Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Skye
I take a deep breath and meet Dom's eyes in the mirror. "I got an email from Obsidian," I say softly, my fingers nervously playing with the hem of my shirt.
His expression remains neutral, unreadable, those dark eyes giving away nothing. "And?"
"You paid the money," I say, not quite a question but needing confirmation. My heart hammers against my ribs as I wait for his response, afraid of what it might mean.
"Yeah, I contacted them letting them know the deal was complete and to go ahead with payment," he says simply, like we're discussing the weather instead of over a million dollars that just materialized in my life.
I feel so stupid. So incredibly, painfully stupid for being upset, for thinking this was more than what it was. Of course it was just about completing the contract. Of course he would tie up loose ends efficiently, like the successful businessman he is. My chest tightens with disappointment.
"Is that not okay?" Dom asks, brow furrowing as he watches my reflection, those intense eyes studying my face with sudden concern.
I force a smile that feels like glass cutting my face, jagged and painful. "No, that's fine. It's good," I say, even though that's not at all how I feel. My throat tightens around the words, threatening to choke me. "Harper's going to be down soon. You can't be in here."
He comes up behind me, his hands gentle but firm as he turns me to face him. His scent surrounds me, that expensive cologne that's become so familiar so quickly, wrapping around me like an invisible embrace.
"Skye, what did I do wrong?" he asks, genuine confusion flickering in those dark eyes that usually see everything.
"You didn't," I say, shaking my head, blinking back the embarrassing sting of tears. "Like I said, I'm just being stupid. Forget about it."
"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I look down at the floor, at my feet, not wanting to meet his eyes when I say this. "I just didn't think that what we did was, you know... for the auction. I just thought..." I trail off, unable to finish the pathetic sentence hanging between us.
Dom lifts my chin with his finger, forcing me to look up at him. The intensity in his gaze steals my breath, pins me in place.
"You thought it was more," he says, and I nod, feeling utterly pathetic, like a naive child.
"It was more," he says firmly, each word weighted with conviction.
"So much more. But you need that money. You were doing this for a reason, and you deserve the money.
I want you to have it." His voice drops lower, intimate, the words meant only for me.
"I didn't take your virginity because I wanted a virgin.
It's actually the opposite—I didn't want a virgin. But I wanted you."
The words hit me like a physical force, knocking the air from my lungs. He wanted me? Not the transaction, not the virgin fantasy, but me?
"Wait," I say, trying to process this information that's rewriting everything I thought I knew. "Why did you bid on me then? If you didn't want a virgin?"
"I didn't," he says, and I feel my stomach drop through the floor. "Ethan and Logan bid on you on my profile. It was their way of hooking me up."
"Oh." Everything suddenly makes more sense, pieces clicking into place. "So you didn't even want any of this? That makes more sense why you were a dick when we first met." The words tumble out before I can filter them.
Dom runs a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration from someone usually so composed.
"I didn't, and that's why I came off abrasive the first time we met.
I was pissed at them, and I wasn't looking to hook up, so it kinda sucked flying to Pennsylvania and having to turn you down.
" His eyes darken, something primal flashing in them.
"And then it pissed me off more that you were so young and I was attracted to you. "
"You were?" I ask, feeling warmth spread through me, replacing the ice of disappointment. "Attracted to me? From the beginning?"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice is rough with emotion, almost angry in its intensity. "I couldn't get you out of my head afterward. Every damn day."
A small smile plays on my lips, impossible to suppress despite my best efforts. Something warm unfurls in my chest.
"Skye, consider the money a gift," he says, his expression serious again, the businessman returning.
"I can't take that kind of money from you," I say, shaking my head, overwhelmed by the implications. "It's too much."
"It's yours, and I won't take it back, baby," he says, dipping down to kiss me, his lips warm and insistent against mine.
I melt into him, my body responding instantly to his touch, every nerve ending lighting up, before I come to my senses and pull back. "You have to go, or Harper is going to catch you in here," I say, reluctantly breaking the connection.
He groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Fine. But let me be clear—the next tears I see running down these cheeks will be because I've pushed you past every limit you thought you had, made you come until you're begging me to stop, and then made you come again anyway."
He leans down to kiss me again and I get lost in him before I push him away and laugh, the tension finally broken. "You're going to get us caught," I say and walk around him to open the door, my heart lighter than it had been. "You go. Now."
After Dom leaves, I sit on the edge of the bathtub, my thoughts swirling.
I feel better knowing he wanted me—actually wanted me—and not just some fantasy virgin prize.
But the money... over a million dollars sitting in an account with my name on it.
I know that's why all this started, why I agreed to auction my virginity in the first place, but that's not what happened in the end.
When I was with Dom, money was the furthest thing from my mind.
I just wanted him—his hands, his mouth, his body against mine.
I didn't sleep with him for money. I slept with him because I wanted him so badly I could barely breathe around him.
At least I lost my virginity to someone I genuinely wanted, not to some faceless bidder who saw me as nothing but a conquest. That alone is worth something. Maybe everything.
Shaking my head, I quickly change into comfortable clothes, throwing my hair up in a messy bun. I try to think of a good movie for tonight, something we'll all enjoy that isn't too awkward to watch with Dom and Harper.
When I walk back into the main living area, Harper and Dom are in the kitchen gathering supplies. The pizzas sit on the bar, steam still rising from the boxes, making my stomach growl.
"What can I do?" I ask, walking into the kitchen.
"Grab the pizzas," Harper says, collecting napkins. "We're going to the theater room."
"Oh, okay." I didn't even know this place had a theater room.
Dom looks over at me. "What do you want to drink? I ordered Coke and Dr Pepper with the pizzas."
"Coke is fine," I say, and he nods, grabbing another glass and adding ice to it.
"Let's go," Harper says, leading the way.
I grab the pizza boxes and follow her, feeling Dom's presence close behind me, that awareness of him I can't seem to shake. The theater room is incredible—a massive screen on one wall with a plush sectional couch facing it.
We set everything down on the coffee table, and Dom starts pouring drinks while I open the pizza boxes. Harper passes out plates, the three of us moving around each other with surprising ease, like we've done this a hundred times before.
"So what are we watching?" Dom asks, settling back on one end of the couch with his plate while Harper and I sit on the floor between the couch and table.
"Can we watch The Faculty?" I ask hopefully.
"That's a good one," Dom says with approval in his voice.
Harper shrugs. "I don't think I've seen that one before. I trust you."
"The Faculty it is, then," Dom says, picking up the remote.
We all start eating our pizza as the movie begins. After finishing two slices, I climb up onto the couch with Dom on my right and make myself comfortable, trying not to be too aware of his closeness.
"Can we pause it?" Harper asks a few minutes later.
Dom hits pause. "What are you doing?" I ask her.
"I need to pee," she says, already standing. "I drank too much."
I laugh. "Okay, hurry up. It's about to get good."
Once Harper disappears down the hall, Dom turns to me. "I think I like your taste in movies."
"What's your favorite movie?" I ask, genuinely curious about this small detail of him.
"Oh God, that's hard," he says, thinking about it. "I like Candyman, Fight Club, Natural Born Killers... It's hard to pick. What about you?"
"I loved Candyman," I say, excited we share a favorite. "Mmm, probably Clueless, The Craft, Fear, and Scream."
"All good choices," he says with a smile that makes my stomach flip just as Harper walks back in.
"Okay, who wants blankets and pillows?" she asks, carrying an armful.
"I'll take them," I say, reaching out.
She tosses pillows in the middle of the couch then throws me a blanket before hopping onto the couch herself.
She lays down, resting her head on a pillow in the center.
I do the same, laying my head next to hers and pulling the blanket over me.
Dom sits at my other side, his presence warm and solid beside me.
"Okay, we ready?" Dom asks, finger hovering over the remote.
"Yep," Harper and I say in unison, and the movie starts playing again.
