Mr. Sugar: A disturbing psychological thriller with a twist of dark romance

by L. D. Fox

  All it took was one more tremble of her lips, and she had him.

  9

  Caramel Vodka

  Drew pressed against the girl hard enough to make her gasp. But the sound was barely out of her mouth before he snatched her mouth with his, leaning into her until her back was almost flush with the marble countertop. She made a sound — it could have been a protest, it could have been passion, who the fuck knew anymore? — and grabbed his shoulders with both hands.

  This time, Angel tasted like caramel and vodka. He kept one hand around her throat, pinning her so she couldn’t wriggle free. He used his lips to stop the flood of false apologies she kept spouting.

  Like he didn’t know she’d been planning this. She must think him an idiot, batting her eyelashes at him and expecting him to bow to her whims like some hormone-driven jock.

  With her held in place just right, he shoved his hand up her skirt and wedged it between her legs.

  Angel’s neck muscles grew tight under his fingertips. Her kiss slowed until his lips massaged a trembling but unmoving mouth.

  Had he paralyzed her with his intention?

  Or had she honestly expected this to end with some light petting and another hand job? If this had been a poker game, Angel had just pushed all her chips across the table. He’d either have to fold… or call her bluff.

  He sure as shit wasn’t folding. Not today.

  He broke off his kiss and pressed his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath.

  Why the hell couldn’t he breathe?

  Heat spilled from her inner core; it thrummed against the side of his index finger, a hairsbreadth from her sex. He wanted to move his hand up, to cup her and squeeze her until she made a new sound, a pleasurable sound… but his anger was melting away again and, with it, the determination that had driven him to this point.

  Angel grabbed his wrist. Her fingernails dug into his flesh as she tugged his hand away. “I thought you said this was wrong.”

  “It is.” He opened his eyes. Her face was a blur this close, so he drew back until he could focus on her. So he could try and read her. But her face could have been carved from the same marble as his kitchen counter for all the expression it had.

  “Then let me go.” Those blue eyes narrowed. “So I can leave.”

  She slipped free from under him, then. Slipped free and yanked her dress straight. With a scowl distorting her pretty face, Angel stormed to the key rack beside the back door and snatched Penny’s car keys from their hook.

  “What about your stuff?” His voice was so hoarse, it sounded as if he’d been shouting at the girl for half an hour.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’ll come get it later.”

  “Where will you go?” He turned, moving stiffly to try and hide the massive hard-on she’d given him.

  It felt like her victory.

  “Don’t pretend like you care. If you did, then you wouldn’t be tossing me out in the first place.”

  His jaw clenched. He lunged forward and then stopped.

  Jesus, how could she make him so fucking angry so fast? “You can’t—”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first fifty times.” Angel glanced around, fixed her gaze on his jacket still flung over the kitchen stool, and took two quick steps up to it. She rammed her hand into his breast pocket, glancing up at him as if daring him to stop her. Her hand emerged with her phone. Then, still watching him as if she expected him to pounce her, Angel put her hand back in his suit. She rummaged around and came out holding his money-clip.

  “Do you mind?” she asked, her voice rife with sarcasm. “For the motel.”

  His chest was too tight for him to respond. She took a step back and then hiked up her skirt. For once, his eyes obeyed him; instead of looking down at those candy-pink panties of hers, Drew maintained eye contact with the girl as she slid the money-clip behind the hem of her underwear. Then she let her skirt fall and turned to leave.

  She was halfway out the back door before he caught up with her.

  If the nutritional thing didn’t work out for her, Angel could make a decent living as an actress. Her surprised gasp was pretty damn realistic. The way her eyes fluttered when he spun her around and shoved her against the door frame, even more so.

  There was no porch by this door, just paving stones and the spitting surface of the nearby swimming pool. Rain pelted his face as the wind gusted against them like a reprimand from the gods.

