Page 57 of Worth Every Moment

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She likes her mark on my skin? What the fuck does that mean?

I’m pretty sure she knew I had a hard-on, but I have no fucking clue how she felt about it. If we had been in private, I would have had no doubt that she was into it.Into me. But this is her job. She could probably pretend to look any way whatsoever at the drop of a hat.

She saunters to the door, opening it to allow everyone back into the room and they file in like unruly school children returning from detention, shooting glances my way.

“Let’s put one of the photos on social media now,” Erica says when she returns to me, grabbing my hand and tugging me over to the photographer, who’s already loading images up onto a laptop.

“Now?” I ask, confusion wrecking my voice. I can’t fucking focus after what just happened, and Erica is already back to business. We’re definitely not on the same fucking page here.

“Yeah. We’re an item, so let’s tease it.”

Sensing us approaching, the photographer glances over his shoulder. “Erica, these are fantastic. You two have intense chemistry. It’s sparking off the screen.”

Erica peers over his shoulder at a load of photos of us looking as though we’re about to strip each other naked and fuck like bunnies.

Bunnies. No. I don’t fuck like a bunny. I fuck like… a dog? No. Scratch that. A…

Erica nudges my arm, saving me from the peril of my own thoughts. “Wow, look at you,” she muses, pointing at the screen. “You’re a natural. Thank you so much for doing this for me.” She catches my eye as I lean over the screen next to her, and there’s what appears to be genuine gratitude scrawled across her face. I feel a flush of pride at having been able to help her pull this off. “Truly, I appreciate it. I know this is not your thing at all.”

My chest tightens. Having Erica straddle me in her underwear? That’s always going to be my thing. “Anytime,” I say casually.

She focuses again on the screen, leaning over the photographer to take control and scroll through the images, humming with what sounds like appreciation as she peruses them. She stops abruptly. “This one. Don’t you think?”

I look at the photo she’s chosen. Her head is thrown back, and the expression on her face is one of ecstasy as my hand closes around her throat. I look a little like I’m either about to kill her or ravage her. It’s a brilliant photo. I want it blown up and stuck on my bedroom ceiling.Is that weird?

But putting it on social media? That seems…provocative. It’s going to mess with Dad and any ideas he has about marrying me off to Diana Marchetti. Anxiety churns in my gut, but I’m too far in to pull back, and I want to do it for Erica.I give a nonchalant shrug. “It’s okay.”

“Great.” Erica calls over the assistant I recognise from the fashion show and instructs her to upload it on her social media accounts with a filter to hide the fact it’s unedited and a caption about us being a couple and the launch of her new fragrance.

The assistant agrees and moves into action.

“I’m going to shower,” I say, moving off towards the changing room. I’ve half a mind to have a quick wank just to rid myself of the sexual tension, but Erica follows me, walking right behind me in her underwear. I’m so aware of her presence, she may as well have jumped on my back and clung there. I spin. “What are you doing?”

She recoils a little at the sharp edge to my voice. “Unisex changing rooms.”

“Right.” I stifle a groan. I can’t catch a break today; all I need is a moment alone, or at least without Erica, to calm down.

I push into the locker room, grab a fresh towel and head for the shower. I let myself into a cubicle, strip off the jeans and my boxers and stand under the running water, lathering myself up to get the stubborn marks off my skin and the shit out of my hair.

And Erica out of my head.

I'm almost finished when a squeal comes from the changing room, jarring my heart. I slam off the water, grab my towel, and dash back out. “Erica?”

“Oh, my God. Seb.” She’s standing in the middle of the room, fully dressed, staring into an empty locker. “My stuff is gone.”

“What stuff?”

“My wallet. My bag.”

“Really?” I glance where she’s pointing and then my gaze flits to the locker next to it, where I put all my stuff. My stomach sinks. It’s open too.

That prickling feeling that trickled down my spine earlier comes back to me.This is no coincidence.

I step towards it and pull the door fully open.I locked this. I know I did.I pull my suit off the hanger, checking the pockets, but a nasty certainty is already filling my gut.