, I can’t suppress the moan that tears from my throat. He chuckles, the vibration sending fresh waves of pleasure through me.
“Like that, do you?” he murmurs.
“Fishing for compliments is beneath you, Eoin,” I manage, though the effect is somewhat undermined by the way my voice breaks when he repeats the action on the other side.
He lifts his head, eyes locking with mine. “Say it again.”
I blink, momentarily confused. “What?”
“My name.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “Say my name again.”
Something shifts between us, the playful power struggle giving way to something more intense.
I swallow hard.
“Eoin,” I say softly.
His eyes darken further, and he releases my wrists to cup my face in both hands. The kiss he gives me is different from the others, slower, deeper, as if he’s trying to commit the taste of me to memory.
His tongue lazily strokes against mine, his stubble creating a pleasant burn against my jaw.
He lingers in the kiss before slowly pulling back.
“What do you want?” he asks in a low voice.
“You inside me.” My voice is ragged and unraveling at the edges.
My words hang between us for a heartbeat, and then another. Eoin’s entire body goes rigid, a muscle jumping in his jaw as his pupils dilate until those gray eyes are nearly black.
It’s not something I’ve done much of, but the thought of him filling me, claiming me completely, has consumed my thoughts for longer than I care to admit.
If I only have one night with him, I want the whole experience. I want to feel him everywhere, something real, something that belongs only to Nicholas, not to Prince Nicholas Alexander, second in line to the throne.
The need in Eoin’s eyes makes something wild unfurl inside me. His control visibly frays at the edges, that careful restraint cracking.
I did that. Me.
A fierce joy blazes through me. This is power—not the hollow kind that comes with titles and ceremony, but something real and raw.
“Nicholas,” he breathes, and my name on his lips sounds like surrender and challenge rolled into one.
