Page 61 of The Summer We Lie

I press my thighs together tightly, trying to quell the insistent, pulsing ache between them. Steam still hangs in the bathroom air, but it's nothing compared to the heat radiating from inside me. This man, this sophisticated, powerful architect with his perfect suits and commanding presence, wants to do these filthy, forbidden things to me—ME. Not just fuck me, but own me, mark me, claim me, show me everything I've been missing. The thought is terrifying and thrilling in equal measure, making my heart hammer against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

A sharp knock on the door makes me nearly drop my phone, my body jerking in surprise.

"You almost done?" Harper's voice cuts through my Dom-induced trance, dragging me back to the uncomfortable reality of where I am and who I'm with.

"Yeah!" I call back, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched and breathy. I clear my throat, trying to sound normal. "Just getting dressed!"

"Okay," she replies, and I can hear the urgency in her tone. "My bladder's about to explode out here!"

With shaking fingers, I switch my phone to Do Not Disturb, my thumbnail catching on the screen protector. No more messages tonight—I can't risk Harper seeing anything, can't bear the thought of her discovering what's happening between me and her father. I scramble into my sleep clothes, a worn tank top and cotton shorts, my skin still damp in places from my rushed drying job, fabric clinging uncomfortably.

When I open the door, Harper practically shoves past me, her red hair a blur. "Damn, girl, you took forever! I need to pee so bad!" She makes a beeline for the toilet, not even bothering to close the bathroom door behind her, the familiarity of our friendship evident in her lack of modesty.

"Sorry," I mutter, pulling the door shut to give her privacy. I tuck my phone deep into my purse, burying the evidence of my illicit conversation as if Harper might somehow sense what I've been doing, what I've been fantasizing about. My fingers linger on the zipper, guilt twisting my stomach into knots that compete with the arousal still humming through me.

Crawling into bed, I pull the covers up to my chin despite the lingering heat in my body. The hotel sheets are cool against my flushed skin, providing momentary relief. My mind races with thoughts of everything Dom said he wanted to do to me, playing his words on repeat like my favorite song. The raw intensity of his desires should terrify me—and part of me is terrified, quaking with the enormity of it all—but mostly I'm curious, eager, desperate to experience everything he described in vivid, filthy detail.

I definitely didn't ease into this sex thing with him. I'm jumping straight into the deep end without knowing if I can even swim. But something tells me Dom won't let me drown. He'll take care of me—control me, guide me, show me everything, just like he promised in that text that's now etched into my memory.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to quiet my mind enough to sleep, but all I can see are his hands on my body, his long fingers exploring every inch of me, his dark eyes watching my reactions with that intense focus, his lips curving into that rare, genuine smile when he makes me come apart beneath him.

I've never wanted anyone like this before. Never felt this desperate need clawing at me from inside, making me willing to risk everything—my friendship with Harper, my self-respect, my heart—just to feel his touch. And I wonder if this is what people mean when they talk about chemistry—this feeling that you'd set your whole life on fire just to burn with someone for a little while.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dominic

I read the text from Harper that just came through.

Harp: On our way home. We ran into Reed and his girlfriend last night and invited them over for a bonfire tonight, you can invite Ethan and Logan too.

I'm glad to know they're okay. Skye hasn't responded to my last text. I probably freaked her out—I know I got a little carried away, but fuck, she brings it out of me. When it comes to her, I have no self-control. Not a feeling I'm used to. The architect who plans everything down to the millimeter, suddenly incapable of restraint. It's unsettling. Dangerous. And somehow impossible to regret when I think of those green-gold eyes widening at my words.

Me: See you soon, I'll text them and see if they are free.

I hit send then shoot a text off in our group chat.

Me: You guys busy tonight?

Ethan: Depends on what you're asking for. I don't want to watch movies with you fuckers again.

Logan: Bro it was a documentary and there's nothing wrong with a little Netflix and chill.

Ethan: I don't want to watch TV with the boys. I reserve that activity for the ladies.

Logan: Ha! What ladies are you watching TV with? Last I checked you only have hook ups and you never bring them home.

Ethan: It was a general statement fucker! I'll watch TV with a woman when I find the right one. Plus you're no better, man whore.

Logan: Hey!

Logan: Wait! That's fair.

Me: Are you kids done?

Ethan: Yeah, I'm done with his ass, what was the question again?

Logan: You can't quit me, you love me!