Page 18 of Make Me Yours (Chicago Railers Hockey #1)

That’s all it takes for me to make a decision, and I drag the thick jersey over my head, letting it fall to the marble floor with a dull thud. Then I pop the button of my jeans, pull the zipper down, and shove the denim over my hips until it pools around my ankles.

I kick the jeans aside and straighten.

The air in the room feels hotter now.

Thicker.

My skin prickles as I become painfully aware of the lace bra and matching panties I’m wearing.

When I glance up, Steele’s eyes are on me, tracking every movement. There’s nothing teasing about his gaze. It’s not cocky or even smug.

Instead, it’s reverent.

The look alone sends a shiver skating down my spine. My pulse kicks into overdrive as I move toward the glass door.

With a lift of my chin, I pretend this is a completely normal situation. As if stepping into a shower half-dressed with my best friend, who also happens to be concussed and naked, isn’t a big deal at all.

Heat envelops me, caressing my limbs like a physical touch. Part of it is from the steam, but most of it comes from the way Steele is looking at me.

His nostrils flare and his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow.

That’s all it takes for my pulse to thunder in response.

Not wanting to overthink the situation, I grab the shampoo bottle and squeeze a generous amount into my palm before stepping closer.

His height forces me to rise onto my toes as I slide my fingers through his damp hair.

The moment my nails gently graze his scalp, he exhales.

It’s a low, guttural sound that coils in my stomach.

He tilts his head forward, giving me better access, as I carefully massage the shampoo through his thick hair.

My touch is light but deliberate.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” I whisper, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“You’re not,” he murmurs. “It feels good.”

The tension between us is thick, almost tactile, like steam and desire have blurred into the same thing.

Without warning, Steele leans forward and lowers his head until it rests on my shoulder. My body goes still for a beat as his full weight sinks against me, his broad chest flush with mine, skin slick and burning hot from the water.

And suddenly, I’m holding him .

The sensation is overwhelming. The warmth of his exhale ghosts across my collarbone, and there’s a subtle tremor in his muscles as I massage his scalp.

Every part of me is screaming to either back away or pull him closer.

But I can’t move.

More than that, I don’t want to.

The fabric of my bra and panties is already clinging to me, almost translucent now. I’m not technically naked, but I might as well be. Steele’s hands stay carefully at his sides.

Until they don’t.

His fingers twitch against my hip. Barely there, but I feel it like a searing, unspoken promise.

He sighs, deeper this time, the sound resonating through him and into me. My fingers falter slightly in his hair before continuing, because if I stop, I don’t know what will happen next.

“Lilah,” he murmurs.

I swallow hard as arousal flares to life inside me.

Steele’s head is still pressed against my shoulder. I’m trapped between the urge to pull away and the terrifying, overwhelming desire to stay right here and keep touching him.

To keep feeling the weight of his hard body against mine.

I should take a step back and create some distance between us before I do something stupid.

When I shift, his arms tighten around my waist. “Stay.”

It’s not a command.

More of a request.

One I can’t seem to refuse.

My fingers continue to move through his hair, massaging his scalp as I rinse away the shampoo. A deep groan vibrates from him as his nose skims my throat.

I swallow hard, willing my hands to stay steady.

Steele is all golden skin and hard muscle, every inch of him powerful even as he leans into me for support. The steam from the shower clings to us, turning everything slick. His shoulders, pecs, along with the sharp lines of his abs. My hands are trembling, but they won’t stop touching him.

It’s impossible not to notice how good he feels beneath my fingers.

How solid.

“Soap,” he murmurs.

It takes me a second to catch his meaning. My brain is working on a five-second delay, and everything inside me feels uncoordinated. As if I’ve stepped into a dream I have no idea how to wake from.

Right… Soap.

I fumble for the bottle, squeezing a generous amount into my palm before carefully pressing my hands to him. I start at his shoulders, then down his arms, building a lather as I go. My touch is hesitant at first, but it quickly turns into an unhurried exploration.

His muscles flex beneath my hands.

