Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Skye
After a few minutes of torturing him—and myself—I pull my hand from Dom's lap, placing it back on mine.
I'm not a complete monster, and I figure he might appreciate not having to stand up with an obvious hard-on.
I continue savoring each bite of my dessert, relishing in the sweet explosion of flavors that dance across my tongue.
The creamy texture melts perfectly, leaving behind traces of rich chocolate and subtle notes of vanilla that make me want to close my eyes and just exist in this moment of pure indulgence.
Dom's hand brushes my thigh, and I give a slight jump, electricity shooting up my spine at the unexpected contact.
"You good?" Harper asks, too engrossed in her own dessert to notice my reaction, her spoon diving back into the decadent creation before her.
"Yeah, the ice cream hit my tooth. It was freezing." I play it off with a casual shrug, hoping the flush creeping up my neck isn't as visible as it feels burning beneath my skin.
"As well it should be," she smirks, her eyes never leaving her plate.
"Smartass," I mutter back, rolling my eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks and the rapid flutter of my pulse that seems determined to betray me.
Dom finds my hand again, and this time, he intertwines our fingers, letting them rest on his thigh.
It's a simple gesture, but it sends a thrill through me that makes my breath catch.
His thumb gently strokes the back of my hand, creating small circular patterns that hypnotize me.
I focus on the sensation, the warmth seeping into my skin, anchoring me to this surreal moment while my mind spins with disbelief that this is actually happening.
When we eventually rise to leave, Dom releases my hand, and I feel the absence acutely, like stepping into a cold breeze after basking in the sun. My fingers tingle with phantom pressure, already missing his touch.
"So, where am I taking you two?" Dom asks as we wait for the valet, the sounds of the city a distant hum around us – car horns, laughter, and music all blending into the soundtrack of Los Angeles nightlife.
"The West Hollywood Edition," Harper answers, excited energy practically radiating from her body. "I booked our room already. We can relax and let our food settle before hitting the clubs." She bounces slightly on her heels, already thinking ahead to the night's adventures.
"Good," I say, stifling a yawn that comes from nowhere. "I just want a nap right now." The combination of rich food, emotional excitement, and the lingering tension between Dom and me has left me surprisingly drained.
"You sound like this guy," Harper teases, nodding in Dom's direction with that familiar mischievous glint in her eye.
"Hey, I don't take naps," he defends, an amused glint in his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.
"Uh-huh," Harper retorts with playful skepticism, years of father-daughter banter evident in her tone.
"I don't. Not unless I'm sick. I always wake up feeling worse, so I avoid them," Dom explains, holding his ground, his deep voice firm yet somehow still warm.
"That is true. They always make you feel worse," she agrees, nodding in acknowledgment of this long-established fact about her father.
"Well, right now, I just want to crawl into a bed," I admit, the comfortable pull of post-dessert drowsiness setting in, my limbs feeling heavier with each passing moment.
"She can't handle her food," Harper grins at me, a teasing lilt in her voice that makes me want to stick my tongue out at her like we're twelve again.
"I can see that," Dom remarks as his truck rolls up, his eyes lingering on me with an expression I can't quite decipher – something between amusement and something darker, more intense.
During the ride, silence blankets us, a serene bubble that wraps around the three of us.
The gentle hum of the engine and the occasional swish of tires against pavement lulls me into a comfortable daze.
I almost fall asleep, my head occasionally drooping before I catch myself, until he parks outside the hotel, the bright lights of the entrance breaking through my drowsy state.
"We're here," he announces softly, his voice rumbling through the quiet interior of the truck.
"Thanks, Dad," Harper says, retrieving her small bag from the floor, already reaching for the door handle.
"Hey, wait," he calls, and she pauses, one eyebrow raised in question, hand freezing mid-motion.
"Be careful tonight, alright? If you need anything, call me. I don't care what time it is—that goes for both of you," Dom says, his eyes shifting from Harper to me, sincerity etched in his features, the protective father evident in every line of his face.
