Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
I sleep my computer and stand up from my desk.
I've procrastinated long enough. I'm not even supposed to come to the office during the summer unless I have a meeting, but I'm avoiding Skye because after the first night with her in my house, it became very apparent that I cannot be trusted around her.
All she did was bend over to grab the dish detergent, and one look at her ass in those tiny shorts had me acting like a horny teenager.
I shouldn't have touched her, but when she said "Mr. Grayson," I covered her mouth and pinned her to the counter.
God help me, I think she liked it—and that was bad enough.
But then I called her a "good girl." It slipped out because I had slipped into that role.
The dominant. The one in control. The one who takes what he wants.
Before I had the chance to regret it, though, a look I know too well took over her features.
It's the look women get when they like to be dominated and praised, and fuck me, she was practically begging to be good for me.
Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickened, and her body softened against mine in that unmistakable way that drives me absolutely insane.
It took every ounce of willpower not to take her right there on the kitchen counter.
When she ran off and went back to bed, I emailed Obsidian and told them the arrangement was still on, there was just a time delay.
The next morning I regretted sending it, so that's how I find myself at my office today, like every damn day this week.
I want to spend time with Harper, but I can't be trusted with Skye.
Can't trust myself not to cross lines I shouldn't even be approaching.
Every time I see her, my control—the foundation of everything I've built—crumbles a little more.
I grab my phone off my desk and I'm about to slide it in my pocket when I notice a text from our group chat. The screen illuminates the darkened corner of my office where architectural drawings are spread across my drawing table.
Logan: You coming for drinks tonight Dom?
Ethan: Nah he's got a new toy at home.
That fucker. My fingers hover over the keyboard about to say no, but then I think better of it. I should go. I may be able to avoid her all night if I don't get home until late, so I text back, my decision made in an instant of self-preservation.
Me: Be there in 15.
Logan: Oh shit for real?
Ethan: You don't have to prove yourself to us bro, we all know where you want to be.
Me: Shut up, omw.
I grab my keys and head toward the elevator, trying to convince myself this is the right move.
Stay away from Skye. Let Harper spend time with her friend.
Don't be the creepy old guy lusting after a college student.
Don't be the man who wants to corrupt his daughter's innocent friend.
Don't be the architect of your own destruction.
The elevator doors close, and my reflection stares back at me from the polished metal. I look tired. Wound tight. Exactly how I feel. The tension in my jaw is visible, the strain around my eyes evident. I hardly recognize myself these days.
What the hell is wrong with me? I've never lost control like that before.
Never put my hands on a woman without explicit permission, without discussion of boundaries and expectations.
Yet one "Mr. Grayson" from those pink lips and I was pinning her against the counter like an animal.
Like a man possessed. Like someone I don't recognize.
And that look in her eyes—fuck. That hungry, submissive look that told me she'd do anything I asked.
Be anything I wanted. It's been living in my head for days, keeping me awake at night, haunting me during meetings, distracting me from blueprints and client calls.
It's embedded in my consciousness like a splinter I can't remove.
The elevator reaches the lobby, and I stride through, nodding at security as I head to my truck. The summer evening air hits my face, but it does nothing to cool the heat coursing through my veins at the mere thought of her.
Maybe a few drinks with the guys will clear my head.
Maybe they can talk some sense into me. Or at the very least, keep me away from my house until Skye's safely asleep and I can't do something stupid like wander into the kitchen for a midnight snack and find her there again, wearing almost nothing, looking up at me with those innocent green eyes that somehow see right through all my careful defenses.
I slide into my truck and start the engine, gripping the wheel until my knuckles turn white. This is for the best. Distance is for the best.
For both of us.
I walk into the bar and spot them immediately. Ethan and Logan are tucked away in our usual back corner booth, heads bent together in conversation. I head straight for their table and slide into the seat across from Logan.
"Well, look who actually made it," Ethan says with a smirk.
Logan holds his palm out to Ethan. "I told you he would."
"Were you at the office then?" Ethan asks, reluctantly placing a twenty in Logan's waiting hand.
