I hop out of my car and lock it, hoping it will remain safe enough in this neighborhood. While it’s not the worst, it’s certainly not the best, and I’ve heard Audis are popular cars to boost.
Heading toward the front door of the building, I lengthen my stride and make it there about a second before she does. I grab the door, open it, and her head raises up as she says, “Thanks.”
Her eyes flare large with worried surprise and she takes a step back from me. “What are you doing here?”
My hand shoots out and pulls the backpack from her shoulder, and fuck…that’s heavy. “Came to see you. You left without saying goodbye.”
“Wasn’t any need,” she says smoothly. “It was a one-night stand, right?”
“That’s right,” I say with an agreeable smile. “But I have to say, you had me worried when you left without even bothering to get your shoes. That tells me you were running, and I want to know why.”
For a moment, I think she might tell me to go to hell, but her shoulders sag. With a small sigh, she steps past me into her building and says over her shoulder, “Might as well come up and we can talk about it.”
Now that surprises me. I figured I’d have a bit more of a fight on my hands, but I graciously take the offer and follow her inside.
Chapter 9
Sela
Yes. Without a doubt…the red phoenix on the back of Beck’s shoulder freaked me out when I first saw it. It was almost a slap in the face after what we’d shared just hours before.
After what he commanded my body to do.
So I ran without my panties or shoes, luckily caught a cab waiting right outside the hotel lobby, and didn’t have a nosy cab driver asking me where my shoes were.
I tossed and turned all night, but by the time the sun rose, I think I had reasoned out some acceptance in my head.
First, I have no clue what that fucking tattoo means. As sinister as my rapists were, at first I thought it could be a cultlike symbol among sick fucks that like to rape together. I Googled it relentlessly six months ago when I first saw JT on the TV and realized that tattoo was very real and not just a nightmarish figment of my imagination. I researched it thoroughly and didn’t come up with a damn thing. Whatever the reason behind that tattoo, it’s not been publicized in any way.
Second, I have to consider that the tattoo could be something as innocuous as a fraternity thing. In fact, that’s the most obvious answer, and since Beck and JT went to the same college and were friends even prior to that, it stands to reason that perhaps they were in a fraternity together. Or shit…maybe they were on some type of coed sports team that had matching tattoos. Who knows why guys do stupid shit like that?
Third, and probably most important, what I reasoned out was that just because Beck had a tattoo that matched my rapist didn’t mean that he was by association a rapist. I have absolutely no recollection of him being there that night, although I’m the first to admit the Rohypnol I was given has fucked with my memories. I’m relying on nothing more than a deep, internal gut instinct about that. I just don’t get that vibe from Beck. Sure, I could be very wrong about this. I could have piss-poor judgment, and perhaps I’m still riding high on the never-ending orgasms of last night, but I just don’t think he has that in him. He seems like a decent guy, although I do question his choice of business partner who is evil incarnate.
Regardless, by the time I got out of bed this morning, I figured I’d made a crucial mistake by leaving Beck in the shower. It was a missed opportunity on my part to try to keep his interest in me piqued. He was my best chance at getting close to Townsend, and in a burst of emotional panic, I’d messed that up, which meant that I’d have to start all over again in my planning.
But now, Beck is here and I’ve been given a second chance to latch on to opportunity.
He follows me into my small apartment, carrying my backpack for me like a gentleman. I mean, the mere fact he looked up my information and drove here because he was worried seems to lend credence to my gut instinct that he’s a decent guy. Of course, if he is, then I’m a supreme bitch for wanting to use him for my own agenda, but I never claimed to be a saint.
I do, however, have to be careful here, because I can’t let my own personal feelings of affinity for him deter me from my path. I’ve got too much rage invested in my plan for retribution, and if I don’t see this through, I’m afraid the failure will destroy me.
“Want something to drink?” I ask him as I walk into the kitchen. I open the fridge and do a quick perusal. “I have beer or milk that’s probably spoiled. The tap water is decent though.”
“I’m good,” he says, so I close the door and turn to face him.
God, he looks good. He’s casually dressed in a pair of dark jeans, brown loafers, and a blue-checked button-down. His hair styled, of course, in full GQ mode, and just a hint of stubble that suggests he didn’t shave this morning.
“So why did you run?” he asks me bluntly, his face placid with only a hint of worry showing. I have a feeling this man is very good at schooling his emotions.
I certainly can’t say, Well, your red tattoo freaked me out and I thought for a brief moment you could be a rapist.
But I am a quick thinker and I go with an answer that has a tiny hint of truth in it. “I was a little overwhelmed by everything that happened between us. It was…um…intense. I panicked, I guess.”
Beck tilts his head and his brows draw inward as if that’s not quite sitting right with him. He takes a step toward me across the faded linoleum, reaches a hand out, and tucks the tips of his fingers in the waistband of my jeans. With a tiny tug, he pulls me forward so I’m just a foot away from him. His voice is low, husky…shiver-inducing. “You mean that I handed you your first orgasm from a man?”
“And multiple ones at that,” I whisper back, feeling hypnotized by the intensity of his stare.