"Thanks," I reply, genuinely touched by his concern, warmth blooming in my chest at being included in his protective circle. "Don't worry, I'll keep her out of trouble," I add with confidence, trying to lighten the moment.
His raised eyebrow is skeptical, clearly knowing his daughter too well. "That scares me," he chuckles, the sound rich and warm in the confined space.
Harper and I share a laugh as Dom's eyes linger on us, a silent promise of his support hanging in the air between us, creating an unexpected connection that feels both comforting and thrilling.
"Bye, Dad," Harper waves, her voice warm with affection as she finally pushes the door open.
"Love you," he replies before the door closes, the words floating back to us as we step onto the sidewalk.
Harper hooks her arm through mine, tugging me into the hotel, a building of sleek glass and modern design that screams luxury from every polished surface.
A pang of longing twists through me as I glance back at Dom's truck, wishing to return to that safe cocoon of leather and muted city lights, with his steady presence beside me, his large hands confident on the steering wheel, his scent surrounding me.
Inside the lobby, Harper skips ahead, her excitement infectious, hair bouncing with each step across the gleaming marble floor. "Come on, let's check in, drop our stuff, then you can nap before we have to go." Her voice carries back to me, bright and eager.
I follow her lead, the hum of chatter and soft jazz of the hotel one step removed, my mind lingering on the night shared with Dom.
Something about him, the way he handles himself with such control yet shows softness with Harper, tugs at a part of me I don't fully understand.
It's a tether I didn't expect and don't know how to loosen – or if I even want to.
"You good?" Harper asks, glancing over her shoulder, her intuition sharp as ever, those green eyes missing nothing.
"Yeah, just thinking," I answer, trying to keep my voice light despite the heaviness of my thoughts.
"About?" She probes, never one to let me off easy, already narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
"About that amazing dessert," I deflect, letting the moment dissolve with a lightness I don't quite feel, pushing away the complicated emotions Dom stirs in me.
Harper throws me a knowing look but lets it slide.
She has her own excitement buzzing through her, practically vibrating with anticipation for our night out.
Once in our room, a chic space with sweeping city views out the massive windows, the lights of Los Angeles spread before us like scattered jewels, I collapse onto the bed, letting the stress, the excitement, the anticipation all flow over me like waves.
"You really are going to nap, aren't you?" Harper observes, hands on her hips, shaking her head at my complete lack of party preparation enthusiasm.
I nod into the pillow, grateful for the solitude, the quiet to sort through my swirling thoughts of strong hands, dark eyes, and forbidden attraction. "Wake me when you're dolled up and ready," I mumble, already half-drifting, my body sinking into the plush mattress.
Her laughter follows me into a dreamless sleep, where the scent of expensive cologne lingers in my memory, and the murmur of the city fades into silence, replaced by the phantom touch of fingers intertwined with mine.
I pull out my phone to snap a sweaty, blissed-out club pic, but a text from an unknown number catches my eye. Opening it, my heart rate spikes higher than it did during the last three songs, threatening to burst right through my chest.
Unknown: Are you being good?
My fingers hover over the screen, heat rising to my cheeks that has nothing to do with dancing. Those words send electricity coursing through my entire body. I quickly type back, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
Me: Always
The response comes almost immediately, as though he was waiting, phone in hand, for my reply.
Unknown: Good
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt, emboldened by the three tequila shots from earlier and the comforting knowledge of the distance between us. The throbbing bass of the club music pulses through my body as I type.
Me: You miss me already?
I quickly save his number under "Cindy" in case Harper gets nosy about the flush spreading across my face or the way I can't seem to tear my eyes from the screen. My heart pounds frantically against my ribs while waiting for his response, which comes faster than I expected, making my stomach flip.
Cindy: What if I do?
A flush spreads through my body, warming me from the inside out like liquid fire. I try to play it cool, though my fingers tremble slightly as I type, delete and retype three times before settling on my response.
Me: It's okay I'm very addicting.
His reply makes my breath catch in my throat, the world around me momentarily fading into background noise.
