Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Skye
"Oh my god, you're so hot!" Harper bursts through my bedroom door like a whirlwind of confidence and perfection.
She's wearing a sexy black dress that hugs every curve of her body, the fabric clinging to her in all the right places.
Her hair cascades down her back in perfect Hollywood curls that probably took her an hour to achieve, each strand catching the light like spun copper.
Her makeup is absolutely flawless—classic red lips that match her hair, dramatic winged eyeliner that could cut glass, and cheekbones highlighted to perfection.
She looks like she stepped straight off a magazine cover.
"You're pretty hot yourself," I say, moving toward my closet to hunt for shoes. Harper always looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, but tonight she's gone completely all out. There's an energy radiating from her, an excitement that makes her practically glow.
"Are you ready for tonight?" she asks, leaning against the doorframe with that casual grace she's always possessed. Her eyes are bright with anticipation, and I can tell she's been looking forward to this all day.
"I'm ready, but the better question is are YOU ready?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at her. She's the one performing tonight, after all. This is her first show at Obsidian, and I know she's been practically vibrating with pent-up creative energy, itching to get back to what she loves.
"I'm so ready," she says, her eyes lighting up like Christmas morning. "I've been dying since I've been here, not being able to go live and bake. It's like being an artist without a canvas, you know? I feel incomplete."
"Yeah, I've barely made any content since I've been here either, and mine is way easier to do than yours," I say, though the truth is more complicated than that.
I haven't done anything because I've been completely and utterly occupied with Dom.
Every spare moment, every thought, every breath has been consumed by him.
Just thinking about him now makes my core throb with a dull ache despite how thoroughly he worked me over earlier today in his office.
"Okay, we need to leave soon. Are you about ready?" she asks, glancing at her phone with that efficient energy she gets when she's focused on a goal.
"Yep, I just need shoes. Can I borrow a pair?" I ask, knowing she has a collection of designer footwear that lines one entire wall of her closet. It would put most boutiques to shame—rows upon rows of heels, boots, and flats in every color and style imaginable.
"Hell yeah! I have the perfect pair for that dress," she says and practically bounces out of my room, excitement radiating from every step she takes down the hallway.
I sit on the edge of my bed to wait, immediately wincing as my ass connects with the mattress.
The soreness from earlier today is still there, a constant reminder of Dom's hands, his belt, his control, the way he made me come apart completely.
After I left his office, I went grocery shopping as promised, trying to act normal while my body still hummed with the aftereffects of what we'd done.
Then I came home to shower again, needing to wash away the evidence of our encounter before facing Harper.
I called Mom after that—Justin was over at a friend's house working on some project about dinosaurs, so I didn't get to talk to him, but Mom sounds like she's doing well.
She seems less stressed than usual, though she still won't admit how much she's been struggling.
I miss them both so much it physically hurts, like a constant ache in my chest that never quite goes away.
"Here you are, madam," Harper announces, sweeping back into the room with a flourish. She's carrying a pair of black strappy heels that probably cost more than I want to know.
"Thank you," I say, slipping them on carefully. The straps wind around my ankles like delicate chains, and I fasten the tiny buckles with fingers that are steadier than I expected. When I stand up, I'm suddenly three inches taller, and my legs look impossibly long in the mirror across the room.
I walk over to study my reflection, hardly recognizing myself.
I look more like Cherry Red than Skye with the dramatic makeup—a dark smokey eye that makes my green eyes look mysterious and dangerous, deep red lipstick that matches Harper's.
My light brown hair falls down my back in loose waves that Harper styled with her professional-grade curling iron, and the little red dress I got while shopping with her looks really hot.
I was worried when I bought it, second-guessing every curve it showed, but now I actually like it.
I look confident. Sexy. Like someone who belongs in Dom's world.
"Okay, I think I'm ready," I say as Harper comes to stand beside me in the mirror, our reflections side by side—fire and earth, confidence and uncertainty, best friends despite all our differences.
She wraps me in a hug, her vanilla perfume enveloping me in warmth and familiarity. "I'm so glad you're coming with me tonight," she says, squeezing me tight against her. "I need my wing woman."
"Me too," I say and smile, meaning it even though guilt immediately twists in my stomach.
I am glad to be here with her, but I also feel absolutely terrible about what I'm doing with her dad.
I didn't plan on fucking my best friend's father—I never wanted this complication, never wanted to be the kind of person who could do something like this, and I feel like complete shit about it.
But I also have absolutely no willpower when it comes to him.
Being around Dom is like standing next to a black hole; the gravitational pull is impossible to resist, and I'm already past the event horizon.
"Okay, let me go get my purse," she says, releasing me reluctantly.
"Let me grab mine too," I say. When she disappears down the hallway, I add my phone to my small clutch and walk out to the kitchen to get a couple of water bottles for the drive.
The house feels different at night, more intimate somehow, with most of the lights dimmed and shadows pooling in the corners.
I'm bending down to reach into the fridge when I hear his sharp intake of breath, that low groan that goes straight to my core.
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I grab the water bottles, taking my time standing back up because I know he's watching.
When I turn around, Dom is leaning against the doorway like he owns the world, his dark eyes raking over my body with an intensity that makes my skin flush hot.
He's wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and this time he has a shirt on—a simple black t-shirt that somehow doesn't do much to hide his incredible physique.
If anything, the casual clothes make him look more dangerous, more touchable.
"Hey," I say softly, suddenly feeling completely exposed under his intense gaze despite being fully clothed.
"I don't like this," he says, his jaw tightening in that way that means he's fighting for control.
I smile at him, trying to lighten the mood even though the air between us feels charged with electricity. "What?" I ask innocently, though I know exactly what's bothering him. I can see it in the way his hands clench at his sides, the way his eyes keep traveling over my dress.
"You going off looking like that without me," he says, his voice low and rough with possessive need. "I didn't like it the first time and I sure as hell don't like it now."
"I'll be a good girl," I whisper, the words barely audible over the thundering of my pulse. The way he's looking at me makes my knees weak—like he wants to devour me whole but is holding himself back by the thinnest thread of control.
He shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes burning with possessive intensity. "When you get back, I want you to come to my room."
The command in his voice sends electricity shooting straight through me, pooling low in my belly.
"Yes, sir," I breathe automatically, the submission falling from my lips like it belongs there.
God, I want to kiss him so desperately it physically hurts.
Want to press myself against that hard, perfect body and lose myself in his touch again.
But I can hear Harper's heels clicking across the floor upstairs, getting closer, and the risk of discovery makes my chest tight with panic.
I'm right to worry because seconds later, she appears in the doorway.
"Ready?" she asks, barely glancing around the room before her eyes land on her father. There's a moment of surprise that flickers across her features. "Oh, hey Dad." Then, with typical Harper efficiency, she adds, "Bye Dad," and reaches for my hand to tug me toward the door.
"Where are you even going?" Dom's brain is clearly cataloguing every detail of our appearance—the way my dress hugs my curves, Harper's confident stride, the careful application of our makeup. I can practically see him filing away information, and something possessive flashes in his expression.
"I don't know, a couple of clubs," Harper replies with the kind of casual shrug that only comes from a lifetime of privilege. "Nothing too crazy. But we'll be back tonight." She pauses, shooting him a reassuring smile. "Late, though. Don't wait up."
He groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The gesture makes him look older, more tired, like the weight of being a protective father is suddenly too much. "Fine, just call me if you need me. Be careful and no drinking and driving."
"I'm driving us tonight," I volunteer quickly, desperate to ease some of the tension radiating from his powerful frame. "I won't be drinking."