Page 83 of Make Me Yours
When I glance over, her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising and falling just a little too fast.
Good.
I want her flustered.
Unsteady.
Undone.
Because that’s what she does to me just by existing.
I flick on the turn signal and merge onto the road that winds back toward my penthouse. The city blurs outside the windows with neon signs, headlights, and glittering high-rises. Inside the car, it’s quiet. Thick with anticipation.
Lilah shifts again.
She uncrosses and then recrosses her legs, thighs pressing together, as if she’s trying to stifle the ache building between them.
My lips lift into a knowing smirk.
She’s squirming.
And I fucking love it.
I want her need to rise like a tide until there’s no holding it back. Until the only thing she can think about is me. My hands. My mouth. The things I plan to do to her once we’re alone.
The things she doesn’t even realize she’s been craving for years.
“Take off your panties,” I say, eyes pinned to the road.
Her head snaps toward me. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me,” I say, calm and steady. A low thread of command woven into every word. “I want them off.”
The silence that stretches between us is taut and electric. She doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t speak. I can feel her watching me, weighing her response.
Weighing what she wants.
She shifts, and everything inside me tightens.
When her hands disappear beneath the hem of her dress, I grip the wheel as she slides the black lace down her hips and thighs, inch by torturous inch. My peripheral vision catches every subtle movement as her fingers work. There’s the graceful flex of muscle under satin skin and the teasing flash of bare thighs as the panties slip past her knees.
She hesitates before lifting the scrap of fabric.
“Give them to me,” I murmur, extending my hand.
Without a word, she places them in my palm. The lace is warm from her skin, damp with arousal.
I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply.
The scent of her hits me like a drug. It’s both intoxicating and addictive.
“Fuck,” I bite out. “I’ve spent years wondering what you’d smell like.”
And now that I know?
I don’t think I’ll ever recover.
When she gasps, I glance over to find her flushed and trembling, her hands fisted tightly together like she’s trying to contain what’s already spilling over.
