Page 9 of Make Me Yours
I froze, breath punched out of me. The nerve of her. The audacity. And damn me, I wanted her all the more for it.
“Lilly,” I said, low, rough. Her name felt too small for the way she filled this room.
She tilted her head, eyes dancing like she’d just bluffed her way into a jackpot. “You gonna stand there scowling, or kiss me like you mean it?”
Heat shot through me, so fast it felt like anger. I crossed the room in three strides, hauled her close, and crushed my mouth to hers. She tasted of wine and trouble, lips parting like she’d been waiting all damn day.
I broke just enough to breathe, muttering, “This is a surprise I could get used to.”
“Then stop talking and prove it.”
“I need a shower first.” My words came out husky and breathless. “Then I’ll come back and show you exactly how much I missed you.”
Her grin widened, slow and knowing, like she’d planned this exact line. She threw the blanket the rest of the way off, silk catching the light, legs bare against my sheets.
“Then I guess I’d better join you.”
I swallowed hard, heat already climbing. Restless, brazen, drunk on her own boldness. That was Lilly.
Me? I was already lost enough to follow her straight into the fire.
She stripped off my leather vest and had my shirt half undone before we hit the bathroom threshold, fingers working the buttons with drunken determination. I caught her wrists, not to stop her—just to steady her—then slid my hands to her shoulders and eased the silk down her arms. It sighed to the floor, pale as a promise against the tile.
“Impatient,” I murmured.
“Inspired,” she breathed, and tugged my belt free in one clean pull, the buckle clinking like a dare.
I twisted the tap. Pipes thumped. Steam climbed the glass, blurring our reflection into one shape. She stepped in first, hair spilling down her back, water pearling on her skin. I followed, crowding her gently to the warm spray, my palm flattening at her hip to keep her steady.
“Easy,” I said against her temple. “You’ve had too much wine.”
“I’ve had you on my mind,” she countered, turning to face me, eyes bright. “Hold onto something if you have to.”
“I am. I’m holding on to you.”
The water ran over us, a low rush that drowned out thought. Heat slid from my shoulders down my spine as hers rose to meet mine, legs brushing, breath catching. She tipped her chin, offering her mouth like a secret. I took it, slow at first, then not slow at all.
“Miss me?” she asked against my lower lip, voice smug and soft.
“Every hour,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie. “Step back.” I moved her under the spray so it hit the back of her neck, so she’dstay warm, so she wouldn’t sway. She braced a palm to the tile, looking at me with that wicked, look-what-I-did smile.
“Bossy,” she teased.
“Alive,” I said, and kissed the water beading on her shoulder, the line where heat met cooler skin.
She laughed—a low, pleased sound that sank straight through my ribs—then pushed me down. As I dropped to my knees on the hard tile, the steam tightened around us. The glass fogged completely. Water drummed a steady cadence down my back while our breaths refused any rhythm at all.
Lilly spread her thighs wider, greedy for my mouth, and I gave it to her, my tongue tracing slow circles that made her gasp and clutch the shower rail.
"I've got you," I told her, looking up past the curve of her stomach, past her breasts heaving with each ragged breath.
"I know," she whispered, that last word unraveling into a moan when my tongue slipped inside her, then back to that swollen, sensitive spot that made her thighs tremble against my shoulders.
Her fingers fisted in my hair, pulling almost painfully, then smoothed, then fisted again as I sucked gently. She was all slick heat and salt-sweet taste and desperate little sounds.
I adjusted, sliding two fingers deep inside her, the water running hotter, our movements slowing and sharpening at once.
“Say my name,” she said, eyes on mine, lashes wet.
