Page 81 of Make Me Yours
I love the way I feel when he’s touching me, as if I’m something worth holding on to.
My fingers drift to his forearms, tracing the thick cords of muscle below his rolled-up sleeves. I’m hyperaware of every inch of him. The scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, the steady thrum of energy rolling off him like a storm about to break.
I feel safe and protected.
He dips his head and brushes a kiss across my neck. The touch is worshipful. That’s all it takes for a wave of heat to ripple through me, starting low in my belly before spreading outward.
“Have you come to a decision?” he asks.
My pulse throbs in my wrists and between my legs.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to steady the rush of thoughts. I’ve been wrestling with this answer for days. Second-guessing myself. Worrying about what would happen when it inevitably ended.
But right now, in this moment?
There’s no question as to what I want.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He stills behind me. The breath he draws into his lungs is sharp and audible, full of disbelief and something else entirely.
Relief, maybe?
His body tenses, wound tight like a spring on the verge of release. I feel the barely-contained hunger and emotion.
One of his hands slides up, slow and deliberate. His palm curves over my breast, the heat of it burning through the thin fabric of my dress. When his thumb brushes across my nipple, my body arches into the touch before I can stop it. His hand rises higher. Skimming the length of my neck before wrapping gently around the base of my throat.
The pressure is light yet possessive.
My knees nearly buckle. The frantic rhythm beneath my skin betrays just how undone I am.
And God help me, I love it.
I let out a whimper before I can stop it, and his fingers flex against me. He tips my chin back, guiding me until my head rests against his shoulder. And then his mouth is on mine.
Hot, insistent, and hungry.
He kisses me as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. Like he’s held himself back for years and I’ve finally given him permission to let go.
I feel every stroke of his tongue.
Every brush of his lips.
Every beat of his heart against my back.
No one’s ever kissed me like this.
When he finally eases back, his forehead presses to mine. We’re both unsteady and panting. His hand stays locked around me as I tremble against him.
Any lingering doubts have been shattered by the weight of what I feel right now.
Desire.
Need.
And something far deeper, far more terrifying.
Steele’s fingers slide beneath my chin again, tilting my face toward his.