  Drew grabbed the girl’s wrist and slammed it into the wood above her head. When he seized the other hand, her cellphone clattered to the floor as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. That second wrist joined the first, and he used a hand to keep them up above her head.

  Another gust slicked a lock of hair over Angel’s cheek. “What are you doing?” Her voice was louder now to compensate for the fury of the storm that wreaked havoc on the outside world a few feet away.

  “This?” His hand went up her skirt again. Drew fumbled around her hip until he found his money-clip. He yanked it free and flashed it in front of her face. “This is mine.”

  “What, I’m s’posed to sleep in Penny’s car? Is that what you want me to do, Mr. Sugar?” She blinked rain from her eyes and scowled at him.

  “You’re not my problem, Angel. This money?” He waved the money-clip until she focused on it. “I earned it. You didn’t.”

  And, just like that, her face softened. Her blue eyes became hooded, and her lips slowly parted. “Didn’t earn it?” She arched her back and gave her head a small toss as if the raindrops dotting it irritated her.

  Her hips brushed the tops of his thighs. His dick twitched in response, growing as hard as it had been when he’d had her pinned against the kitchen counter. Except now she was here, pushed against the door frame with the rain whipping around them and turning her dress translucent. His shirt too, probably. As it was, rain dripped down the side of his neck and throat. It was making the damp fabric of his suit pants itch against his skin.

  “Didn’t think about that when you came up with this plan of yours, did you? I mightn’t be so eager to part with the money I worked so fucking hard to earn?”

  “Plan?” Angel blinked up at him, all blue-eyed innocence and lustrous lips he could still remember the taste of. “You make it sound like I have this all figured out.”

  “Don’t you?” It was almost a yell.

  “Do I?” Her voice, in comparison, was barely a whisper.

  Her knee touched his dick. Then she ran her shin over him. He dropped his money-clip so he could catch her ankle; she hadn’t even stopped to put on shoes before her failed escape. He tried to push her foot away from his groin, but instead, she managed to slither her leg around his waist and draw him close.

  Close enough that the tip of his slowly-hardening dick touched her girly-pink pantie.

  He squeezed her wrists together in warning, but the flash of pain on her face was so brief, he probably imagined it. So he released her leg and pushed a hand against her stomach, trying to get her away from him.

  Strange, how reason had fled his mind like a timid deer at the crack of a twig. Here he was trying to push her away when all he had to do was step back. One step and he’d be away from this strange gravity of hers kept drawing him back.

  “How about you let me earn it then, Mr. Sugar?”

  “What?”

  “Let me earn my keep.”

  “You want me to pay you?”

  “Only if you think I’m worth it, Mr. Sugar.” Angel moved her hips, brushing her underwear against the mound in his pants.

  He was losing it again. Control, his morals, a clear picture of just what the fuck was happening here. He pressed his eyes closed, shook his head hard as if his thoughts would somehow assemble themselves into something resembling order.

  “Tell you what,” Angel murmured in his ear. “Why don’t you have a taste? Let me know if you think I’m worth it.”

  He so desperately wanted to open his eyes, if on
ly to watch her mouth move. But he knew if he did, he was screwed. Hell, he was probably so far gone you’d need a telescope to see him, but somehow, keeping his eyes closed felt like the last reserve he had. A fort against this guerrilla attack of hers. Sugar’s last stand. If he opened his eyes, this battlement would fall and, with it, whatever was holding him back.

  “Touch me, Mr. Sugar.” She lifted herself onto tiptoes. This moved his hand down until his fingers brushed her pubic bone.

  His fingertips twitched before he could still them. If she’d spoken another word just then, he might have been able to stop. But all she did was draw in a ragged breath and manage to lift herself the half-an-inch she needed for him to touch her clit.

  Her breath came out as a sigh.

  Drew leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the side of the door. There was a brief lull in the rain outside, and then the wind blustered around them, showering them with a hard flurry of rain. Angel turned her face away and made a sound of protest against the unexpected cold and wet.