“You shouldn’t have run. I had more to give you.” He tugs again on my waistband and I step into him close enough that my breasts brush against his lower chest.
“My bad,” I say, a wave of disappointment washing through me that I may never have that again.
Beck stares down at me and I get the feeling he wants to kiss me, but I can’t be sure. I’ve never been savvy or in tune with notions of romance and seduction. Guys want to fuck me, they usually just tell me that straight up.
With his free hand, Beck pulls something from his back pocket, then he’s raising it between our bodies, causing me to take a step back. His fingers stay lodged in my waistband, so I don’t go far. He waves a document in front of me that is stapled and folded in half lengthwise.
My eyes go from the paper to him. “What’s that?”
“A sugar agreement,” he says.
A flush of excitement causes my skin to prickle, but I’m still not sure what he means. “For who?”
“You and me,” he says somberly, and possibly with even a slight grimace. He clearly doesn’t want to do this, and yet…here he is offering it.
I step back, dislodging his hand from my jeans and cross my arms. With a skeptical cock of my brow, I state, “You’re not a Sugar Daddy.”
“That’s true.”
“And you told me unequivocally that you don’t want to devote your time or resources to just one woman.”
“Also true.”
“Then why are you here in my apartment with an agreement?” I ask in exasperation.
“Because you need a Daddy to fund your schooling and I’m feeling generous,” he says slyly, and I know that has nothing to do with why he’s standing here.
“I have someone that’s already interested in that. In fact, I plan to seal the deal this weekend,” I counter.
I truly don’t have any intentions of signing an agreement with the very rich and slightly pushy Frank Webert. That conversation was begun merely to maintain my cover as a naïve Sugar Baby on the prowl…nothing more.
And by the tight look on Beck’s face, I’m guessing he doesn’t li
ke that at all.
“I can give you something he can’t,” Beck says confidently as he sets the agreement on my kitchen table.
“Oh yeah…what’s that?” I ask almost breathlessly, but I know damn well what he can give me.
Beck steps back into me, backs me right up against my refrigerator, and pulls my jeans open with efficient and practiced fingers. I gasp as his hand slips down my panties and his fingers drag against me slowly.
“How about I show you,” he murmurs, in an almost taunting tone.
But I don’t care.
I’m immediately gone.
I can tell by the easy glide of him against me that I’m soaking wet. I’m wondering at what point that occurred.
When he told me he can give me something no other man can?
When he showed me the agreement?
Hell…probably when he opened the door for me downstairs.
Regardless, my body reacts to Beck in a way that’s totally contrary to my entire being. Since that night when my innocence and part of my sanity was taken, I’ve never let anyone get to me the way Beck has. I’ve always been able to keep emotion separate from sex, but for whatever reason, my body just doesn’t want to behave when he’s in close proximity.
The tip of Beck’s finger circles slowly around my clit and he places a hand on the refrigerator next to my head. Tilting his own, he leans in and presses his lips to my jaw. Slides over and whispers in my ear, “How fast are you going to come for me, Sela?”
I moan in response, my blood racing, and my heart about ready to leap out of my chest.
“I’m betting pretty fast,” he says with a husky laugh. “Just look at the way your hips are moving…trying to ride my finger.”
I don’t have to look. I can’t seem to stop myself.
Pressure builds, there’s that telltale tightening in my lower back, an almost frustrated cramp of pleasure between my legs, then Beck presses down on my clit, and I explode. My body pushes off the refrigerator, pressing into him hard while my head falls back. A long moan tears free of my throat, and I realize my fingers are dug deep into his biceps. I’m not even sure when that happened, but I have to consciously flex my fingers to let him go.
As I open bleary eyes, I see him looking down at me in triumph. He pulls his hands from my pants, sticks his finger in his mouth, and sucks it with relish. “Delicious,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Damn, you’re really good,” I say as I suck oxygen back into my lungs.
“So sign the agreement,” he says nonchalantly. “I’ll do that to you quite frequently.”
“And what’s in it for you?” I ask suspiciously, because I can’t believe he’s gone from adamant bachelor to offering a commitment.
And yes…a sugarship is a commitment…at least monetarily.
Beck steps away from me and I use the opportunity to fasten my jeans. He turns, grabs the agreement, and hands it to me. “I’m fascinated by you,” he tells me bluntly. “There’s an innocence about you. The fact that I can give you something that no other man has…well, let’s just say that does nice things to my ego.”
“This is an ego trip for you?” I ask, astounded.
“Partly,” he says without an ounce of shame. “And partly because I’m attracted to you on a level that I’ve not previously experienced. That says something, right?”
“And other than orgasms, what do I get?”
He waves the document at me and I take it. Unfolding it, I skim through the standard language and flip to the second page where it’s typed:
Sugar Daddy hereby agrees to:
And written in blue ink in a messy scrawl that I assume is Beck’s script:
Pay for Sela Halstead’s master’s degree at Golden Gate University, which includes, but is not limited to, tuition, books, and housing, as well as a stipend to cover wages she would earn at any jobs she currently holds. Sugar Daddy will also pay off any existing school loans, both undergraduate and graduate, taken out by Sela Halstead to date.
