Page 92 of The Summer We Lie

My water arrives in a crystal glass, bubbles dancing like tiny stars against the black bar top. As I take a sip, I can't help thinking about Dom's reaction if he knew I was here—in this place where his best friend is watching his daughter perform. Where wealthy strangers pay thousands for exclusive experiences. Where I once offered my virginity to the highest bidder, never imagining it would be the beginning of something so complicated.

I decide to explore the rest of Obsidian while Harper finishes her show, needing distance from both the viewing lounge and my spiraling thoughts. The night stretches ahead, full of possibilities and pitfalls in equal measure, as I venture deeper into this temple of controlled desire with my borrowed confidence and racing heart.

Chapter Forty

Skye

The club unfolds before me like a living labyrinth, each corridor revealing new dimensions of pleasure and power. I wander through spaces designed for exhibition—areas where beautiful people display their desires under artful lighting. Some patrons converse in low voices while others simply observe, their eyes hungry for connection or entertainment.

I pass a room where a woman suspended in elaborate rope work hovers above a transfixed audience. The artistry is undeniable—her body transformed into a living sculpture—but it doesn't stir anything within me beyond aesthetic appreciation.

Another space features two women and a man engaged in a carefully choreographed dance of intimacy. Their movements are beautiful but performative, lacking the raw emotional connection that makes my heart race when I'm with Dom.

I turn down a quieter corridor, drawn by the hushed energy emanating from a partially open door. The room beyond is bathed in warm amber light, the space arranged like a theater with tiered seating facing a central platform. Unlike the other exhibitions, this one features only two people—a man in a tailored suit seated in a throne-like chair and a beautiful woman standing on the other side of the room.

Something about their dynamic freezes me in place. The woman wears only a delicate collar and black lace underwear, but it's not her near-nakedness that captivates me—it's the absolute surrender in her posture, the way she looks up at him with complete trust and devotion.

The man says something too quiet for me to hear, and the woman immediately lowers herself to hands and knees. When she crawls toward him, her movements are both submissive and sensual, proud even in her surrender.

My mouth goes dry. Heat blooms across my skin as I watch her approach him, place her cheek against his knee, close her eyes in perfect contentment when he strokes her hair. The intimacy between them is electric, more intense than any of the explicit acts I've glimpsed elsewhere.

I suddenly see myself in her place—approaching Dom on hands and knees, offering him not just my body but my surrender, my trust. The image hits me with unexpected force, a lightning strike of desire so powerful my knees weaken.

This isn't just about pleasing Dom. This is about me—what I want, what I need. The realization washes over me like a warm wave. I've been thinking of dominance and submission as his kink, something I could learn to accommodate. But watching this couple, feeling my own response to their dynamic, I understand with sudden clarity—this is my kink too.

When the woman rises at his command and straddles him, their connection so complete they might be a single entity, I force myself to turn away. My skin feels too tight, my breath shallow and quick. I need air. I need time to process this revelation about myself.

I stumble down the corridor, my thoughts racing faster than my feet can carry me. The image of the woman—so powerful in her surrender, so complete in her trust—burns in my mind. And worse—better?—I can't stop superimposing myself in her place, imagining Dom's strong hands guiding me, his voice commanding me.

The club suddenly feels too warm, too close. People brush past me, but I barely register their presence. My body is here, but my mind is lost in possibilities I never allowed myself to consider before.

The show has concluded by the time I make my way back to the viewing lounge where Harper performed. I wait outside, trying to compose myself, when people slowly start coming out and among them, looking satisfied and slightly dazed, is Logan.

Our eyes meet. Recognition flashes across his face, followed by something more calculating. He approaches with the confident stride of a man who's never questioned his right to occupy space.

"Skye?" His voice is smooth, friendly. Nothing in his demeanor suggests he's just watched his best friend's daughter perform.

"Logan." I manage a neutral tone.

"What are you doing here? Is Dom here? Does he know you're here?" His questions fly at me.

"No, he's not here and no, he doesn't know I'm here." I cross my arms. "I can't exactly tell him either because I came here with Harper." I narrow my eyes. "Which, by the way, I saw you in there. Does she know you're here? Is there something going on?"

"No, she doesn't know, and I would like to keep it that way." He runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to watch her but when I saw her, I couldn't not watch." His lips curve into a knowing smile. "I'm sure you of all people understand what that's like."

Heat floods my face. It's obvious he's talking about me and Dom and this whole fucked up situation.

"Fuck, Logan." I clench my fists at my sides. "I won't say anything, but you shouldn't watch her, at least not without her knowing. And damn you for putting me in this situation."

"I'm sorry." He flashes that fucking boyish smile that could—and probably has—gotten him out of everything.

Before I can respond, Harper emerges from a side door, now back in her dress, her makeup refreshed. She stops short at the sight of Logan, color draining from her face. She walks over to us, panic evident in her eyes.

"Oh my god, Logan. You can't tell my dad you saw me here," she blurts out, panic edging her voice.

Logan's expression softens. "Your secret's safe with me, Red. Promise."

"Really?" Hope fills her voice.