Page 65 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)

“Since you asked so nicely.” His body opens for me so beautifully, muscles relaxing as he adjusts to the stretch. I work him open carefully, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. But all I see is pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed as I add a second finger.

“More,” he demands, pushing back against my hand.

“Patience,” I murmur, but the sight of him taking me so eagerly, the feel of his body opening for me, makes me hard as nails and desperate for it. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He reaches for me, pulling me down for a messy kiss. “I trust you not to hurt me.”

Those three words hit me harder than any declaration of love could. This prince, who’s been betrayed by nearly everyone he’s ever trusted. I want to be worthy of this, of him, of the faith he’s placing in me when faith has cost him so much.

I put on the condom, line myself up, and push in slowly, watching his face the entire time.

The flutter of his lashes, the way his brow furrows then smooths, how his mouth falls open on a soft gasp as I sink deeper.

The heat of him is overwhelming, tight and perfect, and I have to pause to breathe, to stop myself from losing control entirely.

My whole body trembles with the effort of going slow, every nerve ending focused on the exquisite drag of flesh against flesh.

“All right?” I ask when I’m fully seated, my voice rough as sandpaper.

“Perfect,” he breathes, and his eyes find mine, blue and as impossibly deep as Galway Bay. “You’re perfect. Now move before I combust.”

I start slow, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in, building a rhythm that has us both panting.

The slide of our bodies together is exquisite torture.

Our skin is still slick from the shower, making every movement fluid and easy.

His legs hitch up farther, pulling me deeper, and the angle changes in a way that makes him cry out, back arching off the bed.

“There,” he gasps, fingernails scoring lines down my back. “Right there, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I shift slightly, making sure to hit that spot with every thrust, and he throws his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. I lean down to bite at his pulse point, tasting lingering traces of soap, along with salt.

Mine, something fierce in me growls. Mine, mine, mine.

He must read the look in my eyes because a smirk takes over his lips.

“Possessive,” he manages, but he’s tilting his head to give me better access.

“You bring it out in me.” I reach between us to wrap my hand around his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. His hips buck up to meet me. “Only you.”

Christ, the sounds he makes. The way he says my name like a prayer and a curse all at once. The feeling of him clenching around me with each stroke. It’s too much and not enough and everything I never knew I needed.

“Eoin,” he gasps, my name breaking on his lips like waves against rocks. His whole body is trembling now, muscles taut as a bowstring. “I’m close. I’m…”

“Let go,” I tell him. “I’ve got you.”

He comes with my name on his lips, and the feeling of him clenching around me, the sight of his face, sends me tumbling after him. My vision whites out as I empty myself inside him. The pleasure rolls through me in waves that seem endless.

We collapse together, breathing hard, bodies still joined. His heart beats against my chest, rapid and real, proof that we survived everything and made it here. I press lazy kisses to his shoulder while his fingers card through my damp hair.

“We’re terrible at keeping things professional,” he murmurs eventually, voice hoarse and satisfied.

“The worst,” I agree, pulling out carefully. I dispose of the condom and reach for tissues to clean us both. “Though I notice you’re not complaining.”

“Never.” He watches me with hooded eyes, looking thoroughly debauched with his hair wild, lips swollen, and my marks blooming on his skin. “Come here.”

I settle back beside him, pulling him against my chest. His fingers trace the scars on my chest like he’s memorizing me with his fingertips.

“Did you tell Scotland Yard everything?” Nicholas asks against my neck.

“Yes.”

“The whole truth?”

“Seemed pointless to lie.”

He props himself up on an elbow, looking down at me with those impossible eyes. “Do you regret it?”

I think about the career and the reputation I’ve spent years building that is now in tatters. Then I look at this man who challenged everything I thought I knew about myself, the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met.

The man who contains multitudes.

“Not for a second,” I tell him honestly.

We stay like that, wrapped around each other. The city lights outside cast everything in soft gold, and for the first time in days—maybe weeks—I feel something that might be peace.

“What happens now?” I ask eventually. “I’m probably getting fired. You’re going back to being royal. I somehow doubt the palace is going to approve of?—”

“Of what? Their spare heir falling in love with the man who saved his life repeatedly?” Nicholas props himself up on an elbow, eyes sparking with defiance.

“I’ve just helped orchestrate the largest wealth redistribution in British history to start atoning for historical injustices.

I think I’ve earned the right to make my own choices about who I love. ”

“It’s not that straightforward. Your family?—”

“Do you know what I told Callum when he asked why I was so insistent about staying with you?” Nicholas interrupts quietly.

His fingers find mine, interlacing. “I told him you were the first person who ever looked at me and saw just Nicholas. Not the spare, not the symbol, not the performance. Just me.”

I swallow hard at the raw honesty in his voice.

“That’s worth fighting for,” he continues.

“Worth whatever battles we have to face. There’ll be conversations, probably a truly mortifying amount of media training for you because scowling doesn’t exactly photograph well.

But, Eoin…” He frames my face with his hands.

“All those regulations I’ve rebelled against?

They were nothing compared to how hard I’ll fight to keep this—to keep you. ”

“The media alone will be a nightmare,” I warn.

“We just survived terrorists, Pierce’s betrayal, my truly terrible camping skills, and a high-speed boat chase. I think we can handle a few disapproving courtiers and some photographers.”

My chest almost aches with my love for this man as I think about how he can make me laugh in any situation, how he’s simultaneously the most frustrating and fascinating person I’ve ever met.

“Your camping skills were genuinely appalling,” I say finally.

“I was just going for a creative interpretation of the instructions.” But he’s smiling against my mouth. “Luckily, you love me anyway.”

“God help me, I do.”

We kiss again, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that makes you forget your own name and rewrites your DNA.

“Your brother will come around,” Nicholas says quietly when he withdraws. “Once he sees what the reparations fund accomplishes, once he understands?—”

“Maybe.” I don’t believe it, but I appreciate him trying.

He settles into the space under my arm with a sigh. We lie there in comfortable silence. Then Nicholas shifts against me, that particular restlessness that means his mind is working.

“You know…” Nicholas’s voice is innocent as he traces a finger down my chest. “Now that you’ve critiqued my camping skills, I feel that I need to prove myself.

Specifically in the area of pole management.

” His hand continues to drift farther south.

“I believe I’ve developed some new theories about optimal insertion techniques that require immediate testing. ”

“Your commitment to camping education is admirable,” I manage to reply.

“I’m nothing if not thorough in my research,” he agrees.

Then he shows me just how thorough his research can get.