Page 50 of Make Me Yours

“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 himpowerful 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.