  When Drew ran his fingers over her underwear, slid a finger behind her damp panties, and touched her, she let out a short, harsh breath through her mouth that warmed the side of his neck. He forced the tip of his finger into her, deep enough that her warmth, her wetness, coated his fingertip.

  When her muscles clenched around his fingertip, it was as if his head had been doused in icy water. He jerked his hand free, released her wrists, and took a step back that brought him up against the doorframe opposite her.

  Angel watched him, her hands slowly sliding down from above her head. Her legs were still parted, the side of her dress where he’d shoved his hand up plastered against her hip by the rain. He could see the hem of her panties and her entire left thigh.

  “No? Then I’ll do it myself.” She slowly drew the hem of her underwear away so he could see her pink slit where it disappeared between her legs. Then she slid two fingers inside herself, her shoulders moving forward as if the thrill of contact was too much to contain. “But I want to hear you say it.”

  Those two fingers slid into her mouth. He felt her warmth when she stepped up to him.

  “Don’t I taste fucking delicious?”

  She pressed her fingers against his lips. And then kissed the corner of his mouth until he parted them. And then urged her fingers inside.

  Angel didn’t just taste delicious — she literally tasted like strawberries and cream.

  She cried out when he grabbed her shoulders and swung her around. Her head thumped against the door frame, and her face pagled.

  “You lubed yourself up for this?” he hissed.

  His blood pumped molten rage through him. God, he’d known she was playing him. but this?

  A smile flickered over Angel’s face.

  He could smell the lubricant now — vanilla and strawberries with a hint of cream. “Were you at least thinking of me while you smeared it on yourself? Or were you too busy trying to figure out how many zeros I have in my bank account?”

  She laughed. “Little bit of both,” she admitted. Her fingers folded over his erection, squeezing him through the silky fabric of his suit. “But wondering what it would feel like when you fucked me was, honestly, the most erotic thought I’ve had all day.”

  “Yeah?” His voice had gone tight again. “You have a good imagination, then, sweetheart?”

  She shivered against him, and her eyes fluttered closed. “I do, Mr. Sugar.” She squeezed him hard enough for his breath to catch.

  “Then let me know if you got it right, after.”

  Her eyes flared open. Her mouth opened in an ‘o’ of surprise and then stayed that way as he tore down his zipper.

  Angel made a sound somewhere between a croon and a groan and grabbed the back of his neck with both hands. His hands slid around her ass. Hoisted her up, urging her leg around his waist, and then slammed her into the doorframe on his first thrust.

  He pinned her to the doorframe. The rain lashed at them, whipping him into a frenzy.

  Angel’s face flickered with mixed parts frustration, pain, and pleasure. Her mouth hung open as if she struggled for breath.

  He leaned in, drawing a long sigh from her, and caught her bottom lip between his teeth.

  She gasped and began bucking against him like a wild thing. So he forced her against the door so hard she yelped in pain. Her lips closed over his mouth, her next moan muffled by his tongue.

  But the mixture of the rain and their own sweat — and perhaps that fucking girly lube she’d used — made holding onto her almost impossible.

  Drew swung around, sliding his hands up to her waist so she wouldn’t slip and break his dick in half, and began walking.

  He’d planned to go upstairs.

  There was a bed there. Somewhere soft he could lay her down and then fuck her until he was done with her. But she made too much noise. Moved too much. Began shoving her tongue into his mouth with an urgency he couldn’t ignore.

  So he made it as far as the kitchen counter. Managed to get his suit up over the edge to cushion her hips. And then let her drop to her feet and spun her around. Yanking her panties down to her knees, he twisted her skirt, grabbed a handful of her hair, and slowly brought her head back, so her spine arched. Then he slid a hand under her dress and moved it around so he could cup one of her breasts.

  At first, he held back. Not wanting to hurt her. Not wanting it to end.

  But when she called his name, it shredded the last of his resistance.