Cindy: IK I'm already addicted to you.
Holy fuck. Did he actually just say that or am I drunker than I thought?
My eyes re-read the words once, twice, three times, making sure I'm not hallucinating what I desperately want to see.
Dominic Grayson - successful, powerful, commanding - addicted to me?
Plain, ordinary, virgin? The thought alone makes my thighs clench involuntarily.
"Here you go, ladies," the waitress interrupts my spiraling thoughts, setting our drinks down with grace.
She's wearing nothing but strategically placed body paint in swirling patterns of gold and black that somehow looks more sophisticated than actual clothes.
Her confidence is palpable, radiating from her bare skin.
"Thanks," I manage to say, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from my phone and the life-altering text displayed on it.
"No problem, sweetie. Let me know if you guys need anything else." She saunters away, confidence in every step of her painted body, completely comfortable in her nakedness in a way I can't imagine ever being.
"Shots first," Harper declares, pushing a small glass toward me with a gleam in her light green eyes. She raises hers with a mischievous grin. "To summer time."
We clink glasses, the sound lost in the throbbing music. "To summer time," I repeat, throwing back the tequila. It burns a fiery path down my throat, settling like a warm coal in my stomach alongside the butterflies Dom's text has stirred up.
"So," Harper says, leaning closer conspiratorially, her vanilla perfume mixing with the scent of tequila and lime, "I want to go back to Obsidian. I think I want to perform. Do you want to come with me next time?"
"Yeah, definitely," I agree, curiosity piqued despite the nervous flutter in my chest. "But I don't want to perform. What exactly will you be doing?"
"I think I'll start off simple," she explains, excitement lighting her eyes, transforming her already beautiful face into something radiant.
"They have these things like window boxes or whatever.
You're in them and people can watch you dance or strip or fuck yourself—whatever the hell you want.
But you're alone in there and nobody can touch you. "
"Oh wow, that sounds really cool," I say, genuinely intrigued despite my perpetual shyness and the voice in my head reminding me of my inexperience.
"Oh," she continues, leaning even closer, her eyes wide with excitement, "and the best part—you can decide if you want to see the people watching or not. There's a button you can push to make it like a one-way mirror and they can only see you."
"I would do that," I admit, picturing myself hidden but exposed. "I don't want to watch people watching me." The thought alone makes my chest tight with anxiety.
Harper laughs, shaking her head, her red curls bouncing. "Oh no, I love watching them watch me. It's such a turn-on for me. Seeing their reactions, knowing I'm the one making them feel that way."
"You're crazy," I say affectionately, giving her arm a gentle squeeze, "I'm too shy for that." I honestly envy her confidence, her complete comfort in her own skin, the way she owns her sexuality without apology.
"Harper!" a male voice calls out, cutting through our conversation.
I look up to see an impossibly attractive guy approaching our table with an equally stunning woman beside him. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and his smile radiates the kind of confidence that comes from growing up with money and being told you're special your whole life.
"Oh my god, Reed!" Harper jumps up and hugs him, genuine pleasure lighting up her face. "It's been so long!"
"God, what, like two years?" he says, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they pull apart, familiarity evident in their easy interaction.
"Yeah, since you went off to college," she replies, looking genuinely happy to see him.
I chug my water while they catch up, itching to respond to Dom but not wanting to draw attention. My fingers practically twitch with the need to type something back, to continue whatever this dangerous game is we're playing. The text burns in my mind like a brand: "I'm already addicted to you."
My body feels electric, alive in a way it never has before.
The club's bass pounds through me, vibrating in my bones, but it's nothing compared to the thundering of my pulse.
I sneak another glance at my phone under the table, wondering how long I have to wait before I can respond without Harper noticing, without having to explain the flush on my cheeks that has nothing to do with dancing or alcohol and everything to do with the man who shouldn't want me but somehow does—the man whose daughter is my best friend, the man I sold my virginity to, the man I can't stop thinking about no matter how hard I try.
Me: Good!
I hit send and tuck my phone back in my purse.