Sugar Daddy

by Rie Warren

  And thought about getting the hell out of Dodge, because–damn–that was really loud.

  “Miss Greer.” His stern interruption made me flinch.

  Whoops.

  Fear in the pit of my belly, I faced the studhorse himself. Studhorse? No, no, no. He was a prize stallion.

  His irises were snapdragon sapphire as he balanced the teetering vase, his lips tight, his incredible forearms once more on show from the rolled cuffs of his shirt. “I expect my subordinates to behave with a touch more decorum.”

  “Sorry,” I eked out. At his narrowing look, I remembered why I was so enraged, not to mention, had seething Rat Bastard just called me his subordinate?

  Swallowing my ire, I sashayed toward him. “I do apologize, Mr. Boone.” A noticeable inhale stuttered through his lips, and I decided flirting was kind of fun, apart from the fact I wanted to kick him in the shins. “Before we go any further…” My fingers drew ever closer to his hand. “I need to know if this a job share.”

  His expression faded to anxiousness. “What makes you ask?”

  “Well, I can’t imagine this bein’ a full-time position, I mean how much clandestine fucking can one woman take? But y’all seem to be a man with limitless needs.”

  The pads of his fingertips running along the sensitive flesh between my fingers, he inclined closer. “I take these endeavors most seriously.”

  “These endeavors? You’re in the habit of keeping a mistress?” I snapped and snatched my hand away, shutting out the images of him coupling with hordes of nameless, faceless broads.

  He frowned. “Yes, of course. Although that doesn’t concern you.”

  “Oh yeah, what does concern me?”

  He appeared hurt, as if I’d insulted his dignity when I was the one being hired as a whore. “I’m monogamous in my relationships.”

  My outrage dimmed as he continued.

  “I didn’t think you’d come back. Otherwise I wouldn’t have left the door open.” He shook his head. “It was wishful thinking.”

  The electric charge between us blistered when he perused me from head to toe, touching on the tips of my breasts and the swell of my hips. “You’re especially lovely today.”

  See now, that’s what a woman wanted to hear, not that she was tarted up. “And you’re quite dashing, Mr. Boone. But, lovely? That’s real sweet, sugar, but surely y’all can be more creative.”

  He gathered me close, settling a hand low on my back. “I can be real creative, darlin’. After we go over the contract.” Escorting me to his office, his hand slid against the silky material of my blouse with every sway of my hips.

  “Won’t you have a seat?”

  I perched prettily.

  “Would you like a drink?” He fetched refreshments.

  While he was gone, I life-coached myself. I was A. a grown woman, B. a hot piece of ass, and C. in need of a salary and sexual tryst, so all the better to one-stop shop. Especially when the voltage between us gave South Carolina Electric and Gas–not to mention Berkeley Power–a run for its money.

  By the time he returned, I’d affected to be a cool, calm, collected redhead, not the redheaded stepchild I mostly was.

  My attempt at decorum didn’t last long. A mint leaf and inches of ice floated in the tall glass he set beside me. The tracks his fingertips left in the condensation put me in mind of his cool thumbs plucking my nipples toward his lips.

  I took a long drink in lieu of tearing open my blouse.

  His tumbler filled with a couple fingers of heady smelling bourbon, Reardon took his place behind the desk. Swishing the liquid into amber curlicues, he reached to his collar, undoing the top buttons, supplying me with the vision of his upper pecs shaded inside the V of cloth.

  “Curriculum Vitae?” he requested.

  I must’ve squeaked or something, because a black eyebrow shot up with the side of his mouth. Crossing my legs, I was delighted when his sight glided over my calves to the additional length of thigh on show.

  “Bone fides.” Hell, if he insisted on the CV thing, I had no problem one-upping him.

  He flicked through the two bundles I handed over. “Duplicates?”

  “Not exactly, Mr. Boone.” He watched my lips pucker around Boone. I bet he wanted my lips puckering around Big Boone.

  Although I’d had a good giggle preparing the alternate version of my resume, I started sweating it. Or glistenin’, as good southern girls were supposed to do.

