Page 186 of Dirty Eoin

His eyes are already green and my core throbs in response, but I know we can’t go there. Not for six weeks at least.

Doctor’s orders.

His eyes trail slowly up my body. He’s taking in what’s now his.

I’m no man’s possession.

Never have been. Never will be.

But there’s something about Eoin O’Connell that makes me almost want to be possessed. To be owned.

And he knows it.

“You should be resting.” I’m not sure what else to say.

I walk backward as he starts to walk forward for no reason other than to give him space to enter the room. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

He stops right in front of me. We’re mere inches apart.

Too close. Not close enough.

He lifts his hand and strong fingers grace my throat. Closing my eyes, I swallow thickly before reopening them. His thumb then tilts my chin up so I can’t look anywhere but at him. He smiles darkly. He can feel my heart pounding, I know he can.

“Concern for my well-being coming from the mouth of who I now know to be my very own Florence Nightingale. Well, I suppose it makes a pleasant change from being cussed at.” His tone is low and mocking.

“Once an asshole, always an asshole,” I bite back,

“That fucking mouth just can’t help itself, can it?” He drags his thumb across my bottom lip and my tongue flicks out to lick the now-dry skin, tasting his unique saltiness on the surface.

We stare.

“Say it.”

He’s heard it on recordings. He’s seen it on a message. He now wants to watch the words fall from my lips.

“I love you.”

His face gives nothing away, but his nostrils flare.

Possessiveness.

I’ve just sacrificed my soul at the altar of the Duster devil himself.

“Again.”

“I love…”

He backs me against the wall as his tongue sweeps deep inside my mouth like he wants to somehow taste the words he’s been waiting so long to hear.

Because Eoin O’Connell is loved.

I love him today. I love him tomorrow.

Forever.

For always.

I snake my arms around his neck as strong hands explore my body.

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