Page 40 of The Worst Pucking Deal

“If this is about that man, he—”

He interrupts me with a growl. “That man? Is that what we’re going to call him? Who is he?”

I look down at my feet. “He’s nobody.”

Before I can react, he lunges at me, his hand wrapping around my throat. He pushes me backward until my back hits the wall, and I let out a soft gasp. “Wanna try that again?” he asks, his voice dangerously low. “If he was truly nobody, why did he scare you so much?”

“He didn’t scare me,” I reply, lifting my chin defiantly. “Just surprised me. That’s all.”

“Do. Not. Fucking. Lie. To. Me,” he shouts. “Who is he, Lucia?”

“Let go of me.”

“Who is he?”

Deciding to change tactics before the situation gets out of hand, I lick my lips, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’re keeping me from complying with your rules.”

“I’m… what?”

I wrap my fingers around his wrist and pull, surprising both of us with my sudden boldness. “You told me to always be naked,” I purr as I unbutton my blazer and toss it to the floor. “But I can’t do that when you’re manhandling me, can I?”

Surprise is visible in his features, and I take full advantage of it. I feel his eyes on me as I undress, and a part of me revels in the attention. Once I’m completely naked, I let my hand rest on my hip, covering the burn mark only my family and husband have seen.

“Remove your hand,” he says, his tone demanding.

“No,” I hiss. “Your demand was for me to get naked. You said nothing about where I could place my hands. And since I’m not using them to cover up, I think I’ll continue to stand like this.”

I see the surprise in his eyes, and I know I’ve caught him off guard. It’s empowering, and I refuse to back down now.

“This just got a helluva lot more interesting,” he says, his voice filled with a hint of intrigue.

I raise an eyebrow, challenging him to say more. But he remains silent for so long I think I’ve won this round.

“Fine,” he finally says, shrugging. “But you threw your body into the deal. And I can’t fuck you when you stand like that.”

I almost laugh at his bluntness. “You want to fuck me?”

“Why not?” he replies with indifference. “It’s not like you’re going to bore me to sleep by telling me who John is. So might as well fuck you before I go to bed.”

I’m taken aback by his cruel words, and if I’m completely honest, I’m hurt. Dammit, I shouldn’t be hurt. This is Sawyer, a means to my end. He’s not someone who I should allow to have this power over me. Since I refuse to let him see the effect his words have on me, and I definitely won’t allow myself to really feel said effect, I play it off with a shrug.

“Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “Where do you want to fuck me? On the floor? In your bed? Against the wall?”

His smirk tells me that I just acted how he wanted me to, and I fucking hate that he played me. Without a word, Sawyer crooks his finger in a ‘come here’ motion, and I follow him into the spare bedroom where I blew him after waking up there.

“Lie down on your back and spread your legs,” he says. His tone is monotone, like we’re discussing the weather or something inconsequential and boring. A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine as I do what he says. Sawyer follows me, lying on his side next to me while using his hand to hold his head up.

“So, Lucia Carter,” he rasps, placing his hand on my upper thigh. “You’re not originally from Minneapolis or Minnesota, are you?”

“No,” I answer, cursing inwardly when my voice wavers. “I’m from—”

“Before you answer, I want you to understand something. Something that’s non-negotiable.”

I let out a shaky breath. “What’s that?”

He lets go of my thigh and pulls at the elastic band, holding his hair up, letting it out of his signature man-bun before answering. “I don’t want you to lie to me. If there’s something you don’t want to answer, be honest and say that. I know your social media accounts claim you’re from Kansas, but we both know that’s a lie.”

The way he looks at me is alarming, and I don’t like where this is going. Every instinct in my body screams at me to put some distance between us, but I refuse to bow down. “You’re right,” I say, earnestly.

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