Chapter 71 Vignette 65
Isla hadn’t planned to spend her summer at Chloe’s house.
She was supposed to be with her aunt in Hiddenland, but plans fell through at the last second, and Chloe… always the spontaneous problem-solver… had insisted she stay with them. "It’ll be like a sleepover that never ends," she’d said, grinning, tossing Isla a house key like it was nothing.
It felt strange, at first. The Hale residence was massive and too quiet. Polished floors, tall windows, a scent of expensive cologne always lingering faintly in the air like someone had just walked out of a room a second before she stepped in.
Or was still watching.
Isla had noticed it the first evening.
Chloe had been in her room, blasting music while changing for dinner. Isla had wandered downstairs in a strappy sundress she hadn’t thought twice about wearing.
It clung a little to her sides from the humidity and dipped slightly lower than she remembered. She’d just wanted to grab water from the kitchen.
And that was when she saw him.
Dominic Hale. Chloe’s father.
He’d come in from the back patio, loosened tie in hand, shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. And for just a second, he stopped.
Not the kind of pause people made when they were startled or confused.
This was... slower. Still. Too long.
His gaze dropped from her face, tracing the cut of her dress, the sliver of skin exposed by the curve of her back, then back up again…like he hadn’t meant to look, but didn’t regret it either.
Isla felt something twist in her stomach. It wasn’t fear. Not quite.
He didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, quiet and unreadable, and kept walking past her, brushing close enough that the air shifted between them.
That night, she told herself it meant nothing. That she’d imagined it.
But maybe she liked imagining it a little too much.
The Hale kitchen was always too spotless, too cold. Stainless steel everything. Granite counters without a single coffee ring or crumb. The kind of kitchen no one actually cooked… except Isla did. She didn’t like feeling like a guest, so she’d started waking early to make eggs, toast, anything that gave her hands a reason to move.
It was a quiet kind of morning. Chloe had stayed out late. And now she's probably still asleep upstairs.
The house felt empty, but Isla wasn’t alone.
She heard him before she saw him… the soft shift of dress shoes on the hardwood, the muted creak of the pantry door.
Dominic Hale.
“Up early,” he said, voice low and gravelly with sleep. He wasn’t wearing a tie this time. Just a black shirt, fitted and unbuttoned at the throat. The sleeves were rolled again. Always rolled, like he didn’t care much for pretenses when no one else was watching.
Isla didn’t look up from the frying pan. “Didn’t want to waste the day.”
She could feel him behind her before she saw him move. His presence was like heat… silent, but heavy. She shifted slightly, adjusting the strap of her tank top, suddenly aware of how bare her arms were, how high her shorts sat on her thighs.
“Smells good,” he said.
She felt him stop just behind her, closer than necessary. She didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Her voice came out steadier than she expected.
“Want some?”
There was a pause. Long. Drawn out.
“Yes.”
But he didn’t mean that food. He meant another. She could feel it in the way he said it.
The spatula trembled slightly in her hand. She bit her lip, eyes fixed on the sizzling pan. When she finally turned to plate the eggs, she found him already leaning against the opposite counter, watching her.
That same look.
Not predatory. Not quite gentle either. Something heavier. Quietly hungry.
His gaze dropped again, to her bare legs, then lifted to her eyes…like he knew she’d noticed. Like he wanted her to.
Isla set the plate down in front of him. “Bon appétit,” she said, too brightly.
He smirked, slow and knowing. “Merci.”
He didn’t touch the food.
And neither of them said a word as her fingers brushed his when she handed him a fork. The contact was brief, but enough.
Enough to leave her skin tingling when she stepped back. Enough to leave silence buzzing like tension in the walls.
Shadows stretched longer across the marble floors, and the air turned quieter than it had any right to be. The Hale house always looked different at night.
Isla couldn’t sleep.
She wandered downstairs in Chloe's hoodie and sleep shorts, pretending she needed water… but she knew it wasn’t thirst that kept her up.
It was hunger… but not for food.
The hallway lights were off. Only the faint amber glow from the kitchen light strip lit her way.
The living room was empty. So was the kitchen.
She exhaled, disappointed in a way she couldn’t name. Then a voice…
“Couldn’t sleep?”
His voice came from the back patio…cool and smooth like dark wine. She jumped slightly, heart thudding as she turned.