  Much to my amusement, he stifled a yawn, scanning my professional details. I didn’t blame him one bit, it was all tickety-boo and totally boring.

  Once he’d tapped the first set of papers together and filed them into a slim drawer, he read the top line of my second offering. “And this is your?”

  “Alternate version.” I’d taken the liberty of sprinkling a few dirty details around the extra copy, making light of a situation I wasn’t sure I could control.

  I swirled my drink and listened to the chink of ice during the subsequent silence.

  Until Reardon lost his composure.

  I’d named the fool thing Boners and Infidelity because that’s what we were going to be about.

  First he sighed, slumping closer to the papers.

  Then he chuckled, possibly over Interests, which included: Gay boys and sex toys.

  When he leaned back in his chair and let out a deep laugh, I hoped he’d gotten to Goals: Make nice with the pretty man and line my bank account in the process of getting screwed silly.

  There was a muted groan and his left hand disappeared beneath the table. Good to know, Reardon Dade Boone handled and dressed to the left.

  I guessed he’d gotten to my Hobbies: Tantric Yoga.

  I knew the moment he reached Motivations because he hissed a curse and curled his fingers into the Office Depot linen-weight stationery: To know the feel of a man who wants me, preferably in my mouth.

  Those Bonerfides were folded precisely and placed in his pants pocket.

  “Enlightening.” His fingers walked across the desk, tangling with mine. “I appreciate your candor, Miss Greer.” He kissed each fingertip until my knees buckled. “You are an undeniably sexy woman.”

  Releasing me into a puddle of do-me-goo, he shuffled through another file and fed a handful of paper into a shredder. It droned silently. Unlike the engine of my car. Most likely still farting in the parking lot next to the Cadillac Escalade sneering at my ride.

  Reardon rubbed his mouth for a moment and I suspected he was hiding his drop-dead-and-give-him-head grin.

  Great.

  Strong fingers folded beneath his chin, he announced, “Now then, there’s the matter of your responsibilities.”

  “Yeah, it’d help to know when you expect me to saddle up, because I ain’t sure I’m ready to put out the Open for Business sign just yet.”

  Ooh, I earned his icy look, and Jesus, Mary, God-damn if his glare wasn’t a turn on too. I felt it all the way to my insides, the ones strengthened by my daily Kegels. Screw the daily Psalms, I had my own religion to worry about.

  “You want to negotiate?”

  “No, I wanna play hardball.” Duh.

  “That’s exactly why I’m hiring you. I’ve just destroyed my usual job description. It’s clear I’ll need to think outside the box with you.”

  Hopefully not outside my box.

  “Shall we play it by ear, Miss Greer?”

  Miss Greer. That right there got on my last nerve because if he was asking me to be his mistress he ought to at least forego the good southern-bred manners. “Can you refrain from callin’ me Miss Greer? It reminds me this is all wrong.”

  “How would you like me to address you?”

  Damn, did he need a memo? Because that was a no-brainer. Sexy goddess, hot vixen, love slave...obviously. “Shay, Mr. Boone.”

  “Of course, if you’ll call me Reardon.”

  Rat Bastard would be my little secret, then. “Agreed.”

  “Let’s start with this. Your main duty
will be to provide me company and allow me to pleasure you.”

  I drank half my glass of water and about choked on its cold course before blurting, “But you wanna fuck me, right?”

  His jaw flexed, and his eyes dropped to my tasteful tease of cleavage as soon as I swore. Excellent. He liked a little dirty talk, duly noted for future teasin’ and torture.

  “Eventually, yes.”

  “Eventually?”

  Did you expect him to ravage you on your first day? My conscience rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not a barbarian, Miss Greer.” Entertained by our conversation, he sent me a wicked smile.

  “Miss Greer again? We agreed. Me, Shay, You, Reardon.”

  His deep laughter settled a delicious throb between my thighs. “Shay.” He leaned forward. “I will spoil you first.” He stood and made his way to me, dipping a fingertip along the crests of my breasts. “Make you desire me.” His grand finale followed, his finger grazing my lips. “I’ll seduce you.”

