Page 33 of Make Me Yours (Chicago Railers Hockey #1)

LILAH

M y legs tremble as Steele steers me into the elevator, his hand firm at the small of my back.

At this point, I’m barely holding it together.

Every nerve ending is on fire, my body flooding with sensations.

The heat between my thighs is unbearable, and the slickness coating my skin has me squirming with desperate need.

I’ve never felt anything like this edge-of-insanity, can’t-think-straight kind of arousal that pulses through me like a second heartbeat.

And the person who did this to me?

Steele.

The same guy who used to pass me tissues during rom-coms, and eat half my fries when he thought I wasn’t looking. Now he’s the man who just had his fingers buried inside me with expert control before leaving me hanging on the edge of oblivion like it was nothing.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, needing to see him.

Really see him .

And I do .

For the first time, I’m aware of everything that’s been simmering beneath the surface of our friendship.

He looks calm. Composed. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he watches the elevator numbers crawl toward the penthouse, like he didn’t just turn my world upside down in the front seat of his car.

I want to scream.

Why isn’t he slamming me against the elevator wall?

Or kissing me?

Or finishing what he started?

I’m seconds away from begging when the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Relief floods through me as I bolt into the penthouse.

But Steele takes his sweet damn time.

The man is unhurried.

Unbothered.

Completely in control.

I turn just in time to see him waltz into the living room, calm as ever, unlike me, whose body is still trembling and soaked from the ride over.

He pours himself a bourbon before pulling a cigar from the humidor and clipping the end.

“What are you doing?” I blurt, nearly dancing in place.

He glances over his shoulder, then strikes a match and lights the cigar with the same precise control he seems to use with everything else in his life. He takes a pull, and the ember glows to life before he exhales a stream of smoke that unfurls in the air between us.

“Enjoying a bourbon,” he says, “and a cigar.”

He lifts the glinting crystal glass in his hand again before taking a sip and letting the silence settle for a beat. “Do you want one?”

“No.” I lick my lips and shift again. “I thought…”

My words trail off. I have no idea how to finish them. I’m still standing here, flushed and aching, while he’s cool and unhurried, puffing on a cigar like we’ve got all night.

“What, Lilah?” he asks, his tone razor-sharp but patient as he settles on the sleek sectional. “What did you think?”

I press my thighs together as the ache continues to pulse low in my belly. “That we would…” I trail off again, heat flooding my face.

He tips his head, eyes hooded behind a curtain of smoke. “I think we should talk about the rules first.”

Rules?

The word slams into me with more force than I expect.

“Rules?” I echo, blinking.

“Yes.”

“What rules?”

He sets his bourbon on the side table, the crystal clinking against the glass. Then he leans forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, cigar balanced between two fingers. Smoke spirals lazily upward, drifting between us.

The moment stills, and it’s just the two of us, suspended in the tension.

“Whatever I tell you to do… you do,” he says, voice low, firm, and edged with something darker. A command disguised as an offer.

My mouth opens, then closes again as I falter. The room suddenly feels warmer, the air heavier. The ache between my legs reignites like a spark catching on dry leaves.

But still, I hesitate.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

That question lands with quiet impact but carries weight.

My answer is instant. “Of course I do.”

Something in his gaze gentles, but only for a second.

There’s still steel beneath it. He leans back again, smoke trailing from his mouth in a cloud that rises toward the ceiling.

The rich, heady scent of it mixes with the bourbon and the heat gathering between us until anticipation thrums in every nerve.

“Then it shouldn’t be an issue,” he murmurs. “Whatever I do, or tell you to do, is with your pleasure in mind. I’ll never take anything you’re not willing to give. But if we’re doing this, I want you open to everything I have to offer. Do you understand?”

My pulse pounds so hard I’m afraid he can hear it.

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice nearly swallowed by the moment.

He nods once, a slow, deliberate dip of his head. “Good.”

There’s a beat of silence as he lifts the glass again, sipping before adding, “And after this—whatever this becomes—we remain friends. We go back to what we were, if that’s what you want. No pressure. No guilt. No fallout.”

“What if you change your mind?”

His eyes cut to mine, sharp and steady. “That’s not going to happen.”

The conviction in his answer cuts through the remaining fog of doubt.

“Are we in agreement, then?”

I hesitate only for a second. “Yes.”

He sets the cigar in the ashtray. The shift in energy is palpable, like something electric has been switched on in the room.

