Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dominic
I turn around to meet my daughter's friend and—fuck me.
It's Cherry from the Obsidian auction. The girl I haven't been able to get out of my head since dinner, her feistiness or her round ass.
Fuck, don't think about her ass. Shit. My stomach drops like I'm in free fall, that peculiar sensation of gravity failing while reality shifts beneath my feet.
She smiles up at me brightly and I try to cover my reaction by fixing my face and sticking out my hand.
"It's nice to meet you, Skye," I say because there is no way in fuck I can explain this to Harper.
Besides the fact that she's her best friend, then I would have to tell her about the sex club and that my dumbass friends bid on a virgin in my name.
Nope. No. Fuck no. Not happening. So we can just pretend we've never met.
I just hope Cherry—err, fuck—Skye will go along with it until we can talk about this.
My pulse is hammering so hard I'm surprised Harper can't hear it.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson," she says, and her voice, her words calling me Mr. Grayson go straight to my cock. The innocence in her tone completely at odds with the knowing look in those green-gold eyes.
Down boy, I tell my dick. God, I'm so fucked. Beyond fucked. This is an architectural disaster with no structural integrity.
"Just call me Dom," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. The formality between us feels like a cruel joke now.
"Okay," she says with a smile still plastered on her face. It doesn't reach her eyes, which are wide with the same panic I'm feeling.
"We're starving," Harper says, completely oblivious to the silent catastrophe unfolding before her. "Do you think we can hit an In-N-Out on the way home? Skye's never tried it."
"Yeah, sure," I say and take the bags from Skye. My fingers brush against hers as I grab the handle, and I feel an electric current shoot up my arm. Dangerous. So fucking dangerous.
"I can get mine," she says, a slight tremor in her voice that probably only I notice.
"I got it," I say, and she hands her bag to me, careful not to let our hands touch again. Smart girl.
"Thanks," she says, and it's like being nice to me is killing her, which is kind of cute. Nope. Not cute. Annoying. Problematic. A fucking disaster wrapped in tiny shorts and a tank top that hugs her body in all the ways I shouldn't be noticing.
"I can take that one too," I say, gesturing to the smaller bag on her shoulder, desperate to appear normal, like a polite host rather than a man who's lusting after a nineteen year old like a creep.
"No, I got it," she says, clutching the bag tighter like it contains evidence.
"You ready for the best burgers?" Harper asks Skye, hooking her arm through her friend's.
"Yes, corrupt me," Skye says, and they walk in front of me arm in arm.
My eyes drift down to her ass, but it's covered by a hoodie tied around her waist. It's for the best. Though my memory fills in the details all too vividly—round, perfect, the kind that would fit perfectly in my hands.
Jesus Christ, Dominic, get a grip. This is your daughter's best friend.
"Where did you park?" Harper asks, pulling me out of the thoughts I definitely should not be having.
"Short-term lot," I answer, forcing myself to look at my daughter instead of her friend. "Not far." Just far enough to get my shit together, hopefully.
We head toward the exit, while I'm trying to process what's happening.
This girl—this virgin I was supposed to fuck—is my daughter's best friend.
The girl she's mentioned in stories for years.
The one who apparently lives with her at college and is now going to be living in my house for the entire summer.
Every step we take feels like walking deeper into quicksand.
I grip the luggage handles tighter, letting the strain in my muscles distract me from the tightness in my pants. This is a problem. A huge fucking problem. The kind of problem that destroys families and friendships. The kind that would make Harper look at me differently forever.
"Dad, I was telling Skye about your new project in the city," Harper says, glancing back at me with that familiar pride in her eyes. "The one with all the sustainable materials."
"Yeah," I mumble, barely registering her words.
All I can focus on is the slight sway of Skye's hips as she walks ahead of me, the way her light brown hair catches the sun streaming through the airport windows.
She looks so different than she did when we met, but somehow I prefer this—her natural, her casual clothes.
We exit the terminal into the California heat, and I watch as Skye closes her eyes for a moment, face turned up to the sun. She takes a deep breath, and her chest rises with it. I snap my eyes away, focusing instead on a family loading luggage into a minivan. Anything but her.
"It's so warm here," she says, her voice softer now. Almost vulnerable. Definitely dangerous.
"Wait until July," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. Strained with the effort of restraint.
We reach my truck, and load their bags into the back. As I lift Skye's duffle, our hands brush, and she pulls back like I've burned her. The brief contact sears into my skin, a reminder of how much trouble I'm in.
"Sorry," she murmurs, not meeting my eyes. A faint blush spreads across her freckled nose.
I load everything while they climb into the truck, Harper chattering away about all the places she wants to show Skye this summer.
My beach house. My pool. My studio. Every word is another reminder that she'll be everywhere I am for the next three months.
Three months of torture. Three months of constant temptation.
I slide into the driver's seat and catch Skye's eyes in the rearview mirror.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.
The recognition of our shared secret and the unspoken agreement to keep it.
Then she looks away, but not before I see the flush spreading across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing out of my view.
"In-N-Out, here we come!" Harper announces, oblivious to the tension filling the truck like smoke.
I put the truck in drive, wondering how the hell I'm going to survive this summer without burning everything to the ground. "Is it cool if we go in and eat?" Harper asks as I pull into the parking lot, already reaching for the door handle.
"Yeah, you guys tired of sitting?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral, dad-appropriate.
"Yes, my ass is sore," she says with the casual frankness I've always appreciated about my daughter.
"Mine too," Skye says, and then adds, "and I need a shower desperately.
