Page 36 of The Summer We Lie

"Mr.—" I start to say, but his hand comes up and covers my mouth, cutting off my words, his palm warm and slightly rough against my lips.

"If 'Mr. Grayson' passes your lips again, I'm going to do things to that pretty little mouth that we can't come back from," he says, his voice a dangerous rumble that vibrates through me, settling low in my belly like a promise.

What the fuck just happened here? My brain struggles to catch up with the sudden shift from polite conversation to this raw intensity, but my body seems to understand perfectly, a rush of heat flooding between my legs, dampening my underwear in an instant.

"Do you understand me?" he asks, his eyes never leaving mine, holding me captive with just his gaze.

I nod, intensely aware of his body pressing into mine, of how hard he is against my stomach, of how easily he could take what he wants from me—and how desperately I might let him.

"And for the love of God, wear more clothes around me," he says, his voice strained with barely contained desire.

I nod again, unable to look away from him, captivated by the struggle playing out across his handsome features.

"Good girl," he says, and his voice is so deep right now I feel it vibrate through my entire body, settling low in my belly like a warm stone. Those two simple words affect me more than any touch, making me want to earn them again and again.

"I'm going to remove my hand, and you're going to bed," he says, sliding his hand from my mouth to my chin, then to my neck. I feel his fingers tighten for a second—just a second—before his hand falls away, leaving ghost impressions of his touch on my skin.

I stand frozen between the counter and his body, caught between wanting to run and wanting to press myself against him, eliminate any space between us. My lips tingle where his palm had been, and I can still feel the phantom pressure of his fingers on my throat. No one has ever spoken to me that way, touched me that way, looked at me that way—like I'm something he wants to devour completely, something precious and forbidden all at once.

"Now," he adds, taking a deliberate step back from me, creating space that feels both necessary and unbearable, like cutting off oxygen.

I slip past him without another word, my mind racing, body humming with unfamiliar sensations that make my knees weak. As I walk down the hallway toward my room, I can feel his eyes on me, tracking every step, burning into me until I disappear around the corner.

My hand trembles as I close my bedroom door behind me, leaning against it as I try to catch my breath in the safety of solitude. What just happened? And why, despite every logical reason to be disturbed or offended, do I want it to happen again with an intensity that frightens me?

Chapter Sixteen

Dominic

I sleep my computer and stand up from my desk. I've procrastinated long enough. I'm not even supposed to come to the office during the summer unless I have a meeting, but I'm avoiding Skye because after the first night with her in my house, it became very apparent that I cannot be trusted around her.

All she did was bend over to grab the dish detergent, and one look at her ass in those tiny shorts had me acting like a horny teenager. I shouldn't have touched her, but when she said "Mr. Grayson," I covered her mouth and pinned her to the counter. God help me, I think she liked it—and that was bad enough. But then I called her a "good girl." It slipped out because I had slipped into that role. The dominant. The one in control. The one who takes what he wants.

Before I had the chance to regret it, though, a look I know too well took over her features. It's the look women get when they like to be dominated and praised, and fuck me, she was practically begging to be good for me. Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickened, and her body softened against mine in that unmistakable way that drives me absolutely insane. It took every ounce of willpower not to take her right there on the kitchen counter.

When she ran off and went back to bed, I emailed Obsidian and told them the arrangement was still on, there was just a time delay. The next morning I regretted sending it, so that's how I find myself at my office today, like every damn day this week. I want to spend time with Harper, but I can't be trusted with Skye. Can't trust myself not to cross lines I shouldn't even be approaching. Every time I see her, my control—the foundation of everything I've built—crumbles a little more.

I grab my phone off my desk and I'm about to slide it in my pocket when I notice a text from our group chat. The screen illuminates the darkened corner of my office where architectural drawings are spread across my drawing table.

Logan: You coming for drinks tonight Dom?

Ethan: Nah he's got a new toy at home.

That fucker. My fingers hover over the keyboard about to say no, but then I think better of it. I should go. I may be able to avoid her all night if I don't get home until late, so I text back, my decision made in an instant of self-preservation.

Me: Be there in 15.

Logan: Oh shit for real?

Ethan: You don't have to prove yourself to us bro, we all know where you want to be.

Me: Shut up, omw.

I grab my keys and head toward the elevator, trying to convince myself this is the right move. Stay away from Skye. Let Harper spend time with her friend. Don't be the creepy old guy lusting after a college student. Don't be the man who wants to corrupt his daughter's innocent friend. Don't be the architect of your own destruction.

The elevator doors close, and my reflection stares back at me from the polished metal. I look tired. Wound tight. Exactly how I feel. The tension in my jaw is visible, the strain around my eyes evident. I hardly recognize myself these days.

What the hell is wrong with me? I've never lost control like that before. Never put my hands on a woman without explicit permission, without discussion of boundaries and expectations. Yet one "Mr. Grayson" from those pink lips and I was pinning her against the counter like an animal. Like a man possessed. Like someone I don't recognize.