Page 39 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)

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 through the window cast him in shadows and silver, highlighting the powerful lines of his body beneath mine. Sweat glistens on his skin, on mine.

My thighs begin to tremble. Eoin must feel it because in one swift motion, he flips our positions, pressing me back against the mattress without breaking our connection.

The world tilts, and then he’s above me, inside me, his forearms braced on either side of my head.

Our faces are inches apart, his breath hot against my lips, his eyes boring into mine.

And I realize something.

This whole thing between us. It’s not been about getting Eoin to surrender his professionalism, making him want me. It’s not about scoring a victory.

It’s not even about reducing the tension that’s been bubbling between us, making it easier for both of us to concentrate on our jobs.

This is about being seen.

Because Eoin somehow sees me in a way no one else ever has. Even the parts of me I try desperately to keep hidden behind royal polish and practiced charm.

He sees me .

And as he moves inside me, his eyes never leaving mine, something cracks open in my chest, something vulnerable and terrifying. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure rushing through my body.

His breath is hot at my throat, words whispered in that Irish lilt that turns even profanities into poetry.

The physical sensations are almost too much. They’re stretch and fullness, friction that sends sparks racing along every nerve ending, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

I urge him deeper, wanting everything he can give me.

His skin tastes of salt and something uniquely Eoin as I press my lips to his shoulder, his neck, any part of him I can reach. My fingers grasp the muscles in his back, feeling them flex and shift with each movement.

“Nicholas,” he gasps, my name sounding like both prayer and profanity.

Fuck. I’ve heard my name in countless languages, spoken with varying degrees of deference and formality, but never like this, completely raw and unguarded, stripped of titles and protocol.

I’m so close, teetering on the edge of something that feels dangerously like freefall. Eoin seems to sense it, one hand sliding between our bodies to wrap around me, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

The dual sensation is overwhelming. I arch against him, a sound escaping me that’s completely undignified and utterly honest.

His movements grow more urgent, more intense, his restraint finally, completely abandoned.

Release hits me with the force of a tidal wave, pleasure so intense it borders on pain washing through every cell of my body. I’m vaguely aware of calling his name, of digging my fingers into his back hard enough to leave marks of my own.

Through the haze of my own pleasure, I watch his face as he follows me over the edge, his expression stripped of all guardedness. There’s nothing between us right now. No titles, no duty, no walls.

We’re just Eoin and Nicholas.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Eoin collapses onto the mattress, and the aftermath is a tangle of limbs and slowing heartbeats, his arm draped over my waist.

The heat between our bodies gradually cools as our breathing synchronizes. Each exhale feels like a whispered secret against damp skin.

For someone so decisive in his actions, there’s an endearing uncertainty to how his fingers trace patterns on my skin. He follows the curve of my ribs, pausing at the hollow of my hip before continuing his gentle exploration.

I turn to face him, studying the landscape of his features in the glow from the city lights outside. His hair is a mess from my fingers, his lips swollen.

My theory of doing this once and moving on seems to be utterly ludicrous right now.

I expected blazing heat and passion, and I got that. But there’s something else here, too, besides these expected feelings.

Tenderness.

Which is definitely not what I anticipated. Nor wanted.

Dread fills my chest, cold and heavy.

Daniel.

The memory crashes through me like ice water, bringing with it echoes of betrayal so visceral I have to fight the urge to physically recoil. I can almost hear Daniel’s voice, smooth and cultured, making promises he never intended to keep.

The parallels are too sharp to ignore. Another man who made me feel seen, desired, special.

But here I am again, naked in more ways than one, with someone whose very presence threatens every defense I’ve built.

Eoin seems to sense my tension. “What’s wrong?”

The concern in his voice makes it worse somehow. Daniel had also perfected the art of seeming to care, right up until the moment he shattered my heart and disappeared from my life without a backward glance.

I pull back slightly, putting space between us. The cool, air-conditioned air hits my skin where his warmth was.

“Just…coming back to reality.”

He watches me carefully, concern etched on his features.

“Was that your first time with a man?”

My throat constricts, but I force myself to answer him.

“No.” I glance up at him briefly. He’s looking at me with a gaze that makes me feel simultaneously exposed and oddly safe, a contradiction I can’t begin to untangle.

“There was one man before. But I don’t care to talk about it.”

The words come out sharper than I intended.

Something flickers across Eoin’s face—understanding or perhaps disappointment—before he nods. “All right.”

Just moments ago, being seen by this man was something I reveled in. But now, being watched by those eyes that miss nothing feels claustrophobic.

The easy intimacy has evaporated, leaving an awkward tension.

I sit up fully, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

My clothes are scattered across the floor.

I reach for my underwear first, needing that basic layer of protection before anything else.

The fabric feels strange against my oversensitized skin.

“It’s late,” I say, not meeting his eyes as I reach for my shirt. “It’s Christmas tomorrow, and the schedule is packed.”

“Nicholas.” His voice stops me as I start to button my shirt with fingers that aren’t quite steady. “Whatever happened before… I’m not him.”

I freeze, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs.

The statement is so simple, yet it unmoors me completely. Because he’s right. Daniel had charm and smoothness but was ultimately shallow.

Eoin is the opposite of shallow.

“No,” I agree quietly, finally looking at him. “You’re not.”

The question is whether that makes any difference at all.