My head snaps up and my mouth hangs wide open. “You’re paying for my entire education?”
He shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s what I’d pay for a vacation for myself. No biggie.”
“No biggie” my ass, and he’s also full of shit when he says he’d pay that much for a vacation for himself. Beckett North isn’t flashy like that. While having my degrees paid for was never, ever a consideration when I decided to become a Sugar Baby to pursue Townsend, the mere thought of having that debt off of me almost makes me light-headed. It’s almost too good to be true.
My eyes narrow at the agreement. “And what do I have to do?”
But he doesn’t answer, instead letting me read the next paragraph outlining my obligations. Again, in his handwriting, I will agree to:
Move in to Beck North’s home for a period of one month. Quit all jobs currently employed at. Outside of school conflicts, attend any and all functions with Beck North and appropriate attire will be provided.
And that’s it.
Nothing else.
Very short, simple requirements handwritten by Beck.
My head raises slowly and I’m almost disappointed when I say, “You want me to move into your house for one month and just be your date to various functions?”
Beck gives a dark laugh, pulls a pen from his breast pocket, and hands it to me. “No, Sela. I expect you to also be in my bed each night, which is why I don’t want you working at some diner, and that you’ll let me fuck you in any way that I want. But of course that can’t be put into the agreement.”
My knees almost buckle. The way he just said he wants me to let him fuck me any way he wants is almost menacing, and to someone with my issues, a little terrifying. Yet my knees almost buckle, mostly from the prospect of immense pleasure I think will come with that.
I stare at him a moment and my eyes flip to the pen he’s holding out. I don’t hesitate before grabbing it. I turn, spread the document on the counter, and hastily scrawl my name on the bottom. Beck takes the pen, adds his name under mine, and the deal is sealed.
I lift my face, wondering if he’ll add a kiss onto the agreement, but instead I find him looking at me with determination. “Sela…it’s just a month. Nothing long-term.”
“I understand,” I say, and think, That should be more than enough time to figure out a better, more secure plan to go after Townsend.
Finally, he gives me a smile and leans in, brushing his lips against mine. “Then let’s get your stuff packed up. You’re moving in tonight.”
Chapter 10
Beck
I unlock the door to my apartment, anticipating seeing Sela. She’s been here for a week in my penthouse condo in the Millennium Tower, and I’m still surprised when I come home from work and find her here. It’s not that it’s hard to get used to sharing my space with another person; it’s that she’s made it so fucking easy, and that’s what has shocked me.
I honestly figured I’d see a little play once she moved in. I would only commit to a month, figuring I’d get sick of the arrangement, because, let’s face it…how fucking enamored can I actually be with her? I mean, yeah…when she comes whether it’s on my tongue, my fingers, or my cock, it’s like the most miraculous thing I’ve ever seen. It takes over her entire being…it transforms her from an aloof, beautiful creature to one who, just for a few moments, seems to open up part of her soul. It’s practically spellbinding.
At any rate, maybe she figures she’s got me dazzled, because the play I expected never occurred. I’ve heard enough from JT and some other Sugar Daddies that when you take on a Sugar Baby, you are given some pretty spectacular royal treatment. That first night I came home, I half expected her to meet me at the door with some sexy lingerie on and a casserole in the oven. I expected her to drop to her knees and give me the best fucking blow job ever.
You know…so she could show me that she deserved to be here longer than a month.
Instead, I found h
er on the couch studying, her forehead scrunched while she chewed on the eraser of a pencil. She raised her head, gave me a half smile, and said, “Hey,” before returning to her textbook.
And that was it.
I’ll admit…a small part of me was disappointed, because who wouldn’t want a blow job as soon as you walked in the door? But most of me respected her for it, because she was clearly showing me that she was more than just a fuck.
Didn’t mean I didn’t fuck her though.
In fact, I immediately walked over to the couch, pulled the book from her hand, and hauled her up. Just in case she thought to fight or deny me, I bent over and pushed my shoulder into her stomach before putting her into a fireman’s carry. And, music to my ears, I think I even heard a tiny laugh.
Because I didn’t fuck her that first night she moved in, I was a little impatient in my need and I bypassed heavy foreplay, doing just enough with my fingers and dirty words to get her wet. I fucked her hard, intent on getting her off with the power of my cock alone, and it was beautiful when she came, especially when my name came out in a ragged cry of relief and gratitude.
I’m wondering tonight what I’ll get with Sela. Most nights, she’s been on the couch studying. One night she didn’t even come home until almost ten p.m., claiming a study session at the library. On another night, I walked in to the smell of baking lasagna and a naked Sela in my bed waiting for me. She had the sheet resting over her breasts and she looked unsure of herself, but she gamely invited me to come play with her. Her idea of playing was to ride me slowly until my brain almost exploded and my dick very nearly did when I came.
Setting my keys down on the small side table near the door, I traverse the dark hardwood flooring in the hall to the massive open-plan living room that’s bordered on two sides by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Oakland Bay, with the Bay Bridge and Oakland hills in the distance. Sela’s not in the living room studying, but I know she’s here because her ratty backpack is on the floor beside the couch.
Sugar Daddy (Sugar Bowl #1) Page 7
