Page 69 of The Summer We Lie

When the kitchen finally falls silent again and the back door slams shut, I slowly remove my hand from her mouth, replacing it with my lips. I kiss her deeply, possessively, as she comes down from her high, my fingers still buried inside her, reluctant to break this intimate connection just yet.

"You did so well," I whisper against her lips, pride evident in my voice. "Taking my fingers while staying quiet. Such a good girl."

I feel her smile against my mouth, her body still intermittently trembling with aftershocks. Slowly, reluctantly, I withdraw my fingers, making her whimper softly at the loss. Without conscious thought, I bring them to my mouth, needing to taste her essence. The flavor hits my tongue—sweet, tangy, utterly addictive—and I groan deeply, already imagining how she'll taste directly from the source, when I can take my time exploring every inch of her.

Chapter Thirty

Skye

I clutch the stack of bottled waters to my chest like a shield, my legs embarrassingly unsteady as I navigate the steps down to the beach. The ocean breeze cools my flushed skin, dancing across my heated cheeks and neck, but nothing—absolutely nothing—can extinguish the fire still smoldering inside me. My body hums with lingering pleasure, electric currents still pulsing through places I'd barely acknowledged before today. The ghost of his touch makes me shiver, my skin hypersensitive, as if every nerve ending has been awakened and refuses to go back to sleep.

God, the way his fingers felt inside me. Like he'd been mapping my body for years instead of minutes, like he'd memorized a blueprint of exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply, when to curl those impossibly skilled fingers upward. Two fingers and I practically shattered, coming apart in his hands while desperately biting back sounds that would have given us away to anyone passing by. And now his promise plays on repeat in my head, a delicious, terrifying echo that makes my thighs clench involuntarily: Leave your door unlocked tonight. I need to be inside you.

My stomach flips and twists at the memory of his voice—deep, commanding, brokering no argument. The authority in those simple words makes my knees weaken all over again. I nearly trip on the last step thinking about what tonight will bring, my hands clutching the water bottles tighter to keep them from tumbling to the sand. I'm equal parts desperate and terrified, wanting him so badly it hurts while simultaneously wondering if I can handle what's coming. Even with just his fingers, there was that initial burn, that stretching sensation that walked the exquisite line between pleasure and pain. And I've felt him against me, felt the impressive size of him through his swim trunks when he pressed against my back. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Will I be able to take all of him? What if I can't? What if I disappoint him?

"Took you long enough," Harper calls out when I finally reach our little gathering by the fire pit, the flames casting dancing shadows across her freckled face.

"Sorry, I have a headache. I was searching for Advil but couldn't find mine," I lie, avoiding her gaze and focusing instead on distributing the waters. She knows me too well—she'll see right through me if I look directly at her. Years of friendship means she can read my expressions like one of her baking recipes.

"Your dad said to give him thirty minutes and head up there because he's grilling," I add quickly, changing the subject, desperate to redirect anyone's attention away from my flushed appearance and slightly swollen lips.

"Okay," Harper nods, turning to the group gathered around the crackling fire. "Guys, Dad said to come up in thirty minutes for food!"

I hand out the waters, moving carefully as I'm hyper-aware of my still-sensitive body. The soft fabric of my bikini bottoms brush against me with each step, a constant reminder of what transpired in that dark pantry. The slightest movement sends aftershocks of pleasure through me, making it difficult to focus on simple tasks like passing bottles without fumbling them.

I feel eyes on me and glance up to catch Logan watching me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, one eyebrow slightly raised. Heat creeps up my neck, spreading across my cheeks like wildfire. He knows. Something about his expression says he knows exactly what Dominic and I were doing. There's amusement in his eyes, maybe even approval, but it's the certainty there that makes me quickly look away, mortified that my secret is so transparent.

I focus on Wren instead, settling into an empty chair near her. "Having fun?" I ask, remembering the sounds I'd heard in the kitchen earlier and wondering exactly what she'd been up to—and with whom. The parallel makes me feel slightly less alone in my scandalous behavior.

"Yeah, it's amazing here," she smiles, her eyes reflecting the firelight. Then her brow furrows slightly, creating a tiny crease between her eyebrows. "Hey, were you just inside?"

My heart skips, then races. "Yeah," I answer, trying to sound casual while my pulse pounds in my ears.

"I didn't see you," she says, tilting her head slightly. "I came in to pee."

"I went for waters, but I also had to pee, so maybe I was in my bathroom," I say, the lie tumbling out awkwardly, my words slightly rushed. I resist the urge to touch my nose ring—my nervous tell that Harper always catches.

"We must have just missed each other," she shrugs, seemingly satisfied with my explanation.

"Hey babe, grab me another beer," Reed calls over to her, interrupting our conversation with his demanding tone.

Wow, what an ass. No 'please, babe'? Not even a smile to soften the command? Just demanding things like she's his personal servant. "Sure," she mutters, and gets up, heading toward the ice chest, her shoulders slumping slightly.

The moment she's out of earshot, Reed leans toward me, his cologne too strong, too invasive in my personal space. "How long are you staying?" he asks, his eyes lingering on my chest for a beat too long.

"All summer," I answer, shifting uncomfortably with his sudden attention, fighting the urge to cross my arms defensively.

"Nice. We need to hang out again then," he says, his tone suggesting something more than friendly gatherings, a predatory glint in his eyes that makes my skin crawl.

Before I can respond, Wren returns with his beer, condensation beading on the bottle like tiny crystals. "Here you go," she says, reclaiming her seat beside him, pressing against his side as if to remind him she exists.

I shift in my chair, deeply unsettled. That was weird. It's like he deliberately sent her away just to talk to me when he could have easily asked his question with her sitting right there. Was he... flirting with me? Right in front of his girlfriend? The disrespect makes my stomach turn, both for Wren and myself.

The realization makes me uncomfortable enough to turn away, my thoughts drifting back to Dominic and tonight's promise, wondering what I've gotten myself into with this entire situation.

Time crawls by with excruciating slowness, each minute stretching into what feels like hours. My body still hums with the memory of Dom's touch while my mind races with anticipation of what's to come tonight. I barely register the conversations happening around me, nodding and smiling on autopilot as various people pull me into their discussions. The crackling fire blends with laughter and voices, but I'm trapped in my own world of sensations and expectations.

"What do you think, Skye?" someone asks, and I blink, realizing I have no idea what they're talking about. The firelight dances across their expectant face, waiting for an answer I don't have.