  * * *

  Angel had stopped panting. So had he. But when she turned her flushed face to glance at him over her shoulder, she wore such a look of stupefied satisfaction on it, he wanted to carry her upstairs. Rinse, repeat.

  Instead, he eased her off the counter. Keeping an arm around her chest to steady her, he bent down and slowly pulled her underwear up her legs.

  The memory of that animalistic sound she’d let out when he’d first thrust into her still rang in his ears.

  “Did I hurt you?” His voice was hoarse.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But I deserved it.” Her voice was unsteady, husky as shit.

  She tipped her head up, staring at him. Holding her like this, she fit perfectly under his chin. He wrapped his other arm around her stomach, drawing her close so there was no space between them.

  For a moment — a brief, vivid moment — he wanted to apologize. Tried to tell her every woman should be treated as gently as a newly-bloomed flower. For they were fragile, and their exquisitely tender shoots would never withstand that kind of brutality for long.

  But she laced her fingers with his and drew his arm down until his fingers cupped her through her yellow dress.

  “And I’ll probably do something to deserve it again.”

  He shivered at the thought. “Angel—”

  “You still want me to leave?”

  He squeezed her and nestled his face into the crook of her neck. Grazing his teeth on her skin, he took a deep breath and hugged her hard.

  “Tomorrow,” he murmured. “When the rain’s stopped.”

  10

  Catching a Break

  It was still raining when his alarm clock went off. Angel stirred against him, mumbled something, and twisted around — taking most of the sheet with her. She’d climbed into bed with him last night, murmuring something about noises in the ceiling. He’d been half-asleep, too groggy to protest, and had welcomed her warmth in his bed.

  Drew turned off the alarm and sat up, rubbing both his hands over his eyes.

  He glanced beside him. Angel lay on her side, back facing him, all but one leg draped by the sheet. Drew tugged the covers over her, smoothed her mass of dark hair away from her face, and pressed his lips to her temple.

  “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, although he was pretty sure the girl had already returned to her fantasy land of unicorns and rainbow sparkles.

  He was almost by his car, briefcase tucked under his arm and a tight, confused smile on h
is mouth, when he heard Kelly’s garden gate opening. Rain pattered on his umbrella as he paused for a second, considering.

  She had to have seen the flowers. Had she figured out they were from him?

  Kelly glanced up when he walked up to her. She wore a hoodie, the fabric dark with rain.

  “Mornin’, neighbor.”

  Her smile was a bit on the vague side, but he pressed on before he could chicken out.

  “I stopped by yesterday, but I think you were out. Did you—”

  “The roses?” Kelly hugged herself, her newspaper disappearing under her arm. “Thought that was you.”

  Drew smiled. “An early birthday present.”

  “Thanks.” She shifted, glancing toward his house and then back at him. For a moment, her eyes dropped to the sidewalk and then back up to him. “I stopped by to say thanks. Yesterday. In the afternoon.”

  A cold worm of precognition wriggled through his stomach. Kelly’s eyes became fidgety; she glanced at his umbrella, his briefcase, his house, her house.

  “You—” Drew cleared his throat. “You did?”

  A faint pink hue tinged her cheeks now. “You were… busy.”

  Jesus H Christ. Would he never catch a break? He stared at the sidewalk between his feet, shifted his briefcase and tightened his grip on the umbrella’s handle.

  “Kelly…”

  “No, I mean—” Kelly broke off with a strangled laugh. “It’s fine, really. I just… I had no idea…” Kelly ran a quick tongue over her lips and then grabbed the bottom one in a furious bite as she tightened her arms hard over her chest. She waved a hand in the direction of his house. “Look, I know it’s not my place, but… isn’t… isn’t she a bit young for you?” Then she lifted up both hands, as if in surrender.

  “Well, you’re getting wet, and I’m running late,” Drew said. “It’s nice to see you again. And happy birthday, for tomorrow. In case we don’t run into each other again.”