Page 93 of The Unlikely Spare
It’s almost unbearable, hearing Eoin say my name like that.
Practicalities. It’s time to focus on practicalities.
I strip off my pants and then reach for supplies, trying to not betray my nerves with jerky movements. I’m trying to pretend that retrieving condoms and lube from hotel furniture for an illicit encounter with your protection officer is just another diplomatic skill taught alongside the twelve acceptable ways to decline a marriage proposal from foreign nobility.
I drop them on the bed. Eoin watches me while taking shallow breaths, the muscle in his jaw working overtime.
He picks up the box of condoms, and I watch, mesmerized, as he removes one, tears it open, and rolls it on himself. The sight of his hands on his own cock, preparing himself for me, causes a fresh wave of heat through my body.
Then he lowers himself between my legs.
I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he licks his lips, deliberate and slow.
The anticipation coils tighter in my gut with each passing second until I’m wound so tight I might snap.
When he finally takes me in his mouth, wet heat engulfing me, my world narrows to this single point of connection.
Bloody hell. His warm mouth on my cock is beyond description, beyond comprehension. My vocabulary, cultivated through years of education, abandons me entirely, each pull of suction drawing broken sounds from my throat that would horrify my elocution tutors.
As he slicks a finger and starts to prep me, my body practically vibrates with need.
And when he curls a finger and hits that magic spot inside me, I damn near levitate off the mattress. My fingers clutch desperately at the sheets, Egyptian cotton crumpling as pleasure radiates outward from that single point of contact.
Apparently, all royal dignity is abandoned in favor of shameless want.
Eoin preps me with the same thorough attention to detail he applies to security protocols, leaving no nerve ending unattended. His fingers—calloused yet impossibly gentle—work me open with deliberate precision as his mouth continues its relentless worship of my cock. The dual sensations threaten to short-circuit my brain entirely. Each time his fingers press deeper, he swallows around my cock, creating a rhythm that has me arching off the bed, spine bowing like I’m possessed.
I find myself counting breaths like I’ve been taught for public speaking anxiety, only now it’s to prevent myself from begging shamelessly.
But my need for him overwhelms every sensible thought.
With one fluid movement, I push him back against the pillows.
The confusion in his eyes clears instantly when I position myself above him, knees bracketing his hips.
“My turn,” I murmur, tracing my fingers down the planes of his chest.
His eyes darken with fresh heat, hands gripping my thighs, fingers pressing into skin hard enough to leave marks. The thought makes me dizzy with want, the idea of being marked by him, carrying the evidence of this night hidden beneath my perfectly pressed clothes tomorrow.
I’m taking exactly what I want without consideration for duty or protocol.
When I sink down onto him, the sensation is overwhelming. It’s a burning fullness that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, holding still for a moment as my body adjusts. A breath escapes me, half gasp, half sigh.
Beneath me, Eoin looks nothing like the composed protection officer who shadows my every move. His auburn hair is a riot against the pillow, those usually vigilant eyes half-lidded and dark with desire.
His muscles bunch and flex as he restrains himself from taking control. The effort is visible in the cords of his neck and the white-knuckled grip he maintains on my hips.
I set a rhythm that’s just shy of what either of us truly wants, a teasing pace that pulls a growl from his throat. His fingers tighten on my hips, trying to urge me faster, and I give him a snarky smile.
“Patience, Officer O’Connell.”
A flush climbs up his neck, spreading across his cheekbones.
“You’re a menace,” he mutters.
My laugh dissolves into a moan as he thrusts up unexpectedly, changing the angle in a way that creates lightning in my veins. Suddenly, the game shifts, control slipping from my grasp as sensation overwhelms strategy.
Eoin takes full advantage, his hands guiding my movements now, setting a pace that has me gasping. The city lights throughthe window cast him in shadows and silver, highlighting the powerful lines of his body beneath mine. Sweat glistens on his skin, on mine.