  I barely quelled the urge to roll over and beg.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He repeated, taken aback.

  “You’re successful, sexy, smart.” I paused when his cheeks flushed pink beneath the swarthy tan. Bless him, Mr. Boone was bashful too? “And I think y’all got a sense of humor hidin’ in there somewhere. You really gotta pay for pussy?” I made no attempt to sugar coat my potty mouth.

  “I’m interested in a sexual relationship without the additional baggage.” He got over the choirboy routine real quick, answering me head-on.

  “Baggage?”

  “Hurt feelings, jealousy, unwanted pregnancies leading to litigation, meeting the parents, joint bank accounts, and going for long walks on the beach. In short, I’m cutting out the middleman.”

  “The middleman being?”

  “Emotional complications.”

  There it was, cut and dried. “You seem unconcerned about my bein’ married.”

  “As do you.”

  “How dare you! You know nothing about me.” I jabbed his chest until he gripped my wrists.

  “Don’t get all fired up now.” He let me go and undid another button on his shirt. “If you were happy with your marriage, you wouldn’t have come back.”

  My gut dropped. My hands fell to my sides.

  “I want you, Shay. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I don’t know.” Yet, my fingers roaming his shoulders and behind his neck linked through silky black hair worn a touch too long. “Why me?”

  He bent his head, breath brushing my cheek. “You can feel this, I know you can.”

  “Why not someone younger?”

  He dipped lower, locking eyes with me. “I’m after a woman who knows what she’s about. I like a woman who has some miles on her.”

  Oh no he didn’t. “Was that supposed to be some kind of compliment?”

  He opened his mouth.

  I shut it for him. “You get away with wheelin’ and dealin’ with that mouth, mister?”

  “I’ve got better things to do with my time than train a twenty-year-old.”

  I sniffed. “I’m not at all sure you’re doing yourself any favors saying that.”

  His index finger ran across his upper lip, like my tongue longed to do.

  “Hang on, how do you choose your–” whores, hookers, mistresses, “candidates?”

  I’d noticed his tics enough to know something was up when he withdrew to the desk. Rapping his knuckles once on the wood, he said, “I’m never wrong, not on a deal of this magnitude.”

  “And?”

  “I have a PI.” He refused to look at me.

  “What?”

  “Photos and background checks.”

  “But, how...what?”

  He shrugged. “Money can buy a lot.”

  Even me.

  Finalizing our affair, he took out a legal-looking stack of papers. “First of all, we will not discuss your marriage.”

  “Good.” I didn’t even want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

  We got down to the rest of the contract and I vacillated between wanting to lick his throat, discover his treasure trail, and dive into his lap while he covered the fundamentals such as dress code–aka undress code–and salary, because Poodle Poop Prowlers were put to shame by the figures he wrote down.

  Then he mentioned health insurance.

  I’d be fully covered for any mishap fate threw at me. Since fate had already shown she liked to hit me in the gut with a fastball when I least expected it, this was big time. I blinked to clear my eyes of unbidden tears. The only way I’d be able to get rid of Palmer would be with a decent paycheck and adequate coverage. What Reardon offered went above and beyond.

  I wouldn’t end up in the same situation my momma had.

  He handed me a Fidelity brochure and the business card of Radaman-Slaughter’s broker, instructing me to set up an appointment to go over my 401K.

  All this wealth, the ease with which he gave me a financial leg-up was overwhelming. I strolled around the office. “How old are you?”

  “Forty-two.”

  “Y’all aren’t hardly old enough to be called a sugar daddy.”

  He winked, plinking his tongue to the corner of his lips. “Least you won’t have to worry about my ability to perform.”

  Naturally his gambit led to the rules of attraction. “I need to know if you want me.” Was he blind? Had he been dropped on his head as a baby? “Because otherwise this is all moot,” he added, towing me between his legs.

  Looking down at his blue-fire eyes and ripe lips, handsome features and wavy hair, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Well, I think you get off on being pompous, and you use too many big words.” I stopped myself. “Perhaps you should go first.”

