19. Skye
Skye
“ Y ou’re glowing,” Maya says, popping a French fry in her mouth with a pointed look. “Like post-orgasm, slept like a baby, falling head over heels kind of glowing.”
I nearly choke on my iced tea. “Okay, first of all…” I cough. “You don’t know my life.”
She snorts. “Skye, I’ve known you for a decade. You’re practically vibrating. Something happened.”
I glance around the crowded café like Reece might somehow materialize between the napkin dispensers and the lemonade stand.
“We had sex again,” I admit, voice low.
Maya leans in, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Ohhh shit. Was it good?”
“Good?” I huff a laugh. “It was… feral. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that. He showed up unannounced and just—” I exhale, shaking my head. “Pinned me to the wall. Took me on the kitchen counter. Then again in bed. He literally broke my bed, Maya.”
Her jaw drops. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m serious. One of the legs snapped. We were tilted sideways and still going at it.”
“Jesus. Is he trying to destroy your furniture or your self-control?”
“Both. And succeeding.”
She steals another one of my fries and chews thoughtfully. “Okay, but real talk… are you catching feelings?”
“No,” I lie immediately. Too immediately.
She gives me a look. “Skye.”
I stir my drink, avoiding her eyes. “I mean, I know what this is. It’s hot. It’s secret. It’s temporary.”
“But?”
I sigh. “But… I don’t know. He’s not just some guy. He listens when I talk. He remembers shit. And the way he touches me… it doesn’t feel temporary. It feels like something else.”
Maya goes quiet for a beat. “Does Archer know?”
That makes my stomach flip. “No.”
“Is Reece planning to tell him?”
I shrug, but it feels heavy. “We haven’t… talked about that.”
Maya arches a brow. “So you’re sneaking around with your ex’s dad. Falling for him. And neither of you has had the ‘what are we doing’ conversation?”
“Don’t say it like that. It sounds bad when you say it like that.”
“Skye. It is bad. Not because it’s wrong—fuck that. You’re two consenting adults. But you deserve to know where this is going. You’re not built for casual.”
“Sure I am,” I argue weakly. “I’m fun. I’m chill. I?—”
“You’re spiraling already,” she cuts in, tossing her napkin on her plate. “So let me ask you one thing and answer honestly. If this ended tomorrow, if he said it was just a fling and walked away… would you be okay?”
My throat tightens. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
She softens. “You gotta ask him, babe. Don’t let your feelings get crushed just because he’s scared to name his.”
I nod. But something dark curls in my gut. Because I think we both went into this planning for it to be secret and hot. And now it’s not just sex anymore. At least… not for me.
By the time I’m back at the office, my stomach’s knotted tighter than a pretzel. Maya’s words linger in my head like static. You deserve to know where this is going… You ’ re not built for casual… What happens if he walks away?
I don’t want to admit how right she is. How deep I’ve fallen.
How much I’m hoping for something that neither of us ever said aloud.
It’s easier to pretend this is just about sex when we’re in the dark, when he’s inside me whispering things like you ruin me against my mouth like it’s a confession.
But here, under the realistic light of day, it all feels so… fragile.
I drop my purse at my desk and glance toward his office. Door closed. Blinds tilted. But I can see his shadow moving across the floor like he’s pacing. Good. Maybe he’s worked up too.
I knock lightly and let myself in. He’s standing by the window, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up. God, he looks good a little unraveled.
He turns when he hears me, but something in his expression is off. Tight. Guarded.
“I brought you back a lemon cookie,” I say, holding out the little white paper bag. “Thought it might sweeten your soul a little.”
He takes it, lips twitching in something that’s not quite a smile. “Thanks.”
That’s it. No flirt, no smirk, no come here and let me bend you over this desk heat.
Just… thanks.
I force a laugh. “Jesus, don’t sound so excited.”
His jaw clenches. “I’ve just got a lot on my plate.”
“Right.” I shift on my heels, suddenly nervous. “Um… I was thinking. Maybe we could go out sometime?”
His brow furrows. “Out?”
“Yeah. Like… dinner. A real one. Not takeout while we pretend we don’t hear the interns in the hallway.”
He stares at me. And just like that, my stomach drops. “Might be nice,” I add quickly, trying to make it sound casual. “A change of scenery. No pressure or anything.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks down at the cookie in his hand like it’s going to burn him.
“Skye…”
I brace myself. But before he can finish, his phone rings. He glances at it. His jaw tightens further. “It’s Archer. I need to take this.”
“Oh.” I step back, throat dry. “Yeah, of course.”
He gives me a nod that’s way too professional for a man who had me begging for more on my knees less than twenty-four hours ago. I walk out, cheeks burning, heart pounding. And I don’t go back in the rest of the day.
Not because he told me to. But because I can’t stand to be near him when he’s acting like this—like I’m a mistake he’s trying to undo.
I bury myself in data entry and vendor invoices, ignoring the ache behind my ribs. Ignoring the way my body still feels stretched and sore from the way he took me. Ignoring the voice in my head that keeps whispering, You knew this would happen. You knew this was never going to be real.
By the time I get home, I’ve convinced myself it’s fine. I light a candle. Open a bottle of wine. I text Maya a picture of me making grilled cheese with a smiley face even though I’ve barely taken a bite.
But the second I sit down, my composure cracks. The wine hits my bloodstream and the silence gets loud.