I settle in, cozy under the blanket. It feels strangely like family, this moment—Harper on one side and Dom on the other. For someone who spends most of her time worrying about money and responsibilities, this moment of normalcy feels almost unreal.
And that money sitting in my account? I still don't know what to do about it. But for now, I let myself forget about everything except the movie on the screen and the two people sharing this space with me.
We're over halfway through the movie when I hear Harper's breathing deepen beside me. I lift my head slightly and peek over at her—she's fast asleep, face relaxed and peaceful against the pillow.
"She's sleeping already?" Dom asks, his voice low.
"Yep," I say, smiling at my best friend's ability to fall asleep anywhere. "I mean, she did have a big day of shopping."
He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "Yeah, I guess she did." He turns his attention back to the movie.
I watch him for a minute, the way the screen's flickering light plays across his strong features. God, I love his laugh. That deep, genuine sound that seems to come from somewhere real inside him.
When I finally force my attention back to the movie instead of the man beside me, I feel my blanket shift. I glance over—Dom's slipped his hand under my blanket, though his eyes remain fixed on the screen. I turn back, trying to focus on the film just as his fingers brush my ankle.
With gentle pressure, he pulls both my legs onto his lap, making sure to keep the blanket covering me. For a second, I hold my breath, not knowing what he's going to do. But he just starts rubbing my feet with strong, sure hands, his thumbs pressing into my arches in slow, deliberate circles.
I release the breath I've been holding and try to concentrate on the movie, but it's practically impossible with his hands on me.
He works his way up to my calves, kneading the muscles there with just the right amount of pressure.
He never goes too high—just my feet and lower legs—but even that innocent touch sends waves of warmth through my entire body.
Harper sleeps on, oblivious, while Dom's thumbs trace patterns on my skin beneath the blanket. The movie plays on, but I couldn't tell you what happens in the last half hour. All I know is the feel of his hands, warm and strong against my skin.
When the credits finally roll, we stay put for a few minutes, neither of us moving.
Dom's hand rests on my ankle, his thumb making small circles against my skin.
Finally, he eases my legs off his lap and stands, then reaches down to pull me up beside him.
He leans over to adjust Harper's blanket, tucking it more securely around her.
Taking my hand, he leads me out of the theater room. His palm is warm against mine, our fingers intertwined as we walk down the hall.
"Do you need anything from your room?" he asks when we reach the main hallway.
"I don't think so," I say, confused about what exactly we're doing. Is he taking me to his room? Just to talk or...?
"Go up to my room. I'll be there in a minute," he says, his voice quiet but firm.
"Okay," I reply, turning toward the stairs while he walks across the living room—toward my room, I'm guessing.
I climb the stairs to the third floor, my heart pounding harder with each step. At the top, there's a big open area set up like a living room—leather couches, a massive TV, built-in bookshelves filled with architecture books and novels. At the far end stands a set of beautiful double doors.
I take a deep breath and push them open.
Dom's bedroom is nothing like I expected yet exactly what I should have imagined.
The space is massive but not showy—all clean lines and muted colors.
A California king bed dominates one wall, covered in what looks like ridiculously expensive dark gray bedding.
Floor-to-ceiling windows line the opposite wall, offering what must be an incredible view during daylight.
An entire section of the room serves as a home office, with a sleek desk and multiple monitors. There's a sitting area with two leather armchairs and a small table between them. Everything feels intentional, nothing out of place.
Two more doors lead off the main room—one likely a bathroom, the other probably a closet.
What strikes me most is how the space feels both luxurious and understated at the same time. No flashy art or status symbols—just quality materials, perfect proportions, and a sense of calm that must help him think. It's so... Dom. Controlled. Expensive but not showy. Nothing unnecessary.
I run my fingers over the edge of his dresser—solid wood, not veneer. Even in this private space, no shortcuts.
Finally, I perch on the edge of his enormous bed, the mattress barely giving under my weight.
I sit there, my heart racing, waiting for him to come upstairs. Waiting to see what happens next.