" The image of her in my shower hits me like a physical blow.
Water running down her body, soap sliding over her skin, steam rising around her freckled shoulders—Christ. I grip the steering wheel tighter, forcing the thought away.
Harper laughs. "Or we can take a dip in nature when we get home," she says, getting out of my truck, oblivious to the effect her friend's innocent comment had on me.
I turn the truck off and get out, walking over to the door I hold it open for them. Skye passes close enough that I catch her scent—something sweet and floral. The subtle fragrance lingers in my nostrils as I follow them up to the counter and hand Harper my card.
"I'll get us a seat. Will you grab me a strawberry shake?" I ask, needing a moment away from Skye's proximity.
"Yeah, no food?" she asks, brow furrowed.
"Nah, I'm good, but make sure you guys get shakes too. We got to show Skye everything they have to offer," I say and then turn to find us a table, needing a moment to collect myself before I say or do something inappropriate.
I pull out my phone and text our group chat, my fingers moving rapidly across the screen.
Me: We have a huge problem here.
Ethan: What's the problem?
Logan: His dick is hard and he doesn't know what to do with it.
Ethan: You're probably right. Okay just wrap your hand around it and move it up and down.
Logan: It will feel really good and don't worry if you feel pressure and your balls tighten, it means you're doing it right.
Jesus Christ. My friends are twelve-year-olds trapped in grown men's bodies. Twenty years of friendship and they still have the maturity of college freshmen.
Me: Stfu!
Me: I'm serious, Harper just got in and… I think it's better if you guys see for yourselves. Can you guys come over tonight?
Ethan: You serious?
Logan: Is everything okay with Harper?
Me: Yeah she's good, I need to go just come over around seven for dinner okay?
Logan: We'll be there.
Ethan: What he said.
I tuck my phone away as they sit down in front of me. Skye has empty cups in her hands and two shakes. She sits mine in front of me and the other one in front of Harper, the movement causing her to lean forward. I force my eyes to stay on her face.
"Thanks," I say, voice carefully controlled.
"You're welcome," she says, then turns to Harper. "Dr. Pepper?"
"Please," Harper answers. Skye walks over to make their drinks, and I watch her go.
"She seems nice," I say, trying to sound casual, like I'm not completely fucked by this situation. Like I hadn't bought her virginity in an online auction before discovering she was my daughter's best friend.
"Oh, Skye's awesome, just wait until she's not jet-lagged and half asleep," Harp says, pride in her voice. Great. She gets better than this? The knot in my stomach tightens.
"Was the flight good?" I ask, desperate for normal conversation.
"Yeah, not bad. I read a book while Skye here," she emphasizes her name as Skye gets back to the table, "snored the whole way here."
"Hey!" Skye says, color rising to her cheeks. "I don't snore."
Harper laughs. "Uh-huh, you're right," she says and then gives me a look that says she definitely does snore. I laugh, trying to ignore how endearing I find this detail, this glimpse of vulnerability.
"You didn't get a shake?" I ask Skye, noticing just the sodas in her hands.
"She said she's getting fat and didn't want one. I tried to tell her how good they are, but she has a weakness for ice cream," Harper says.
"Um, where?" I ask before I can stop myself, eyes traveling over her slender frame.
Skye pops a fry into her mouth and looks up at me. "Where what?"
"Where's the fat?" I ask. The question is too personal, too familiar, but it's out before I can pull it back. I'm looking at her too intently, noticing too much.
"I tried to tell her," Harp says. "Here, at least try mine."
"It will go straight to my ass," Skye says with a groan that does things to me it absolutely shouldn't.
A laugh sneaks out because that's my second favorite thing about her looks, second to her green eyes that are almost yellow. If she asked me, I would tell her to have all the ice cream she wants.
She takes a drink of Harper's shake. "Mmm, that's so good," she says, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.
"You got chocolate?" I ask, trying to regain control of the conversation and my thoughts.
"Yeah," Harper says, taking her cup back.
"You want to try the strawberry?" I say, holding my cup out to her. It's an innocent offer. Completely innocent. Just being polite. Nothing more.
She looks at me warily for a second and then brings my straw to her lips and sucks. Her lips wrap around the straw, and I can't look away. My throat goes dry at the sight of her mouth where mine had just been.
"She loves strawberry," Harper says around a mouthful, completely missing the moment of tension.
I look back to Skye as she pulls the cup away and hands it back. I watch her swallow, and then she lets out a little whimper that shoots straight to my groin. The sound echoes in my head, awakening images of other circumstances where she might make that sound.
"Good?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended, betraying too much.
"So good," she says and eats another fry, her tongue darting out to catch salt from her lip.
I take another long drink of my shake and hand it back to her. "You take it," I say, surprising myself with the offer.
"No, I can't take your shake," she says, but her eyes linger on it with want, the same want I'm struggling to contain whenever I look at her.
"I want you to have it," I say, the words coming out with more intensity than appropriate for a milkshake. Our eyes lock for a moment, and there's understanding there—where I don’t think we’re talking about the shake.
She hesitates, then reaches for it, our fingers brushing as she takes it. The contact sends electricity up my arm. "Thank you," she says quietly, voice almost a whisper.
"My pleasure," I respond, and immediately regret the choice of words, too loaded, too suggestive.
Harper is talking about something—their flight, the summer plans, places she wants to show Skye—but I'm barely listening.
All I can focus on is Skye's lips wrapped around my straw, drinking from where my mouth just was.
It's an innocent action that my mind has twisted into something else entirely, something forbidden and dangerous.
This is going to be the longest summer of my life.