Page 54 of The Summer We Lie

He nods while chewing and then, to my surprise, cuts a bite of his steak and holds his fork out for me. The gesture feels strangely intimate as he feeds me, our eyes locked in a way that makes the restaurant around us fade into a blur of background noise. As soon as the flavor hits my tongue—perfectly seasoned, impossibly tender beef with a hint of char from the grill—I can't help the appreciative moan that escapes my lips.

"You have to stop doing that," he says, his voice tight and controlled, almost strained.

"What?" I ask, genuinely confused, my mind still swimming in flavor.

"Moaning. You're making my dick hard," he says bluntly, his dark eyes intense on mine, burning with something that makes my skin tingle all over.

"Sorry," I mumble, heat flooding my cheeks and spreading down my neck. Then I spot Harper walking back through the tables toward us. "Quick, try a bite of hers before she gets here," I say impulsively, suddenly wanting to share this strange, secret moment with him.

He smiles—a real, full smile that transforms his face from handsome to breathtaking—and scoops up a bite of her fish, but she catches him in the act as she approaches.

"Hey!" she says, sliding into her seat with mock outrage. "Who are you and what did you do with my dad?"

Both Dom and I burst into laughter, the tension broken by her perfect timing, though the electricity between us still crackles just below the surface.

"It's good, right?" I ask him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear nervously.

"Yeah, it's good, but I really like yours," he says, his eyes meeting mine with meaning that makes my pulse jump and my thighs press together unconsciously.

"Wait, you tried hers too? How did you get him to try something else?" Harper asks, genuine surprise coloring her voice as she looks between us.

I shrug, trying to appear casual when everything about this dinner feels charged with an invisible current. "I just asked."

"She's nicer than you," Dom jokes, and Harper tosses her straw wrapper at him with practiced aim.

"I would be mad, but she really is," Harper says with a laugh, completely unaware of what just passed between her father and me, or how his simple, blunt words about my moaning have left me flustered and aroused in ways I've never experienced before.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Skye

The rest of dinner flows with easy conversation, Harper regaling us with stories of her college adventures while Dom and I exchange occasional glances that feel like secrets passing between us. Every time our eyes meet, I remember his words—"You're making my dick hard"—and heat crawls up my neck all over again, spreading across my skin like wildfire. My fingers fidget nervously with my napkin, twisting it beneath the table as I try to maintain my composure despite the electricity crackling between us.

When our plates are nearly empty, Dom sits back slightly, his shoulder brushing mine. The brief contact sends sparks shooting through my arm, and I have to force myself not to visibly shiver. "Dessert?" he asks, looking between Harper and me, his dark eyes lingering on my face a beat longer than necessary.

I groan dramatically, placing a hand on my stomach, feeling the expensive fabric of my dress tight against my full belly. "I'm so full." The restaurant's dim lighting casts shadows across Dom's strong jawline, making him look even more intimidating and gorgeous simultaneously.

"Oh no, you have to get dessert," Harper insists, eyes widening like I've suggested something truly scandalous. Her hair catches the light from the candle on our table, making it glow like copper.

"I hate you," I tell her with no heat behind the words, the familiar banter between us as comfortable as my favorite 90s jeans.

She just laughs, tossing her hair over one shoulder, the movement confident and graceful. "You'll thank me later." Our waiter appears with perfect timing, hovering at the edge of our table, his black uniform crisp and professional. "Care for a dessert menu?" he asks, hands clasped behind his back.

"Two, please," Dom says, and I turn to look at him, surprised by the request. The scent of his cologne fills my nostrils—something expensive and woodsy that makes my pulse quicken.

"Please tell me you like desserts," I say, trying to imagine the controlled, serious Dom with a sweet tooth. The thought of him indulging in something purely for pleasure seems almost contradictory to everything about him.

"I don't have much of a sweet tooth," he admits with a slight shrug, his broad shoulder brushing against mine again. "But I like some things. Like Harper's desserts." His voice softens when he mentions Harper's name, that paternal affection evident.

Harper snorts, the sound undeniably unladylike despite her polished appearance. "Yeah right. You don't have to keep lying—I know you don't like my desserts." She rolls her eyes, but there's clear affection in her gesture.

"I do," he insists, looking genuinely offended, his dark eyebrows drawing together. "Just not the super rich chocolate stuff. I like lighter, more fruity desserts." The passion in his defense surprises me, revealing a glimpse of the man behind the composed facade.

The waiter returns with our menus, placing them elegantly before us, and I scan mine eagerly, despite my protests about being full. The descriptions make my mouth water. "They have apple pie," I say to Dom, pointing at the menu with a chipped nail—I'd meant to repaint them before tonight. "That's fruity."

He smiles, the expression softer than I'm used to seeing, transforming his entire face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes make him look younger, more approachable. "I'm good, really. But you get something."

I wrinkle my nose at him and turn my attention back to the menu, feeling oddly disappointed he won't join me. He chuckles beside me, the sound rumbling through my body like a physical touch, vibrating through me all the way to my core.