Page 34 of Make Me Yours (Chicago Railers Hockey #1)

My mouth goes dry as heat floods my face.

“You heard me?” I whisper .

He nods, calm and utterly unapologetic. “Not only did I hear you, I watched.”

There’s a flicker of mortification, but it’s instantly eclipsed by something darker as arousal curls through me.

“You did?”

He takes another sip of bourbon. “Yes. So, I know you understand exactly how to touch your pussy.”

The crudeness of his words doesn’t shock me anymore. It makes my thighs clench even tighter. And this time, I don’t even try to stop it.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to the thick glass coffee table in front of him.

I blink. “On the table?”

“Lilah.”

It’s just my name.

But the way he says it?

Low. Patient. Full of authority.

It’s impossible to resist.

I cross the room, my bare feet whispering over the floor before lowering myself carefully onto the glass. It’s cool against my skin, hard and unyielding, which only sharpens everything I’m feeling.

I spread my legs a little, feeling both unsure and self-conscious.

He exhales, smoke unfurling from the corner of his mouth as his gaze sweeps over me.

“No,” he says slowly. “That won’t do. Lie back, sweetheart. And spread your legs wide.”

My pulse pounds in my ears as I ease onto my back. The sharp edge of the table bites into my spine. Even though I’m quivering with nerves, I do exactly as he instructs and part my legs wider until I feel the air brush over the slick heat of my center.

I’m completely open to him .

Exposed.

Bare.

And somehow, it only amplifies my arousal.

“More,” he murmurs, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “I want to see all of you. Every pink inch.”

I shift again, spreading my legs farther apart until I feel vulnerable and filthy and powerful.

He still doesn’t move.

He just watches.

And somehow that’s worse.

Better.

All of it.

His gaze skates over me like a caress as he takes another puff of his cigar. The glow brightens in the shadows before he releases the smoke in a lazy stream.

I’ve never been studied in this manner before.

“I’m waiting.”

My hand trembles as I slide it down my stomach. When my fingers find the slick ache between them, my eyelids feather shut on instinct.

“Eyes on me,” he growls.

My lashes snap open and my gaze locks back on him.

And when I touch myself in front of him, it’s like something inside me unravels.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, edged with bourbon and smoke.

The praise, paired with the warm scent of tobacco and the intensity of his expression, sends a fresh wave of heat spiraling through me. I moan, fingers circling my clit in slow, shaky strokes.

Just like I did the other night.

Only this time, I’m not alone.

Steele is here.

Watching .

Guiding.

Owning every sound that spills from my lips.

“So tell me,” he rasps, “are you wet?”

“Very.”

“I can see it,” he says, gaze locked between my legs. “Glistening on your skin. Absolutely stunning.”

My spine bows against the cool surface, a shiver rolling through me. Still, he doesn’t move. He just watches, completely in control, his bourbon clutched in one hand, his cigar burning low between the fingers of his other.

And I’ve never felt more wanted.

More seen.

More his.

I grow more desperate with every caress, but it’s not enough.

No matter what I do, it’s not him.

I need his mouth.

His hands.

His control.

I’ve never felt anything like this before.

Not even close.

I’m buzzing, every inch of me hypersensitive. Strung impossibly tight, electric and sparking with need. Every flick of my fingers pushes me toward something that feels dangerously close to unraveling.

From the couch, Steele’s gaze pins me in place. The cigar between his fingers glows as he lifts it to his lips again, smoke escaping from his mouth, as if he’s unaffected.

But when he speaks, his voice is rougher.

“Goddamn, Lilah. You have no idea how gorgeous you are stretched out and shaking for me.”

My lips part as a small whimper breaks free, and my fingers falter.

Steele sets down the glass and leans forward slowly, like he’s in no rush, like he’s savoring every second of this. I brace for the touch of his hand.

I need it.

Crave it.

Instead, something else brushes between my thighs.

A foreign, unexpected sensation.

Something that’s both warm and solid.

The blunt end of the cigar.

My eyes widen and a startled sound slips from me.

He drags it along the seam of my body, featherlight and maddeningly slow, never pushing in. His lips lift into the faintest smile, as if he’s reading every thought that flickers through my head.

“Do you feel that?” he murmurs, dragging the smooth end over my most sensitive flesh.

