Chapter Nine
The memory of last night’s dinner with Sawyer weighs heavily on my mind as I sit at home, curled up on the couch, lost in my thoughts. After leaving the arena together, Sawyer had suggested we go out for dinner again, and I had reluctantly agreed, knowing it was time. It’s been three days since our meeting in Tom’s office, so we had to do something other than post couple-selfies from the arena on our socials. Now, as I replay the excruciating conversation in my head, I can’t help but cringe.
The restaurant Sawyer had chosen was elegant and dimly lit, with soft music playing in the background. As we settled into our seats, there was a palpable tension between us, neither of us quite sure how to break the ice.
“So... Lucia,” Sawyer had started, his voice bored as he fiddled with the menu. “How’s your day been?”
I had forced a smile, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “It’s been... fine. How about yours?”
Sawyer had shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “Yeah, it’s been okay. Just the usual stuff, you know?”
My heart sank at his lackluster response, the weight of our fabricated relationship suddenly feeling heavier than I’d prepared myself for. “Right, yeah. The usual stuff,” I had echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. I kept looking around, feeling like we were being watched. But no one seemed to pay us much attention.
As the waiter approached, we both tensed, the awkwardness between us growing with each passing moment. We ordered our meals in strained tones, neither of us daring to meet the other’s eyes.
Throughout the dinner, the conversation was stilted and forced, filled with empty pleasantries and awkward pauses. We smiled like polite, deranged strangers, pretending to be a couple, when in reality, we were nothing more than two people trapped in an uncomfortable charade.
I could feel Sawyer’s displeasure with me brewing beneath the surface, his frustration palpable even in the silence between us. But neither of us addressed it, both of us determined to act our part, no matter how strained it may feel.
As I sit alone in my living room, the memory of that dinner weighs heavily on my mind. If one evening was that excruciating, how will I manage to keep up this ruse for thirteen months? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside, reminding myself that the freedom I crave is worth this facade. I can endure thirteen months for a lifetime of happiness.
I glance down at my phone; more specifically, the list of points Jo emailed me yesterday, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach as I read through the instructions. First, she wants us to document our first date—where it was, what we did, and all the other details that make it sound like a fairy tale romance. I suppress a sigh, knowing that recounting that disastrous dinner with Sawyer will be anything but romantic.
Then there’s the request to find three things I like about him. Three things. As if that’s some easy feat. I run my fingers through my hair, frustration building within me. Apart from his looks—which I begrudgingly admit are attractive—I can’t think of a single thing I genuinely like about him. He’s arrogant, self-absorbed, and completely oblivious to anyone else’s feelings. How am I supposed to find anything redeeming in that?
I close my eyes, trying to calm the rising tide of irritation. This whole situation feels like a cruel joke—a never-ending cycle of pretending and then pretending some more. But I can’t afford to let my emotions get the better of me. Not when so much is at stake.
With a resigned sigh, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. If I want to maintain my freedom from my family, I have to play this game. And if that means finding three things I like about Sawyer Perry, then so be it. It’s not like I have a choice in the matter.
But as I realize what I have to do, I can’t help but wonder if this whole charade is worth it. If sacrificing my integrity and pretending to like someone I can’t stand is the price I have to pay for my freedom, then what does that say about me?
I shake my head, banishing the doubts and uncertainties from my mind. There’s no point dwelling on what-ifs and maybes. All I can do is focus on the present and do whatever it takes to survive in this twisted game of make-believe. And if that means throwing myself completely into this, then I’ll make it happen—no matter how impossible it may seem. And that all starts with an uncomfortable phone call.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for the inevitable as I hit Sawyer in my saved contacts. After a few rings, he answers, his voice crisp and businesslike.
“What’s up?” Sawyer’s voice carries a hint of annoyance, as if he’s already tired of my call.
“Hey, Sawyer,” I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral. “I was thinking that maybe we should spend some time together. You know, get to know each other better. For the interview and all that.” I add the last part as a reminder of what we’re expected to do.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I can practically feel Sawyer’s reluctance through the phone. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. Can’t this wait?”
