Page 87 of Make Me Yours
The moment stills, and it’s just the two of us, suspended in the tension.
“Whatever I tell you to do… you do,” he says, voice low, firm, and edged with something darker. A command disguised as an offer.
My mouth opens, then closes again as I falter. The room suddenly feels warmer, the air heavier. The ache between my legs reignites like a spark catching on dry leaves.
But still, I hesitate.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
That question lands with quiet impact but carries weight.
My answer is instant. “Of course I do.”
Something in his gaze gentles, but only for a second. There’s still steel beneath it. He leans back again, smoke trailing from his mouth in a cloud that rises toward the ceiling. The rich, heady scent of it mixes with the bourbon and theheat gathering between us until anticipation thrums in every nerve.
“Then it shouldn’t be an issue,” he murmurs. “Whatever I do, or tell you to do, is with your pleasure in mind. I’ll never take anything you’re not willing to give. But if we’re doing this, I want you open to everything I have to offer. Do you understand?”
My pulse pounds so hard I’m afraid he can hear it.
“Yes,” I breathe, my voice nearly swallowed by the moment.
He nods once, a slow, deliberate dip of his head. “Good.”
There’s a beat of silence as he lifts the glass again, sipping before adding, “And after this—whatever this becomes—we remain friends. We go back to what we were, if that’s what you want. No pressure. No guilt. No fallout.”
“What if you change your mind?”
His eyes cut to mine, sharp and steady. “That’s not going to happen.”
The conviction in his answer cuts through the remaining fog of doubt.
“Are we in agreement, then?”
I hesitate only for a second. “Yes.”
He sets the cigar in the ashtray. The shift in energy is palpable, like something electric has been switched on in the room.
“Are you taking birth control?”
I blink at the question. “Yes. The shot.”
He watches me closely. “Good. Then there’s no need for a condom. When I take you, I want you bare.”
The words loosen something inside me, but he’s not finished.
“I’m clean,” he adds. “I haven’t been with anyone in eighteenmonths.”
That casually thrown out comment knocks me off guard, and my brows draw together. “What? Why?”
His gaze burns into mine. There’s no smile or hesitation on his part.
Just the truth.
“Because there wasn’t anyone I wanted.”
My lips part. “But women throw themselves at you all the time.”
He shrugs. “Does it really matter if I’m not interested?”
