Page 91 of Make Me Yours
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, likehe’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.