I grit my teeth, frustration bubbling up inside me. “No, it can’t fucking wait,” I hiss, my composure slipping momentarily. “We both know that last night was a fiasco. If we continue like that, it’s not going to help either of us.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” he drawls, and I swear I can hear the smirk in his voice.
Inhaling sharply, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Because you don’t care if you’re not playing for the Sabertooths next year?” His answering growl is all the confirmation I need to know I’m getting to him. “That’s what I thought.”
“Are you threatening me? Because that would be very fucking stupid of you. I’m not the only one with something to lose, Lucia. I might not know what you’re getting out of this yet, but trust me when I say I’ll find out.”
I’m not scared of Sawyer finding out my secret. My family is hiding in plain sight. We’re everywhere, and most politicians are either part of my family or owned by them. So, no, I don’t think Sawyer is going to stumble over the truth. Besides, it’s nothing to him. He needs a girlfriend and I need a husband. We’re both using each other and if that isn’t just fucking perfect, I don’t know what is.
“Do your worst,” I say, forcing my tone to sound like I’m bored. “But in the meantime, we have a deal, Sawyer. You get my body and I get your time. If that isn’t enough of an incentive, then think about what I did for you with Tom.”
“What do you mean?”
I laugh. “With almost no effort, I made you look good in front of your GM. How hard do you think it would be for me to undo that?”
Sawyer lets out a low growl, his tone dripping with anger. “Fine, Lucia. I’ll make some time for us to hang out. But don’t expect me to drop everything for you.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Of course not, Sawyer. In fact, I barely have any expectations. So, you know, you can only surprise me.” Without giving him the chance to retort, I hang up.
That man infuriates me way more than he has the right to. I didn’t think this would be easy, but fuck. I didn’t think it would be this hard. Shouldn’t Sawyer want to save his career? It’s almost like he’s given up and resigned himself to whatever fate Tom has in store for him if he doesn’t get his shit together. While that shouldn’t bother me, it does. Our fates are intertwined and Sawyer might be okay with not getting what he wants, but I’m not.
Getting up from the couch, I march into my room. Before I can talk myself out of what I’m about to do, I strip naked. Then I stand in front of my full body mirror, strategically turning to the side to hide the mark on my hip, and raise my phone. I position it just right, capturing my entire body. My free hand cups my boob as I take the picture, which I immediately send.
Not two minutes pass before I get a text from Sawyer.
Sawyer: More!
I let out a frustrated breath. One word, really? That’s all I get. No, I can’t let this be about me. “Don’t lose sight of the bigger picture, Lucia,” I remind myself.
Lying down on my bed, I reach for my vibrator in the bedside drawer. Then I make myself comfortable, spread my legs wide and pull them up. Taking a selfie in this position isn’t as effortless as it looks, and there’s no pleasure to be gained from the way I’m holding the vibrator against my pussy. But I manage, and just as quickly as before, I shoot the picture off to him.
When my phone vibrates in my hand, I expect it to be another text, but it’s not. Sawyer’s calling me.
“What do you want?” I say as a way of greeting.
“To get off, and you’re going to help me,” he rasps, getting straight to the point. “Turn your camera on. I want to see you play with yourself.”
I pause for a moment. “Are you going to turn yours on as well?”
He chuckles darkly. “Not a chance in hell, Lucia. You see, unlike you, I’m actually important. Do you think I’m going to give you more ammunition against me?”
Though it feels like the words are meant to hurt me, they make me smile. Because the fact Sawyer doesn’t trust me also shows he knows I’m not a mindless puck bunny. Which means he should be careful with what he gives me. “Fair enough,” I say, unable to hide the smile in my tone.
I put Sawyer on speaker and prop my phone up against a pillow before activating my camera. It’s not a perfect shot; it’s mostly my tits and cunt… come to think about it, that makes it rather perfect.
Sawyer groans as I lie back down and spread my legs like before. I switch the vibrator on, using it to circle my clit. Fuck, it feels so fucking good. It doesn’t take long before I’m wet, ready to fuck myself with the toy.
“I want to hear you,” he rasps.
Closing my eyes, I let myself get lost in the moment. I move the vibrator between my pussy lips, teasing my hole before pushing it into me. “Fuck,” I moan.
