Page 76 of The Summer We Lie

Every movement sends electric aftershocks radiating through my nervous system, making my vision blur at the edges until all I can see clearly is her face beneath me.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails leaving scratches in my skin, her body trembling as she accepts everything I'm giving her. In this moment, buried deep inside her warmth, I feel a profound completeness I've never experienced before. The fog of pleasure slowly clears, and reality crashes into me like ice water. No condom. Shit. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? In thirty-eight years, I've never—not once—forgotten protection. Never lost control like this. Never let my guard down so completely that I'd risk something this fundamental. My heart hammers against my ribs as the magnitude of what I've just done settles in. "Skye," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. Still buried inside her, I brace myself on my forearms, studying her face. "Are you on birth control?" Her eyes widen slightly, and I watch the same realization dawn across her features. For a moment, neither of us breathes.

"The pill," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I've been on the pill for years. For... other reasons." The tension in my shoulders eases slightly, but the weight of my loss of control still sits heavy in my chest.

"Good. That's... good. Are you okay?" I ask, still not wanting to move. The weight of what just happened between us settles around us like a blanket—intimate and warm, a physical connection that seems to reach beyond our bodies and into something more fundamental.

She smiles up at me, her eyes soft and slightly unfocused, a dreamy haze transforming her features. "More than okay."

"Good," I whisper and dip down to kiss her again because apparently I can't get enough of this girl. Her lips are so soft, and she kisses me like she's starving, opening immediately to me. Something about the way she responds—so honest, so uninhibited—makes it impossible to get my fill of her. Each taste only intensifies my need for more.

I feel myself starting to harden again inside of her. Christ, it's like I'm a teenager again instead of a grown man approaching forty. My body craves her with an intensity that defies logic and experience. But she can't take anymore tonight—not after what we just did, not after I just took her virginity. Her body needs time to recover before claiming her again. I pull back reluctantly, my body protesting the separation my mind knows is necessary.

"Let me get a washcloth to clean you up," I say and start pulling out of her. She hisses at the movement, her tender flesh obviously sensitive, the small sound cutting through me like a blade.

"I'm sorry," I say, kissing her again, genuinely pained at the thought of hurting her further. The need to care for her overwhelms even my desire—a new and unexpected priority.

Before I can get up, she stops me with a hand on my face. Her touch is gentle but insistent, fingers warm against my stubbled jaw.

"Don't," she says. "Don't go. Just stay for a minute."

"I wasn't leaving," I tell her, brushing her hair back from her forehead, savoring the silky texture between my fingertips. "Just cleaning you up."

"I like it," she says, her voice a soft confession in the dimly lit room, eyes holding mine with unexpected boldness.

"What?" I ask, though something primal in me already knows the answer, anticipation building in my chest.

"The feel of you leaking out of me," she says, and god damn this girl. How can she be so innocent and so fucking filthy at the same time? The combination is lethal, stirring something possessive and primitive in my chest. "Come here," I say, pulling her into me. She tucks her head under my chin and snuggles against me, fitting perfectly against my larger frame. I pull her closer, draping her leg around me, and it just feels so right—like she was designed to fit against me this way, every curve and hollow of her body complementing mine with mathematical precision.

"Thank you," I whisper into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo mixed with the heavier, muskier scent of sex—our scent, combined and intoxicating.

"For what?" she asks, her words slightly slurred with approaching sleep, warm breath tickling my chest.

"For trusting me with your virginity," I say, still stunned that she gave me something so precious, something I didn't deserve but will forever treasure. The weight of that gift sits heavy in my chest—responsibility and privilege intertwined.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she says sleepily, her breath warm against my chest, her body growing heavier as she drifts toward unconsciousness.

"Always," I say and run my fingers through her hair until she begins to snore softly, the gentle rhythm oddly captivating.

I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my body's exhaustion. The textured plaster above becomes a blank canvas for my thoughts. I've had sex countless times in my life—good sex, forgettable sex, arrangement sex—but nothing like this. Nothing that hollowed me out and filled me back up simultaneously. Nothing that felt like coming home to a place I didn't know existed. The foundation of something significant has been laid tonight.

I think I even doze off a few times, lulled by her steady breathing and the warmth of her body against mine, my usual vigilance softened by her presence. But then after a while, reluctance weighing heavy in my chest, I have to slip out because I can't be caught in her room in the morning. I carefully untangle our limbs, pausing when she stirs slightly, holding my breath until she settles.

She makes a small noise of protest when I leave the bed, reaching for me even in her sleep, fingers grasping at empty air. I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than I should, memorizing the scent of her skin.

"Sleep, baby," I whisper, covering her with the blanket, tucking it carefully around her shoulders to replace my body's warmth.

She settles back down, and I stand there watching her for a moment, committing the sight to memory—her hair spread across the pillow like dark water, her lips slightly parted, the utter peace on her face. I don't want to leave, but I know I have to. For both our sakes.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Skye

The quiet morning feels perfect for working on my portfolio project. I lose myself in the lines and shadows, adding details to a concept design for a children's book character—a small dragon with more enthusiasm than fire-breathing skills. The delicate balance of light and shadow creates just the right expression of hopeful determination on the dragon's face, making me smile as I carefully shade the scales along its tiny wings.

"Guess what we're doing today!" Harper says, running into my room and jumping on my bed while I'm sketching. She made me mess up, so I grab the eraser to remove the rogue line across the page, quickly trying to preserve the hours of detail work.

"Uhh, it's Thursday, so getting waxed?" I say, glad she has a salon here she likes because I definitely need a wax after everything Dom and I have been doing. My cheeks warm at the thought of his hands exploring every inch of me.