  “Indeed.” Light caresses wandered up and down the backs of my legs. “I’d have you on my desk with your skirt up to your thighs and your breasts bare right now if it was up to me. But it isn’t.”

  I clutched his shoulder and straddled him. “Hmm. Do I want you?”

  His eyes flashing to mine, he stole me further onto his lap. “Don’t give me mixed signals, Shay. I’m not a man to play with.”

  “What about this? Can I play with this?” Gripping the back of the chair, I rocked against his rigid shaft.

  A lazy gyration later, his forearms constricted around my waist, his features a picture of sexual need, he rasped, “Tell me.”

  My lips feathered along his jaw. “Yeah, I’m attracted to you, Reardon.”

  With a shaky laugh and sure hands, he set me on the desk. Plucking his glasses from beside me, he laid one hand on my knee and went on to my skills, as if shorthand was something he was familiar with, what with the size of his erection. “What specific talents will you bring to the table?”

  What was he just sayin’ about having me on his desk half undressed?

  “Shay?”

  “Come again?”

  “Skills, talents, abilities?”

  I delivered a serious list of qualifications. “Through years of fine tunin’, fucking, and careful research, I’ve learned how to give a mean blow job.” I simply hadn’t been given the go ahead to give head for too long from Palmer. Fluttering my eyelashes, I asked, “You mean those sorts of skills?”

  He zeroed in on my lips.

  I moistened them in invitation.

  “That’ll do, darlin’,” he said gruffly.

  Then I was faced with the contract itself. It was goddamn massive. Maybe I could use it as a fan, if nothing else.

  Scouring lower and lower, I almost ending up in his lap, face first. Not a bad place to be.

  He handed me a pen as heavy as the sheaf of papers, something surely meant to sign the Declaration of Dependence.

  I perused the lingo and peered at him. “So, fraternization’s encouraged?”

  “Definitely.” A corner of his mouth rose in delight.

  Wiggling my hips as I leaned over his desk, I asked, “And this isn’t a
dress code infraction?”

  His palm ran along my thighs, rasping the lacey band of my stocking. “This attire is deemed appropriate.”

  “This would probably be easier if you chose a different applicant.” I gasped when his hands passed over my bottom to my waist.

  He slid my hair aside and feathered warm lips along my neck. “I assure you, I’m up for the challenge.”

  It didn’t take a MENSA genius to feel the truth of his statement.

  “One final question. Have you ever been seduced?”

  Seduced? Romanced? Off the record, not so much. Any seduction nowadays came by way of my DIY army. I had no problem setting a speed record from zero to orgasm by my own hands, but it sure would be nice for a man to take the place of my battery-op boyfriends. “No.”

  “Then it’ll be my pleasure. But you need to sign first.”

  His bold John Hancock scrawled all over the pages.

  While I held the pen poised over the paper, he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. “You can take it to your solicitor to look over.”

  My solicitor, yeah, because I had me one of those. He shared an office with my Spiritual Advisor. Only one solicitin’ anything here was Reardon.

  “Or you can decline.” He pushed away to study the Cooper River vista outside his study.

  “Where do I sign?”

  I initialed all the sections he marked and asked, “Seal it with a kiss?”

  When he rose, I was reminded of his strong bearing all over again. Towering over me, he touched my chin. “I told you, I won’t force my intentions on you. You have two months to capitulate.”

  I swayed toward him. “And the kiss?”

  So close, he met the bow of my upper lip, the fullness of the bottom, and both corners. A hush of his mouth and not one bit closer. “Next time, depending on your job performance.”

  Dirty Rotten Rat Bastard Roue! Performance? Shoot, I could perform with both my hands tied behind my back, and I bet he’d like that too, kinky sumbitch.

  Settled against the desk, he crossed his feet so the peaked creases of his trousers shouted toward his crotch: Orgasms, This Way!

  When he folded his hands over the package in his pants, a new caption appeared: Yes, Shay, I’m talkin’ to you.

  “Are you flexible?”