Chapter 29
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.
"Then do it," she breathes back, her eyes darkening with the same hunger that's consuming me.
I close the distance between us, capturing her mouth with mine.
The first contact is like lightning—sharp, hot, consuming.
Her lips are impossibly soft, slightly cool from the ocean water, and they part for me with a small sigh that I swallow hungrily.
I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue against hers, tasting the salt of the sea and something sweeter, something uniquely Skye.
My hand moves from her chin to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her damp hair as I angle her head to give me better access.
She responds with unexpected passion, pressing herself closer, her fingers curling into my chest. The kiss transforms from exploration to possession, and I growl low in my throat, pinning her more firmly against the refrigerator door with my body, letting her feel exactly what she does to me.
We freeze at the sound of the back door opening. I grab Skye's wrist and pull her with me across the kitchen, moving with silent urgency. The pantry door swings open and I guide her inside, closing it behind us with a soft click that sounds impossibly loud to my straining ears.
Complete darkness envelops us. The small space feels even smaller as I press my back against the door, keeping Skye in front of me.
Our breathing seems thunderous in the confined space, and I place a steadying hand on her shoulder, feeling her pulse racing beneath my fingertips.
The warmth of her body radiates through the damp swimwear, making the tight quarters even more intimate, more dangerous.
I listen intently, tracking the sounds from the kitchen—footsteps crossing the tile floor, the clink of glass against the counter.
Someone's rummaging through drawers, muttering something unintelligible.
My muscles remain tense, ready to react if needed, though what explanation I could possibly give for being locked in a pantry with a college girl, I have no idea.
The absurdity of the situation hits me—a successful architect in his thirties hiding like a teenager—but the thought evaporates when Skye shifts slightly against me.
When the kitchen falls silent for several long moments, I lean forward until my lips brush against the shell of Skye's ear, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her damp hair.
"I don't want just one time with you," I whisper, the admission slipping out before I can stop it, surprising even myself with its raw honesty.
She responds by pressing back against me, the curve of her ass fitting perfectly against my hardness.
The friction nearly undoes me, even through the layers of our swimwear.
My hands slide around her waist, one climbing upward to cup her breast through the damp fabric while the other drifts lower, fingers slipping beneath the elastic of her bikini bottoms, exploring the soft skin there.
Skye tilts her head back against my shoulder as my hand moves lower, finding the slick heat between her thighs.
When I part her lips, I'm met with incredible wetness that has nothing to do with the ocean.
A groan catches in my throat as I explore her silky warmth, but when my fingers reach her clit, I freeze, feeling something unexpected.
"Skye," I breathe against her neck, barely audible, disbelief coursing through me.
"Hmm?" The questioning sound vibrates through her body and against my chest.
"Is that a piercing?" I ask, my voice husky with discovery as I continue to massage her clit, feeling the unfamiliar metal beneath my fingertips. The small barbell moves slightly with my touch, adding a new dimension to the sensation.
"Yes," she whispers back, her voice carrying a nervous edge that makes my cock throb painfully against the confines of my shorts. There's something about her uncertainty, the vulnerability in her admission, that drives me wild.