Page 61 of Dirty Eoin

I’m suddenly enveloped in the spicy scent of his cologne. It’s overwhelming. He’s overwhelming.

This whole situation is overwhelming.

He snakes one strong arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. I lift my eyes and they’re instantly captured and held captive by his. I can’t look away.

Aquamarine.

Neither blue nor green. They’re on a face that’s totally defined and so fucking perfectly masculine.

I bite the bullet and press my lips to his.

Soft. Warm. Unmoving.

He doesn’t know what to expect or how to react.

Ditto.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull.

That right there sums up the fucked-up relationship we’ve both rightly or wrongly gotten off on to date.

And now, he’s letting me take the lead. He’s waiting for me to let him know exactly what I want. The problem is, I don’t know. I’ve never known exactly what I want from Eoin O’Connell. It’s all been as confusing as fuck.

It’s my guess the feeling’s mutual. That he hasn’t known exactly what he wants from me either.

I lick his bottom lip, then bite down until I can taste blood.

Fuck. Him.

That right there is the moment I unleash what lies behind that polished facade of his.

He growls as he fists my hair and yanks my head back. He stares down at me briefly, his nostrils flaring in annoyance as his eyes scan my face before his lips capture mine.

Hard. Demanding. Unforgiving. Ripping the air from my lungs, he sucks out my very soul.

I groan against his lips, the sound silenced by his tongue which thrusts deep into my mouth, filling it with his unique taste of arrogance and sheer male fucking dominance.

A myriad of emotions spirals through me.

Loathing. Lust. The latter the most prominent, causing me to kiss him back equally hard. Equally demanding. Equally unforgiving. My fingers tangle in the too-long hair curling at his collar before yanking on it. He growls before devouring me like a wild fucking animal.

Fight. Run. Escape. I should do all three, but I don’t.

Because I want more. Because I’ve reached some sort of sick, fucked-up high. Because, like a junkie, I’m instantly addicted to the rush of intensity and desire unleashed in me by that punishing mouth of his.

Reluctantly, I pull my lips away.

He leans his forehead against mine and we pant against each other’s mouths. I breathe him in. He breathes me in. He stares at my swollen lips. I stare at his. Blood pools on the surface of his. I want to lick it off, but I stop myself.

I raise my gaze and stare into eyes that are now burning green.

Anger. Arousal. Adrenaline.

Which is the trigger, I wonder?

It was my one concern. The only potential fly in the karma fucking ointment. That this toxic game we’ve been playing would turn out to be something.

It is.

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