Page 36 of The Worst Pucking Deal

Okay, so she’s got me there. It does need to be different. “Fine,” I relent. “So we dated privately. Why are we taking it public now?” She looks down at her fingers, and I only now notice they’re trembling. A part of me wants to ask if she’s okay, but I don’t. I don’t do that shit, and it’s not why we’re here. So I ignore it while waiting for her reply.

“Because,” she says, blowing her bangs away from her eyes. “We’re moving in together.”

I choke on my water. “Come again?” I cough.

She shrugs. “There’s no other logical explanation. It’s not like we were caught in public, so we don’t have that excuse.”

“Weren’t we?” I ask, arching my eyebrow. “We could say we were caught at O’Jackie’s.”

She shakes her head. “That doesn’t count. Technically we outed ourselves.” She lets out a deep breath. “Back to what I was saying. If we were about to move in together, it would make sense we tell the world before they spot the moving vans outside your apartment.”

This… she’s had this planned all fucking day. That’s why she’s been acting off. Fuck me, it’s probably why she hung up last night and then ignored my calls. She wanted to be in my head, and she succeeded because I’ve thought about her more than I care to admit.

Well then, Lucia. I hope you’re up for the fucking game you’ve started.

“Strip.” My voice is sharp like a whip, making her jump. “Now.”

“W-what?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t say fucking stutter, did I? I said strip.”

Getting up from the couch, with trembling fingers, she unzips her skirt and pulls it down her shapely legs. Her glare is frosty, but she doesn’t look away as she unbuttons her blouse and unclasps her bra. Her gaze doesn’t even waver as she kicks her shoes off before rolling her pantyhose down, stepping out of them. “Enjoying the show?” she asks with a flat tone as she hooks her thumbs into her thong and gets rid of that as well.

“Not particularly,” I answer honestly. She’s way too uncomfortable for it to be sexy. It’s an act of defiance, one she’s carrying out to show me she isn’t backing down. “But it seems fair I have something worth looking at while we discuss this. So be a good girl for me and sit back down with your legs spread so I can see your cunt.”

Her lips curl in distaste, but she still does as I say. Hmm, it’s not as satisfying as I thought it would be. “Happy now?” she hisses.

“Never been happier,” I lie, running my hand through my beard. I devour her body with my eyes. Her tits are an extraordinary fucking masterpiece. My gaze travels lower, reaching her… “What’s that?” I growl, moving so I’m crouched in front of her before I realize I’ve moved.

As I reach out, Lucia’s breath hitches, but I don’t stop. I trail a finger over the scars on her inner thighs. I count eight on each leg. “A reminder,” she mumbles.

“A reminder of what?” I ask. While the sight and feel of her marred skin should horrify me, all I feel is angry that someone else has marked her before I had the chance.

Is it possible Lucia craves the same thing I do? No, her reaction isn’t that of someone who suffered through it willingly. The scars don’t seem recent, but the way they’ve healed gives the impression they’re violent. How the hell didn’t I notice those last night?

“None of your damn business,” she hisses. She’s back to looking distant, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

That she can look so aloof and bored while I’m this close to her exposed cunt and touching scars that penetrate deeper than her skin just cements the fact I can’t trust her. “Fine,” I agree, matching her tone. “You can move in here. But I have one rule.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t wear clothes in my apartment.”

“Never?”

I sneer. “Not unless I’ve given you permission.” She presses her lips together and folds her arms over her chest. “Do we have a deal or not?” I ask.

Tilting her head to the side, she looks at me through green eyes that flash with so much anger it’s amusing. “Fine,” she says. “But I want something in return.”

I expected this much. “What?”

“Do you promise?” she asks, hopefully.

Laughing, I let go of her thighs and stand back up, towering over her. “Not until I hear your terms.”

“Never ask me about my scars again. Not any of them.” Her tone makes it clear she isn’t kidding around.

Though I’m even more intrigued now that I know she finds it more uncomfortable to talk about her scars than be naked, I say, “Deal.”

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