“Are you taking birth control?”

I blink at the question. “Yes. The shot.”

He watches me closely. “Good. Then there’s no need for a condom. When I take you, I want you bare.”

The words loosen something inside me, but he’s not finished.

“I’m clean,” he adds. “I haven’t been with anyone in eighteen months.”

That casually thrown out comment knocks me off guard, and my brows draw together. “What? Why?”

His gaze burns into mine. There’s no smile or hesitation on his part.

Just the truth.

“Because there wasn’t anyone I wanted.”

My lips part. “But women throw themselves at you all the time.”

He shrugs. “Does it really matter if I’m not interested?”

There’s something in the way he says it that quiets every part of me.

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first.

Then, I ask the only question that truly matters. “But you want me ?”

His gaze never leaves mine as he takes another puff of his cigar. The smoke slips from his lips like a secret. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The finality in his statement pins me in place.

“Are we in agreement then?”

My heart hammers. “Yes. And just so you know, I got tested after everything with Devon. I’m clean.”

His body relaxes slightly, but there’s nothing easy about the way he looks at me. Nothing subtle about the need in his eyes.

“Good. Now that it’s settled, I want you to take off your dress.”

Even though a shiver skitters through me, I don’t hesitate. My hands tremble as I reach behind me and find the zipper. The fabric slides down my body and falls to the floor with a whisper until I’m standing before him in nothing but my strapless bra.

“Take that off as well.”

I unclasp it slowly. The lace falls away before dropping to the floor and I’m totally bare. Every inch of my skin prickles under the weight of his stare. I fight every instinct to cover myself, my hands twitching at my sides.

Before I can act on the impulse, his voice cuts into my thoughts. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me. Understand?”

I nod as heat crawls down my neck.

When I take a step toward him, he raises a hand.

“Stay right there,” he says. “In the middle of the room.”

I freeze.

“The moon’s hitting you just right,” he murmurs, puffing on the cigar again. “Let me enjoy the sight.”

His gaze drags over me like a caress. It doesn’t feel like he’s just looking. It feels like he’s soaking me in.

I’ve never felt so exposed. So desired. So undeniably wanted.

The cherry of the cigar glows bright as he inhales again and then exhales. He continues watching me.

Studying me in silence.

The smoke floats between us, and the way he looks right now—relaxed, hungry, dangerous—does something wild to my insides.

“Do you have any idea,” he says quietly, “how long I’ve waited for this moment?”

I shake my head.

He lifts the cigar again. The motion is smooth and deliberate. He holds it between two fingers as his wrist rests casually on the arm of the couch.

“Since freshman year, Lilah.” There’s a pause. “That’s a long time to want someone.”

And just like that, I know this night will change everything between us.

It’s just as frightening as it is thrilling.

He leans back into the couch cushions and lifts his glass to his mouth again. It’s with practiced ease that he brings the cigar to his lips and takes a drag. The ember glows, and when he exhales, the smoke rolls from his mouth in a thick, languid cloud that fills the space between us.

“So, if you don’t mind,” he says, voice wrapped in velvet and fire, “I’m going to take my time with this.”

My skin prickles, heat rising in a slow, consuming wave.

I’m standing in the middle of his living room, completely bare under the silver spill of moonlight.

Every inch of me is exposed, trembling, strung tight with want.

I shift on my feet and press my thighs together, desperate to stifle the throb between them.

His eyes flicker, sharp and observant.

Nothing escapes his notice.

His head tilts slightly, a wisp of smoke trailing lazily from his lips. “Is your pussy wet?”

The casual way he asks the question leaves me momentarily speechless.

Like he’s asking if I’d like a drink.

Or if I’ve seen the weather report.

But we’re not talking about either of those.

We’re talking about the slick heat between my thighs. The ache he’s coaxed into an inferno. And the fact that he hasn’t laid a single hand on me since we stepped out of the car.

Somehow, that cool and easy tone only makes it worse.

“Lilah,” he prompts, raising a brow and taking another puff of his cigar. “Answer me.”

“I… ah…” The words die on my tongue.

He lifts his glass again, utterly composed. “Perhaps you should check?”

My eyes widen. “You want me to check ?”

“Yes.”

“I—” I swallow. “You want me to touch myself?”

He exhales a stream of smoke, his gaze never wavering. “Just like you did the other night.”