Page 67 of The Summer We Lie

"Don't like them too much," Dom warns, his voice dropping to that deep, possessive register that makes my insides melt like warm honey.

I place my hand briefly against his chest, feeling the powerful hammer of his heart beneath my palm. "Don't worry," I whisper, "you're definitely my favorite." I quickly withdraw my hand before anyone notices our intimate moment.

"I better be," he growls, the simple words vibrating with intensity.

"I should get back. I'm supposed to be bringing back drinks." I bend down to retrieve two more water bottles and Reed's requested beer. "You want one?"

"I want you," he says simply, his dark eyes burning into mine as he reaches down to grab a beer for himself.

"You can have me," I promise softly, the words slipping out before I can censor them. He responds with a low groan that sends shivers racing down my spine.

"Get the fuck in that water so I can cool off," he orders gruffly, and I laugh, walking back toward the waves with deliberate slowness, acutely aware of his hungry gaze tracking my every movement like a predator watching its prey.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dominic

I watch as Skye retreats back into the water, her body moving with a natural grace that holds me captive. The subtle sway of her hips, the way water droplets cling to her skin—it's a form of exquisite torture knowing I can look but can't touch. Not here. Not with all these people around. Not when every curve of her body calls to something primal in me, something I've kept carefully controlled until she walked into my life.

For the next hour, we all splash around in the waves. Harper and Skye float peacefully on their inflatables while Logan tries repeatedly to flip them over, earning creative threats from Harper that make even me laugh. My daughter's colorful promises of revenge echo across the water, her hair flashing in the sunlight as she paddles furiously away from Logan's reaching hands. Through it all, I keep finding my eyes drawn back to Skye—the way she tilts her head back when she laughs, how she absently twirls a wet strand of hair around her finger, the slight flush of her skin from the sun. Each innocent gesture feels like a private show meant only for me, though I know it's not.

Eventually, the guys and I make our way back to shore. I claim one of the chairs by the fire pit. The flames cast dancing shadows across the sand as I crack open a fresh beer, the satisfying hiss of carbonation breaking the rhythm of crashing waves. The cold liquid slides down my throat, a momentary distraction from the heat building inside me every time I glance toward the water where she still floats.

"How was your last season?" Logan asks Reed, who's sprawled in a chair nearby, looking entirely too comfortable.

Reed takes a long pull from his bottle. "It was good. Team's looking solid for next year."

Then he sits up straighter, eyes drifting toward the water. "So what's the story with Skye?"

The question hits me like a physical blow. Everyone falls silent, and I feel Logan's warning glance before I even realize I've tensed up. My muscles coil tight, ready for a confrontation I know I can't have. Not without revealing everything.

"What do you mean?" I ask, keeping my voice deliberately neutral while my hand tightens around my beer bottle, knuckles whitening with restraint.

"I mean she's hot as fuck. Does she have a boyfriend or anything?" Reed's casual objectification of her makes something primal rise in my chest. A possessive rage I haven't felt in years—maybe ever. I start to get up, but Logan's hand clamps down on my shoulder, squeezing hard—a silent reminder that I can't expose myself. Can't claim her publicly. Can't tell this entitled kid that she belongs to me in ways he couldn't begin to understand.

Ethan clears his throat, his intervention perfectly timed as always. "I don't know her story, but don't you have a girlfriend?"

Reed shrugs, unconcerned. "Yeah. I can still admire though."

"I would stick to admiring the girl you have because she's beautiful," Ethan says pointedly, his normally analytical tone carrying an edge of warning that Reed seems oblivious to.

"Who knew you guys were such prudes," Reed laughs, and I want to punch him in his fucking mouth. I've never been a huge fan of my best friend's son, but right now he's pissing me off beyond measure. The way he looks at Skye like she's something to be consumed rather than treasured makes my blood boil.

The sun begins its descent, painting the sky in deep oranges and pinks that reflect off the water's surface. The girls finally emerge from the water, dragging their floats to shore before joining us around the fire. Conversation flows easily enough, but I'm hyper-aware of every movement Skye makes, every smile, every laugh. The way she tucks her legs underneath her in her chair, how she brushes sand from her calves, the slight shiver when the breeze picks up. I catch Reed looking at her a couple of times, and it takes everything in me not to pummel him.

When Skye stands and heads to the ice chest, I watch her from the corner of my eye. She frowns slightly as she closes it, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a gesture I've come to recognize as her thinking face.

"We're all out of water. I'm going to grab some from the fridge," she announces, her voice carrying over the crackle of the fire.

I wait a few minutes—long enough not to be suspicious—before standing. "I'm going to get the grill started so we can eat soon," I say casually, then head toward the house, my heart already pounding at the thought of having her alone, if only for a moment.

Once inside, I move straight to the kitchen where I find Skye bent over in the fridge, digging waters out of the bottom drawer. The sight of her in that position, wet swimsuit clinging to every curve, nearly undoes me. I approach silently, my hands finding her hips. She jumps, spinning around, then immediately relaxes when she sees it's me.

"I've been dying to touch you all night," I murmur, closing the refrigerator door and backing her against it. The solid thud as her body meets the cool metal sends a rush of satisfaction through me.

She places one hand on my chest, the other on my stomach. The simple touch is electric, my cock hardening instantly beneath the thin fabric of my swim shorts. I bring my hand to her chin, tilting her face up to meet mine, enjoying the feel of her delicate jawline against my palm.

"I need to taste you," I whisper, hovering just inches from her lips, breathing in the intoxicating mix of salt water, sunscreen, and her own unique scent.