You deserve to know where this is going…
I pick up my phone and scroll through old texts. There’s one from him a few days ago that still makes my chest ache.
Reece: I just want to take care of you a little. You deserve that.
I believed him. I still believe him. But right now, he’s shutting me out. And I don’t know what to do except what I always do… use humor as a shield, sarcasm as a lifeline.
Me: So… when do I get to ruin your bed?
I hover over send. Then I hit it before I can change my mind. No reply. I stare at the screen like that’ll change something. Like I can will a text into existence if I try hard enough. Nothing.
I finish the glass of wine, then pour another. And somewhere around the third sip, I stop spiraling. I snap out of it. Because if he’s not going to talk to me, if he’s going to act like I’m a secret to be hidden, then I’ll remind him what he’s trying to bury.
I’ll remind him of exactly what he’s been pretending he doesn’t want all damn day.
I go to my closet and pull out the soft black trench coat. Then I reach for the new lingerie set I bought on a whim last week, lace and mesh, barely there, cut high on the hips. It hugs me in all the right places and makes me feel like a sex goddess.
I top it off with something I know every man has a weakness for—thigh-high boots. I add a touch of lipstick and perfume, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see a woman begging for answers. I see a woman about to blow up a man’s carefully controlled life.
I text him once more.
Me: Thought I ’ d swing by and say thanks. Don ’ t bother opening the door unless you ’ re ready for me.
I grab my coat and head for the elevator. Because I might not have answers. But I know how to make him talk. One way or another.
The elevator ride to Reece’s penthouse is too quiet.
Each floor dings like a countdown. Each second is one breath closer to something I can’t take back.
But I’m done waiting for him to make the first move.
I’m done wondering what we are. Tonight, I’ll remind him what he’s been trying so hard to ignore.
I knock once. Then I wait, heart galloping. The door opens.
He’s standing there in dark slacks and a black t-shirt that clings to his chest. Barefoot. His hair is slightly mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes land on mine, and for a moment, all the tension in his face evaporates.
I take this second to reach for the belt, pulling it undone so that the coat slowly falls open, revealing what’s underneath.
His eyes darken. “Skye…”
I don’t let him finish. I reach for him, fisting his shirt in both hands, and crush my mouth to his. He stumbles back a step but catches me fast, one hand gripping my ass, the other curling behind my neck as I kiss him like I’ve lost my mind. Because maybe I have.
“Let me thank you properly,” I whisper, parting the coat just enough to press my bare chest against him.
His groan is low and guttural. “You’re not playing fair.”
“I’m not playing at all.”
I drop to my knees. His hands fist at his sides like he’s at war with himself.
But I win the second I look up at him, eyes wide, mouth parted in a smirk.
He grabs me, hauls me back to my feet, and slams the door shut behind me.
Then he’s on me, mouth hungry, hands roaming like he’s seconds from snapping.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasps.
“Then tell me to leave.”
I tug his belt loose and unzip his fly. He doesn’t stop me. Because he doesn’t want to. He pulls the coat from my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. His hands grip my hips, thumbs dragging over the edges of the lace.
“Fuck, Skye. Look at you.”
I straddle him as he collapses onto the couch. Our mouths crash together again, frantic and unforgiving. My thighs tighten around his hips as I grind against the hard press of him.
“You missed me,” I whisper against his lips.
His answer is a growl. “I never fucking stop.”
I’m halfway to unbuttoning his shirt when the door clicks, then opens.
“Dad?” The voice punches through the haze like an air horn in a cathedral.
Everything stops. My blood turns to ice. Reece’s head jerks toward the sound, his hands yanking the coat up over my front as if he can undo what’s already been seen.
Archer stands in the entryway, mouth open, eyes wide, taking in everything. My half-naked body straddling his father. The trench coat doing little to cover me. Reece’s hands still wrapped around me in possession.
“What the actual fuck,” Archer says, voice low and deadly.
“Shit.” Reece pushes me off his lap, standing so fast I stumble back. “Archer, wait?—”
“Are you fucking serious?” Archer shouts. “You’re fucking her ? You’re— God, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Cover yourself,” Reece says to me, voice sharp and tight.
The way he says it, like I’m the problem, like I did something shameful, slices straight through me.
“I—I didn’t know anyone was coming,” I stammer, yanking the coat shut, hands shaking as I try to fasten the belt.
“I told you to wait ,” Reece growls at Archer, but his tone is all wrong. It’s guilt, not anger.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Archer snaps. “Was I interrupting your little live porn shoot? Jesus Christ. How long has this been going on?”
“Archer,” Reece warns. “Stop.”
“No. Fuck that. You—” Archer turns to me. “What the hell, Skye? You’re screwing my father now? Is this some sick revenge plan?”
My throat tightens. “It wasn’t like that?—”
Reece cuts in. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation.”
“But you do,” Archer explodes. “You were supposed to be the one person I could count on not to pull this kind of shit.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did !”
The silence that follows is unbearable. My coat is barely tied. My cheeks are burning. I can’t look at either of them.
Reece turns to me. His voice is low. Cold. “I think it’s best if you go.”
My chest caves in. “What?”
His eyes meet mine, and they’re full of regret. Not love. Not longing. Not the fire from the kitchen counter or the tenderness from my broken bed. Just guilt.
“You should go,” he repeats.
I nod, numb. My heels click against the marble as I walk to the door, coat clenched tight with shaking hands.