Page 91 of The Unlikely Spare

“Only you could manage to be insufferable while flat on your back,” he growls at me. I reach up a hand to pull his head into the right position so I can kiss him again.

Our kiss is like fire. Like falling without a parachute. Like drowning and breathing all at once.

I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Eoin. It’s almost frightening, this raw hunger clawing at my insides. I’ve had my share of sexual encounters, but most of those were calculated exchanges of pleasure without risk.

This is something entirely different.

This contains plenty of risk. But it’s not just the risk of discovery and the repercussions it will have for both of us.

The risk feels deeper than that.

My body burns for him, like every nerve ending has been rewired specifically to respond to his touch. His mouth against mine, his hands against my skin feel like being branded, marked in ways that will remain long after the physical evidence fades.

It’s like somehow Eoin strips away the prince, the royal persona, until there’s just me, trembling and wanting in ways that feel both dangerous and necessary.

Our kiss turns feral, a battle for control, teeth scraping, breath mingling, as we try to consume each other.

There’s nothing royal or refined about this at all.

He pulls away, his broad chest heaving in ragged gasps that match my own. The ever-professional Officer O’Connell, undone by me.

His gray eyes are the stormiest I’ve ever seen them, like the North Sea during a gale.

I’ve spent weeks trying to provoke a reaction from him, and now that I have it, I’m not sure I’ll survive the intensity.

I have to lower my gaze, finding fascination with the hollow of his throat where his pulse hammers.

I tug at his belt with one hand, the other hand fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

His chest is all solid planes with a scattering of hair that trails from his chest to his stomach. His skin is pale where it’s normally hidden from the sun, a stark contrast to the tan forearms I’ve been admiring for weeks.

A tattoo I hadn’t expected curves around his left shoulder, Celtic knotwork intertwined to form a protective band. A scar curves along his ribs like a question mark, silver-pale against his skin. Below it, a starburst of raised tissue suggests something violent, something that didn’t heal clean.

I want to know the stories behind the scars. I want to know who’s touched him before, who’s been allowed to see this unguarded, vulnerable version of him. I want to know if anyone else has ever made him tremble the way he’s trembling now, his control fracturing beneath my hands as I trace the line where soft hair disappears beneath his waistband, feeling the way his stomach muscles contract under my fingertips.

Bloody hell.

My hands continue their journey over his body.

It’s a study in what makes his breath catch, what causes that almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw.

I’m testing him, pushing against his restraint deliberately now, curious to see just how far I can go before that famous control breaks. I slide my thigh between his legs, pressing up against him with deliberate intent while my teeth graze his collarbone.

The low sound that escapes him feels like victory. It emboldens me to reach between us, palming his cock through his trousers, feeling the hard evidence of his desire for me.

The knowledge that Officer O’Connell wants me this badly is intoxicating, exhilarating.

I make my touch teasing, a slow drag of my palm that has his hips twitching forward involuntarily.

“Always testing boundaries, aren’t you?” His lips curve into something that’s not quite a smile.

“It’s a talent.”

“One of many, I’m starting to discover.”

I work his belt free with unsteady fingers, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper of sound. His hands join mine, helping to push his trousers down his hips. The fabric pools on the floor, followed quickly by his underwear, and suddenly his chest is bare against mine, skin to heated skin, our breathing ragged.

He catches my wrists, pinning them above my head in one strong hand. The restraint sends a bolt of pure electricity straight to my groin.