I nod, unable to speak.

When my hips shift helplessly toward the sensation, the cigar disappears.

My breath catches as he lifts it to his mouth and takes a puff.

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely. “You taste like honey.”

I shake.

And when the cigar returns to my skin, I nearly sob.

He strokes it along my lower lips again, teasing and coaxing. Circling. Painting my arousal across my own flesh. It’s too much and not enough.

And then he eases it inside me just a couple of inches. Just enough to make my entire body jerk.

But only for a moment.

Then he pulls back and circles my clit with maddening precision, driving me higher with every pass.

I can’t think.

Can’t breathe .

My hips lift and my back arches as my body silently asks for more.

And when I whisper his name again, my tone pleading and begging, he groans.

“Look at you,” he rasps. “Completely undone. Just for me.”

I whimper in response.

“You know how hard I am right now?” he asks roughly. “All because of you. The way you look. The way you taste. The way you beg for my touch.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I moan, desperate and aching.

“Tell me,” he says, circling my clit again. “How badly do you want to come?”

“More than anything,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Please, Steele.”

He dips the cigar inside me again, once and then twice.

My body rises off the glass in desperation. “Please,” I sob. “I need… please?—”

“Good girl,” he whispers, and that’s all it takes for the world to shatter.

Pleasure slams into me like a tidal wave, knocking the air from my lungs. My thighs quake, and I cry out, unable to stop the onslaught of sensation. Never once does he move or let up. He strokes me gently with the cigar, dragging every last tremor from my body until I’m a shaking, wrung-out mess.

My chest heaves.

“Come here, Lilah.”

On legs that barely hold me, I rise from the table and wobble toward him. The room tilts, and I grab the couch for balance.

He remains seated with his legs spread. When I stop between them, he looks up at me with eyes that are heavy-lidded, dark, and full of hunger.

“Kneel,” he says .

My knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

He doesn’t need to guide me. I reach for him, fingers shaking as I find the thick belt, loosening the leather before unzipping the fly of his pants and slipping my fingers inside the damp cotton of his boxers. Even though I just came, more arousal gathers on my sensitive flesh.

“Take my cock out,” he orders. “And then stroke me. Show me exactly what you want.”

His head tips back as I wrap my hand around his hard length. The low sound he makes sends another ripple of heat through my core. His fingers curl around the tumbler again as he takes a sip and then another drag from the cigar.

“Eyes on me,” he says, the words striking something deep inside my core.

My gaze remains locked on his as I take him into my mouth, savoring the salty taste of him as my tongue swirls around the tip. I’ve been thinking about him ever since the night I helped him in the shower, the memory seared into my mind like a brand.

Now, with him trembling beneath my touch, I can’t hold back. I slide down the length of his erection, my lips gliding with practiced ease, then back up again, bobbing with a rhythm that has his breath catching.

His fingers slip into my hair, not to force, just to guide. It’s as if he needs the anchor just as much as I do.

“That feels so good, baby. Can you take just a bit more? Can you take every inch?”

I’ve never in my life wanted to please a man more than I do Steele. What we’re sharing feels unbearably intimate. And I want him to fall apart with the same intensity that I unraveled with minutes ago.

He groans when his cock hits the back of my throat.

Tears sting my eyes as I take even more of his hard length until I’m almost gagging .

He thumbs them away before bringing his hand to his mouth and licking the moisture.

I might be the one giving him pleasure, but I’m more turned on than I ever have been in my life. I don’t understand how that’s possible when I’m the one on my knees.

“Mmm, that’s it. Just like that. It’s so good when your muscles tighten around me. Fuck. Are you going to swallow down all my cum like a good girl, Lilah?”

I moan around him, wanting to give him this so badly.

His release crashes through him with a raw, broken groan and his cum splashes against the back of my throat as I greedily drink it down just like he asked. I feel the impact of his orgasm everywhere.

In my bones.

In my blood.

In the space between us that will never be the same again.

He doesn’t say a word as he sets down the cigar, then scoops me into his arms and carries me down the hall to his room.

The mattress dips beneath me as he leans in and says, “From now on, you sleep here with me. No clothes. I don’t want anything coming between us while we’re together.”

I don’t argue.

Because I already know there’s no going back from this.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.