“How does it feel?” he asks, his tone filled with gravel.
“Like more.” I push the toy farther into me. “It feels like more.”
I hear the sound of something being squirted, like a lotion or maybe lube, and it’s followed by the sounds of him jacking off. “Take all of it,” he groans. “I want to see your cunt swallow that big toy.”
“Hang on,” I pant. The toy I’ve chosen isn’t one of those you can just ram all the way in. It needs to be eased inside me, give my inner walls time to stretch around it. I moan out loud as the burn from the stretch washes over me. “Almost there.”
“You’re such a dirty slut,” he rasps. “Letting me watch you play with that pretty cunt. Are you thinking about my cock?”
“No,” I lie. I don’t want him to know that I am, in fact, thinking of his huge, throbbing cock. Fuck, I never knew a dick could be pretty. But Sawyer proved me wrong. “I’m thinking about my ex.” Where the hell did those words come from?
Sawyer lets out a growl. “Your ex?”
“Mhmm, yes,” I moan, fucking myself slowly. “A big dick doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to use it. He was so generous. Not only with his cock, but he also knew exactly how to use it. And don’t even get me started on his tongue. And… fuck… his fingers.” I don’t have an ex like that. The closest is an old fuck-buddy who wasn’t nearly as skilled as I’m making it sound.
For a moment, everything goes quiet on Sawyer’s end. Even his breathing has disappeared. “What are you trying to do?” he asks, sounding incredulous. “Do you really think you can make me jealous?”
The laugh bubbling up my throat turns into a drawn-out moan as I push the vibrator so far inside me it grazes my G-spot, making it hard to focus. “Jealous?” I scoff. “I don’t want you to be jealous. I don’t even want you, Sawyer. But I still need to fantasize about something to get myself off.”
What’s the saying, when confronted with something you don’t want to answer, lie, and then lie some more. The part about not wanting him to be jealous is true enough… kinda. It has to be. I don’t care enough about him for that… I think. I just don’t want him to know I’m imagining what it would be like to have his dick fill my drenched pussy. Have him stretch and pound it until I’m crying out for a mercy he’d never give me. A girl can dream.
“Keep fucking yourself,” Sawyer demands. His breathing is heavier and the sound of skin against skin is a lot louder now.
I move my free hand to my boob, kneading the heavy flesh while doing as he says. My pussy is so drenched it’s leaking out, and the wet sounds are hard to ignore. My legs tense as I find myself on the edge. I only need a little bit more to fall over.
“That’s it, Lucia. Let me watch you fuck yourself.” Though I don’t want to, I whimper. The lust in his voice is so damn potent, and it washes over me, making me desperate for more. “Show me how wet your toy is.”
“But I’m so close…”
“Show me,” he repeats, his tone husky and dark. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I obediently pull the vibrator out and hold it up so he can see the glistening toy. Jesus, it’s almost dripping. “Can I put it back in my pussy?” I ask, already feeling the loss deep inside me.
He groans, sounding like he’s barely holding himself together. “Go ahead. But I want to watch you lick it clean when you’re done.”
Not needing to be told twice, I slide it back inside me, moaning as my pussy swallows it inch by inch. “Fuck,” I cry out. The vibrations take me right to the precipice, and it only takes a few more pumps before I’m free-falling over the edge. “God. I… fuck…”
I squeeze my eyes shut, basking in the after tingles as they course through my veins. Damn, I never thought phone sex could be that hot. But that orgasm I just had, epic. There’s no other way to describe it.
When my breathing slows down, I ease the vibrator out, wincing as my muscles protest. I’m definitely going to be sore tomorrow. “You better be watching,” I purr as I move the toy closer to my mouth and open up.
At first, I swirl my tongue around the tip, much like I did when sucking off Sawyer. I lick the length before returning to the rounded top and suck it into my mouth. Sawyer’s breathing deepens, making me wish I could see him. Are his eyes squeezed shut? His jaw clenched? Or is he barely into it? No, he’s definitely liking our little game. Otherwise, he would have hung up long ago.