"Yeah," I say, then catch the eye of a server passing by. The dim lighting of the bar does nothing to dull the headache building behind my temples.
"Wait, I thought you were working from home the rest of the summer." Logan leans forward, elbows on the table. "You know, because of Harper?"
"That was the plan," I say as the server walks up to me. The original plan that didn't account for a green-eyed complication currently living in my guest room.
"What can I get you, sir?"
"Whiskey, neat. And keep them coming, please." My tone makes it clear I'm not here for a casual drink. I need something stronger than willpower tonight.
The server nods and moves away. Ethan narrows his eyes at me, his analytical gaze missing nothing. "Damn, is it that bad?"
I groan and rub a hand over my face, the exhaustion of the past few days weighing heavy. Three nights of barely sleeping, my mind replaying every interaction with Skye, dissecting every glance, every word.
"Okay, what's going on?" Logan asks, his usual playful demeanor giving way to genuine concern.
"Jokes aside?" I look between them, suddenly hesitant to admit my weakness.
"Jokes aside," Ethan says firmly.
"Scout's honor," Logan adds, holding up three fingers.
"You were not in the Boy Scouts."
"I wish I was, though," he says with a grin that doesn't quite hide his concern.
"I can't help you," I mutter as the server returns with my drink. I knock it back in one go, welcoming the burn in my throat. The whiskey is smooth, expensive—perfect for drowning thoughts I shouldn't be having.
"It's Skye," I finally admit, setting the empty glass down with more force than necessary.
"I can't be around her. I'm not in control where she's concerned.
" The words taste foreign on my tongue—I've never had to admit something like this before.
Not to them. Not to anyone. "I'm always in control, but this one fucking girl—a girl who is not even my normal type—is driving me crazy. "
Ethan sits back, studying me with that calculating expression he gets when solving a particularly complex security issue. "Hear me out."
I nod as a new drink is deposited in front of me. "Thanks," I tell the server, then turn my attention back to Ethan, bracing myself for whatever solution he's formulated.
"You won the auction. She wants to lose her virginity. Why don't you just go through with it? Maybe fucking her will get her out of your system."
"That's what I would do," Logan chimes in, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "It's just the forbidden fruit thing. Once you've had it, the mystery's gone."
"There are a few problems with that plan," I say, taking a measured sip of my second whiskey. The simplicity of their solution makes me almost wish it could work.
"What could be a problem with fucking that girl?" Ethan asks. I glare at him, and he holds a hand up in surrender. "Theoretical question. For discussion purposes."
"One, she's Harper's best friend. That's just fucked up." I trace the rim of my glass, the implications too disturbing to fully articulate.
"Yeah, but if it's just once, there's really nothing to tell," Ethan argues, ever the pragmatist.
"I get it," Logan says, surprisingly insightful. "It's like a betrayal to Harper from both you and Skye."
"Exactly," I say, relieved that at least one of them understands. "She would never forgive us if she found out." The thought of losing Harper's trust makes my stomach clench more than the whiskey.
"Number two?" Ethan prompts, clearly unconvinced by my first objection.
"Yeah, number two..." I hesitate, staring into my glass, watching the light fracture through the crystal and amber. "I don't know how to do it."
"I fucking knew it!" Logan slaps the table, drawing glances from nearby patrons. "It's been so long you forgot? Don't worry, I'll walk you through it. I get ass all the time."
Ethan bursts into laughter, and despite myself, I crack a smile. Their familiar banter momentarily lightens the weight I've been carrying.
"No, dumbass. I don't know how to be gentle with a virgin. That's not exactly my style. You guys know what kind of shit I'm into." My preferences flash through my mind—the control, the dominance, the intensity that would terrify someone inexperienced.
The table goes quiet for a moment as they consider this, the gravity of my confession settling between us.
"Yeah, but for one night you can just take it slow," Logan suggests, unusually serious. "Hey, and maybe that will even help you get over her."
"That actually makes sense," I admit, surprised by his insight. One night. Get it out of my system. Move on.