I work the soap over his chest, my fingers gliding along the curve of each muscle and down the ridges of his abdomen. His body is a map I never planned to memorize, but now, I don’t think I could forget it if I tried.

I shouldn’t be enjoying this.

But, God… how could I not?

The man is spectacular.

Not just because of how he looks, but because this is Steele.

The one who’s always been there.

And now he’s standing naked in front of me, muscles tight, composure slipping, while I touch him. My heart stutters as my hands drift lower, following the deep cut of his hips, dangerously close to the part of him I absolutely should not be thinking about .

The moment my fingertips graze the edge of that line, reality slams into me.

I jerk my hands back like I’ve touched a live wire, stumbling a step before catching myself on the slick tile.

Steele’s eyes flicker open, his pupils blown wide, jaw clenched like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

My heart pounds. I need to get out of here before we cross a line we can’t come back from.

I clear my throat, already backing away until my shoulder blades press against the cool glass of the shower door. The contact startles me. It’s too cold compared to the heat gathered inside me.

“We should finish up,” I blurt. “You need to rest.”

For a second, he doesn’t respond. He just stares at me like he’s trying to read the thoughts circling through my head.

Then his gaze drops for a fraction of a second, and I know he sees everything. The way my soaked bra clings to me. The curve of my hips beneath drenched lace. The fact that I’m barely keeping it together.

He exhales slowly, nostrils flaring, like he’s trying to cool the fire between us. “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

Even as he turns slightly, giving me space, I can still feel the heat of his body.

I can still feel him.

Instead of waiting, I step out of the shower and snatch the nearest towel from the rack, wrapping it tightly around myself.

I need the space.

The cool air.

The way I feel right now isn’t how I should be feeling about Steele.

I clutch the towel tighter, like it can shield me from the chaos unraveling inside me. My hands tremble as I grab another towel.

Steele steps out of the steam a second later, water dripping from every inch of his perfectly sculpted frame. His hair is wet and messy, his skin flushed from the heat. My gaze flicks upward, only to find him already watching me.

His gray eyes are locked on mine, intense and unreadable. There’s something dark in them that crackles between us like static.

Neither of us says a word as the air remains thick.

Almost suffocating.

“Turn around,” I whisper, trying and failing to steady my voice.

His eyes spark before he obeys, rotating so his back is to me. The second his gaze disappears, I try to pull myself together.

One second.

Two.

Get it together, Lilah.

I step closer and press the towel to his shoulders.

His muscles jump beneath my touch.

With deliberate movements, I blot away the water clinging to his skin.

Everything about Steele is hard and defined.

It doesn’t take long for me to get lost in the flesh beneath my fingertips.

The anxiety filling me gradually ebbs, and I forget about everything except the moment unfolding between us.

Steele remains motionless as the towel glides over his skin.

Silence lingers between us as I move from one shoulder blade to the other, sliding along his bulging biceps, and muscular forearms before sweeping across the broad expanse of his back.

Every defined muscle and sculpted line are evidence of his unwavering discipline.

I’ve never known anyone who takes better care of their body than Steele.

Need flares to life in my core. It’s a steady, thumping beat I can’t help but be aware of.

I’ve seen him shirtless more times than I can count, but this feels different. Like I’m touching him for the first time.

No, not just touching him .

Really feeling him.

My hand falters as I trail the towel down the broad plane of his back.

My gaze catches on a droplet of water that slides down his spine.

Despite the temptation to lean forward and lick it away, I force myself to stay in control.

Steele shifts beneath my touch, as if he can sense every heated impulse racing through my mind.

I squeeze my eyes shut and push it away.

This is Steele.

My Steele.

And yet, my body doesn’t seem to care.

Need pulses through me in a low, steady rhythm that’s impossible to ignore. It coils in my belly, a throb of awareness that makes it hard to focus.

Steele shifts again, a flicker of tension rippling through him, as if he feels it too.

He doesn’t say a word.

With every pass of the towel, I inch my way downward. It doesn’t take long before I’m at his lower back, dangerously close to his ass. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to trace over the tight curve of him without the towel between us.