Page 38 of Make Me Yours (Chicago Railers Hockey #1)

LILAH

I can’t stop shifting in my seat as we drive back to the penthouse.

The leather is cool beneath me, but I’m burning from the inside out.

And not just from the unseasonable heat beating through the windshield.

This is something else. A pressure. A buzz.

A low, coiling thrum of need I’ve never experienced before.

Steele’s hand rests on my knee.

Simple.

Still.

And yet it’s the most distracting thing in the world.

Every part of me is focused on the spot where his fingers grip my leg through the denim. His thumb strokes tiny, absent circles, each one sending a tremor through my core. I find myself inching closer to the center console, silently encouraging his hand to slide higher.

Just a little.

I want more.

A lot more.

I want him to stroke me through the fabric and show me exactly how serious he was back at the restaurant.

Because right now ?

I’m wound so tight I feel like I could snap.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and something constricts low in my belly.

His jaw is locked, his profile cut from granite as he focuses on the road stretched out in front of him.

He hasn’t said a word since we left the restaurant, but his silence speaks volumes.

His dominance hangs in the air, heavy as the tension between us.

It’s not something I expected from him.

Steele has always been the easy one. The quiet refuge when everything else felt like chaos.

Always kind and steady.

But now?

Now he’s something else entirely.

This man has an edge.

He’s decisive.

Possessive.

Commanding in a way that makes my thighs clench and my breath come in short little huffs.

He threatened to spank me.

Spank me!

My brain stumbles over it, and a shiver of need dances down my spine as I try to process the words and what they mean. What it would feel like. The idea that his hand would be on me like that, demanding and claiming, makes my insides twist and flutter.

No one’s ever laid a hand on me like that before.

Not in anger or in dominance.

Not in anything close to the way Steele means it.

But my panties are soaked at the idea. Completely drenched, clinging to me in a way that makes every shift in the seat an exercise in restraint. My body already knows the answer, even if my mind is scrambling to catch up.

Once we pull into the private garage beneath the building, Steele kills the engine with a flick of his wrist. The hum of the car dies, only to be replaced by silence and the thudding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

He’s out of the driver’s seat and at my door before I can gather my thoughts.

“Come on, lucky charm,” he says, holding the door open, his voice quiet and controlled. It turns me on more than I could have ever thought.

I can’t help but see the man before me with fresh eyes.

His hand slides to the small of my back as I step out. That one touch sears through me, warm and grounding. It stays there as we move through the building to the private elevator.

I stand beside him, holding myself perfectly still. I can feel him watching me. Not just looking but really seeing. It’s like he knows exactly what I need and how much I’m falling apart inside.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal the interior of the penthouse. His hand never strays from my back as we step inside. I pause in the living room as images from the other night tumble through my head. My heart hammers behind my ribs when he stops too.

“Are you really going to spank me?” I ask.

He turns toward me before stepping into my space and erasing the distance between us until it becomes necessary to tilt my chin to maintain eye contact. Both of his hands slide into my hair, cradling the back of my head.

“Yes, Lilah,” he murmurs. “I am.”

His lips tease my mouth as they brush over mine. Just when I sink into the caress, he pulls back.

“I promise that you’re going to enjoy every moment because I would never do anything that didn’t ultimately give you pleasure. Do you understand?”

I nod as heat explodes through me .

His fingers tighten slightly in my hair. “Words, lucky charm. I want you to use them.”

“Yes,” I whisper, my entire body trembling and on fire. “I understand.”

His mouth dips toward mine, and his lips graze my cheek. “Tell me, is that sweet little pussy sobbing for me right now?”

There’s no use pretending.

I chew on my bottom lip, cheeks blazing. “Yes.”

A low groan vibrates in his chest, and his eyes turn molten.

“Good,” he murmurs, releasing me slowly, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Now, go into the dining room and pull out one of the chairs for me.”

My knees weaken as I turn on shaky legs. Each step feels deliberate as I make my way to the table and pull out one of the high back chairs before standing behind it. My fingers twist nervously as I face the window.

Waiting.

Wanting.

Trying not to fall apart from the anticipation alone.

I have no idea if I’m ready for whatever comes next. What I do know is that I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

The floorboards creak behind me.