"Or," Ethan interjects, leaning in closer, his voice dropping lower, "why don't you tell her what you like, see if she's down, and show her the dark side? You never know—she might like that shit. You know, she seems like the freaky type."
"Bro," I say, incredulous at the suggestion that innocent, wide-eyed Skye could handle what I need.
"She does," Logan agrees, nodding vigorously. "Have you watched any of her content?"
I'm confused now, the whiskey clouding my thoughts. "What content?"
They exchange a look that makes me uneasy. Something passes between them that I don't understand, and the whiskey suddenly feels heavier in my stomach, like a stone.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demand, setting my glass down harder than intended, liquid sloshing over the rim. "What content?"
"She's a good girl," Ethan says with a smirk. "You know, on 'Good Girl Gone Live.'"
"What the fuck is that?" I lean forward, alcohol making my movements less precise than usual, the room tilting slightly as I shift.
"You know, like OnlyFans but for women only," he says, shrugging like this is common knowledge everyone but me possesses. "She's a performer on there. Has her own channel and everything."
Anger courses through me, hot and immediate.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I process his words, each beat hammering against my skull.
Skye—innocent, green-eyed Skye with her nervous smiles and shy glances—performs on some adult site?
The image doesn't compute, doesn't align with the girl I've been avoiding for days, the one who looked at me with wide, startled eyes whenever our paths crossed in my home.
"Wait," I say, my voice dropping dangerously low, each word carefully controlled despite the alcohol swimming through my system.
"Have you two watched her?" I study their faces with the intensity I normally reserve for structural blueprints, looking for signs of guilt, for any indication they've seen what I haven't.
"I only watched one of them," Logan admits, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly finding the condensation on his glass fascinating. "The one that's public for members to get you to subscribe."
My hands curl into fists beneath the table, knuckles white with restraint. "What the fuck is on that one?" My tone leaves no room for evasion, cold and hard as reinforced concrete.
"Just her teasing, you know, talking about being a virgin, asking if we want to make her come, we can subscribe." Logan at least has the decency to look uncomfortable now, his usual easy charm nowhere to be found. "It's hot but pretty tame. Nothing explicit."
I want to rip his eyes out. The thought of them—of anyone—seeing Skye like that makes something primal rise up in me, a possessiveness I have no right to feel. I down the rest of my drink in one burning gulp, welcoming the scorching path it carves down my throat.
"And you?" I turn to Ethan, my eyes narrowing as I wait for his confession.
"Same," he admits with a half-shrug. "I would have subscribed to her, but we bid on her for you, so I didn't. Professional courtesy and all that."
"Fuck," I mutter, the room starting to spin slightly, reality tilting on its axis. "I need another drink."
"I'll go to the bar," Ethan says and gets up, leaving me and Logan alone with the weight of this revelation between us.
Logan leans forward, his voice low and uncharacteristically serious. "I wouldn't have watched it at all if I'd known, man. If I'd had any idea how you'd feel about her."
"What the fuck kind of virgin is on a site like that and selling her virginity?" I ask, but don't expect an answer. The contradiction doesn't make sense.
"That's why he said that maybe she would be open to some of your tastes," Logan says, connecting dots I don't want connected, drawing a map I don't want to follow.
"I just need to keep avoiding her," I say firmly, just as Ethan returns with a pitcher of beer and heavy glass mugs that thud against the wooden table.
"How's that working out for you so far?" he asks, filling them up with amber liquid, foam rising to the top like clouds before a storm. "I ordered a couple whiskeys too."
"Thanks," I say and take a long drink of the beer, knowing he's right. It's not working. Not when I'm sitting in a bar discussing her online activities instead of being at home with my daughter. Not when every waking thought seems to circle back to Skye, to the puzzle she presents.
Ethan and I down the whiskey when it's brought to the table and nurse our beers. Logan cuts himself off, saying he's the DD tonight. We spend the rest of the night not talking about Skye, but she's there in every pause, every moment of silence between us, a ghost at the table we can't exorcise.