Page 43 of The Worst Pucking Deal

Sawyer stills. “Just for tonight.”

Yeah, just for tonight.

His big hand rests on my stomach, gently stroking the soft skin, and I gradually relax, counting his breaths. We’re both ignoring his growing hardness nestled against my ass. It’s… I don’t think I’ve ever laid like this with someone else, and a part of me is happy it’s Sawyer.

Sawyer

Iwake up with my arms around Lucia, and for a moment, I allow myself to savor the warmth of her body against mine. Surprisingly, I don’t want to let go just yet. My mind drifts back to last night—the second time she looked like she was having a panic attack. I’ve spent most of the night trying to pinpoint what I did to trigger her, and I think I’ve found my answer.

Lucia stirs beside me, turning onto her back and blinking awake. For a split second, she looks relaxed, but then a shadow falls over her expression. Her eyes dart between me and the door, and she resembles a deer caught in headlights while she contemplates making her escape. It’s very different from the sharp PR woman I know her as.

“Morning,” I mumble, trying to break the silence between us.

“Hey,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

I study her carefully, noticing the furrow in her brow and the way she avoids meeting my gaze. It’s as if she’s a million miles away, lost in her own thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

She hesitates before answering, her words coming out in a rush. “Yeah, just... didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

I know that’s a lie because, unlike her, I’ve barely slept. Too busy making sure she was okay and didn’t bolt in the middle of the night. Knowing she’s lying to me makes me annoyed, and I refuse to let her brush it off so easily.

“Lucia,” I say, my tone firm. “You can’t keep hiding things from me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” I can admit I haven’t given her much reason to trust me, but we’re kind of stuck together for the next year and a month, so whether I want to or not, I have to make sure she’s okay.

Her eyes widen in surprise at my persistence, and for a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability in her expression before she quickly masks it. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she insists, her voice tinged with frustration.

I reach out and gently take her hand in mine. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk, I will.” She looks expectantly at me. “We’ve made a commitment, one we can’t just get out of. So even if either of us has regrets, we need to see this through. Do you understand that?”

Her voice is anything but steady as she whispers, “I know that,” and frankly, it pisses me off. No one else but me has the right to make her feel like this. At least not for the next year and one month. For that time, she’s mine to do with as I please, and I don’t share my toys.

My hand is still splayed on her lower stomach, close to her left hip. Absentmindedly, I run it up and down. Lucia’s eyes widen when my hand lands on rough skin, and I frown—both at her reaction and the feel.

“Don’t,” she says at the same time as I pull the sheet away to inspect her body.

She tries to bat my hand away, but I don’t let her. “What the hell is that?” I ask, zeroing in on the weird tattoo on her hip. Without meaning to, I move my hand to the similar tattoo on my neck when I realize what it is; a wolf head, and below hers are some letters. “S.P.Q.R.” I read them out loud, confused. “What does that mean?”

“Senatus Populusque Romanus.” Lucia’s accent completely changes as she speaks the words, making them sound more foreign than they already are. The words are barely out of her mouth before she slaps her hand across her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she says, her accent now sounding like it usually does.

What the fuck? I’ve never heard anyone change their accent like that. “Huh?” I muse. “So you’re into gladiator shit? Never would have guessed.”

“I am,” she confirms. “It’s a… passion of mine.”

Lucia’s tense as fuck while I trace the indented pattern, giving it more attention. My brows furrow in confusion because it doesn’t feel like a tattoo at all. “Wait a second,” I grunt as realization dawns. “This isn’t a tattoo at all. Is this branded into your skin?”

“Yeah.”

I look up at her, determination shines in my eyes. “There’s a story there.”

“One for another day,” she replies. Then she removes my hand, and I let her, too stunned to stop her.

I’m struggling to make sense of any of this. But one thing is clear, Lucia has a very high pain tolerance. I’ve never been branded, but I’ve seen it done, and judging by the pained screams, it hurts like a motherfucker. And Lucia’s brand is big compared to what I’ve seen. Hmm, maybe she would be receptive to what my beast craves.

After showering and getting dressed, we have breakfast together. Well, Lucia has a granola bar, whereas I eat enough for a family since we have a game tonight. Then we head to Lucia’s place so she can change. I wait by the door, giving her some space. I discreetly look around, trying to find any evidence about who John is, but nothing sticks out. Judging by the design and the knick-knacks, no guy lives here with her and Gail.

When Lucia emerges, her PR mask is firmly in place. “I’m ready,” she says, her words robotic and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Can you not do that?” I ask, annoyed she uses that shit on me.

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