Dominic Hale was standing outside, just beyond the sliding glass doors, barefoot in grey lounge pants and a black T-shirt. Simple. Understated.
But the man wore presence like a second skin.
Isla stepped out slowly. The night air was cooler than she expected. She clutched the hoodie tighter around her, acutely aware of how exposed her legs were, how thin the fabric was.
“I thought everyone was asleep,” she said.
He sipped from a lowball glass, something amber in it. Whiskey maybe. “You’re not.”
She stayed by the doorway, watching him lean against the balcony railing like he belonged to the night. The wind ruffled his hair just slightly. She tried not to stare.
“I was tossing and turning,” she admitted, voice lower now. “Didn’t want to wake Chloe.”
Dominic’s eyes were on her now, unreadable. “Dreams?”
“Thoughts.”
“About?”
Her breath caught. The air between them suddenly thickened, electric. She looked away. “Nothing serious.”
He stepped closer. Not all the way… just enough for the scent of him to drift toward her. Subtle cologne, the kind that stayed on your skin like memory.
“Isla,” he said softly.
She looked up.
There it was again… that look. The one that stripped her to her barest nerves without touching a thing.
“I notice you’ve stopped calling me Mr. Hale,” he said, almost amused.
“You stopped treating me like your daughter’s friend,” she shot back, voice quiet but even.
That made him pause.
And smile.
A slow, dark, amused thing.
She hated how much she liked it.
Dominic took a final sip from his glass, then set it down. “You’re bolder at night.”
“And you’re less careful.”
Another long silence.
The wind shifted. The distance between them seemed to dissolve inch by inch without either of them moving.
He reached up…slowly…and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Fingertips light. Barely a touch. But it made her shiver.
Isla’s breath hitched.
“You should go back to bed,” he murmured.
“So should you.”
His eyes dropped. Just for a moment. To the curve of her lips. When he looked back up, his gaze held something heavier.
“You have no idea what you do to me all day.”
Her heart hammered. But she didn’t look away.
“Then maybe,” she whispered, “you should stop watching me like that.”
He stepped forward… finally, fully… and this time, she didn’t back away. His hand rose again, fingers skimming the hem of her hoodie, lifting it just slightly and holding it up without dropping it.
The moment tilted.
Tension swelled.
A sudden dizziness overwhelmed her as he leaned in. Close enough for his lips to brush her cheeks… down to the corner of her mouth.
As if checking for signs to go further, he shifted his gaze to her eyes. They were half closed, breath unsteady.
Then he kissed her.
Just once on her lip.
Before shifting his hands inside her hoodie, her skin was warm.
He caressed her waistline for a bit, slowly adjusting his hands up until they were on her bare breasts… Full. Round. Perfectly sculpted.
And soft.
Her heart beat so loudly… just the way her pussy was beginning to beat.
He deepened the kiss.
Wet and passionately.
Hands squeezing her boobs.
Her breath fell in his mouth as she moaned.
One hand slipped out of the hoodie… down to her sleep shorts. Inside it.
He let his fingers linger on her hairy pussy for a bit before moving down to her clit, then her pussy lips.
She moaned again, instinctively parting her legs.
“Should we be doing this?” She whispered, gasping as he parted her pussy lips, his fingers on her wetness made small wet sounds.
“As long as Chloe doesn't find out.”
Then he kissed her neck twice.
Then a light graze of his teeth.
And what seemed like a suck.
A sweet one.
One that made instant heat flush through her spine despite the cold of the night.
He pushed just his fingertip inside her pussy and she gasped.
Then a loud moan escaped her lips.
He went further. Deeper.
And just as all his middle finger was inside her, he added another finger and went deep.
Really deep.
Then started thrusting in and out very fast, his warm breath tickling the skin on her neck.
But then…
“Dad?”
Chloe’s voice…sleepy, confused…cut through the night like a dagger.
Isla froze. Dominic took one sharp step back, and just like that, the spell shattered.
She turned just in time to see Chloe’s silhouette at the top of the stairs through the living room window, her outline dim in the hallway light.
“I thought I heard voices,” Chloe mumbled.
Isla’s voice cracked as she called back, “Just getting water!”
Dominic didn’t say a word. Just watched her. Like he still hadn’t decided if he regretted any of it.