Steele’s steps are steady.

Controlled.

The sound alone makes my entire body tighten. He stops directly behind me, and the sheer presence of him wraps around me like smoke.

When his hand ghosts along my spine, I shudder.

“You’re quiet,” he says, tone low and dark. “Getting nervous on me?”

I swallow, still facing the chair, knuckles white against the edge of it. “A little. ”

His fingers trail from the base of my neck down to the small of my back. The sensation is light and teasing.

“Don’t be.”

He moves around me to sit on the chair with his legs spread. Every inch of him is completely relaxed.

Except for his eyes.

They’re dark and filled with hunger.

“Come here,” he says, rougher now.

I step toward him, trying not to trip over my own feet.

His eyes never leave mine as he reaches for the button of my jeans. “Let’s get these off.”

“Here?” Surprise jolts through me.

His mouth curves slightly. “Yes, right here in the dining room.”

There’s no rush as he flicks the button. The slide of the zipper is deafening in the quiet room before he shoves the denim down my hips and thighs. When it pools around my ankles, I kick off the heels and step free, leaving my legs bare.

He glances at the thin cotton of my panties, and his jaw flexes. There’s no way he doesn’t notice how the material clings to me.

“You weren’t kidding. You’re soaked. We should probably take them off as well.”

His fingers hook into the delicate fabric before dragging it down my legs so I can step out of the underwear. Heat floods my cheeks as he gently pulls me across his lap. I brace my hands against his thighs, unsure how to position myself. Every part of me is lit up with anticipation.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. I’ve always had you.”

One hand strokes down the curve of my back, slow and soothing, as his other hand rests on the back of my thighs .

“Do you trust me, Lilah?”

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation.

Because I do.

I always have.

And then he lifts his hand.

The first smack is light against my naked flesh.

Barely more than a warning.

I gasp, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. Not from pain. There’s almost none. But from the sharp, dizzy rush of pleasure that floods through me. Before the sensation can fully settle, his palm smooths over the same spot, fingers warm and sure.

“Are you okay?” His voice is steady, but there’s a roughness to it now. A thread of raw need he’s not even trying to hide.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“How did that feel?”

A shiver skates down my spine.

“Good,” I tell him, my cheeks burning with the admission.

He doesn’t pull away. If anything, his touch grows more deliberate, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of my ass. His grip tightens just enough to make me tremble.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You liked it?”

There’s no teasing now.

Only dark hunger wrapped in every syllable.

I press my lips together before forcing myself to nod. “Yes, I liked it.”

A deep, guttural sound rumbles from him as he shifts beneath me, the hard line of him pressing insistently against my hip.

“Maybe I should check for myself,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

His fingers slide between my thighs, stroking over the slick heat waiting for him.

A garbled sound breaks loose from me, my hips instinctively rocking toward his hand.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dipping his fingers inside me with a slow, torturous thrust. “You’re soaked, baby. Dripping for me. ”

I bury my face in his legs, mortified and aching all at once.

“You certainly would’ve made a mess of your panties,” he adds. “It’s a good thing we took them off.”

Heat scorches through me as my entire body tightens under his touch.

His thigh flexes beneath my hands, and it’s only then I realize just how aroused he is too.

Not just from touching me.

But from this.

From the way I’m draped over his lap, exposed and trusting and his . Even if we haven’t said it out loud yet.

And I love it.

I love the way he touches me like I’m precious.

Like I’m his.

“Christ, Lilah.” His hand sweeps down the back of my thigh before skimming up again, making my heart pound so loud it drowns out everything else. “All I want is to make you feel good,” he murmurs. “Over and over, until you forget every asshole who ever made you think you weren’t enough.”

His words hit harder than any touch, making it impossible to speak or even think.

Because somewhere deep inside, I already have.

When he shifts me slightly, adjusting the angle of my hips over his lap, the evidence of his arousal presses hard against me again, and my whole body clenches with anticipation.

Still, he doesn’t rush or lose control.

He keeps me pinned in his lap, his hands roaming as his breath teases my skin, causing a wave of goose bumps to erupt in their wake. His mouth follows, brushing a featherlight kiss along my back, as if he needs to taste every inch of exposed flesh.