“Fuck.” The deep and raspy tenor of his voice makes my cunt clench almost painfully. “I wonder what you taste like,” he muses out loud. “One day I’ll find out for myself.”
A not-so-happy memory from many years ago sneaks into my mind. Fabian wanted to reward me for being the perfect hostess during dinner with his friends. So he went down on me, intending to ‘Taste my dirty hole.’
I tried to tell him not to, but he wouldn’t listen. When he saw the white string from my tampon, he flew into a blind rage. Accusing me of trying to trick him. He was furious, and he… he… fuck. No. I’ll not go down that particular lane in my memories. This one will just open up to the others, and it’s best they all stay forgotten.
“I’ve got to go,” I croak out, emotions clogging my throat.
“What?” Ignoring Sawyer’s incredulous bark, I roll to my side and reach for my phone. In my haste to end the call, I accidentally angle the camera toward my face. Fuck. I look… as wrong as I feel. “Lucia?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now, Sawyer. I’ll have to owe you or something.”
His angry expression falters, making room for something I don’t ever want to see. Pity. “Do you need me to… umm—”
“I don’t need anything. Bye.” Then I end the call and pull my legs up under me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I thought I’d successfully banished those memories for good. I can’t afford to have them stir now, preferably not ever.
When I move again, I feel like I haven’t slept at all, though the darkness falling in through my bedroom windows makes it clear hours have passed since I ended my call with Sawyer. It takes me a moment to realize what’s disturbed my comatose state; my phone. Picking it up, I see five missed calls from Sawyer and a text from Remus. Ignoring the former, I open my messages app.
Remus: I see you’re in a relationship now, Lucia. What an interesting development.
My stomach churns, and I leap off the bed and into the bathroom. Managing to get my head into the toilet bowl just in time for my stomach to expel everything I have in me. I dry-heave as snot, tears, and half-digested food fall from me in a steady stream. I shouldn’t have opened the text when I’m feeling like this. I should have left it, waited until I’d pulled myself together again.
At the thought of Remus keeping track of me, I retch again, but there’s nothing left to throw up except for disgusting bile. “Fuck!” I scream, punching the toilet bowl like it’s personally offended me. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
I stay on the floor until tears are no longer distorting my vision and I can breathe without shuddering. Then I get up, and on autopilot I shower, brush my teeth, clean my face, and braid my hair. There, my reflection tells me I look good as new. Well, almost… but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.
Locking eyes with my reflection, I vow to do better. I haven’t had a panic attack or any memories of those years in so long, I often forget they actually happened and aren’t just a cruel nightmare. That’s my mistake, one I can’t afford to repeat.
As I think back on what happened, I know exactly what triggered me. It was Sawyer asking how I taste, which was a normal question given our activities. Okay, so I need to… fuck, I don’t know what I can do. Time isn’t on my side, so I just have to keep on keeping on. Preferably without falling to pieces.
Returning to my bedroom, I pick my phone up from the bed and type a reply out to Remus.
Me: That’s hardly a congratulations.
Remus: I’m not sure there’s anything to congratulate you on just yet.
Me: There will be soon!
Remus: I can’t wait for the wedding invitation.
Me: I appreciate your latest gift, but please stop sending me wolf related presents. Stop destroying my things. And don’t mess with my shit at work again. Just stop.
Remus: Funny. That almost sounds like you’re accusing me of something. But that can’t be true, right, Lucia?
Even through texts, I can feel the chill emanating from him. I want to thank my cousin for the marriage certificate, but I don’t. I have no way of knowing who has access to his phone, and since he sent one of his trusted men to deliver the paper without a heads up, I have to assume there was a reason for that.
Besides, if I want to be on my own, I have to deal with this alone. I can’t ask for my freedom one minute, and then the next, ask for help. That’s not how this works.
When my phone rings again, I don’t bother looking at the caller before switching the damn thing off. I don’t have the patience to deal with anyone right now. After shutting the blinds in my bedroom, I undress and get into bed. Refusing to switch my phone on, I set my old-fashioned alarm clock, a present from Gail. She gave it to me seven or so years ago. It was a gag gift, but I can’t for the life of me remember the joke anymore.