Sugar Love

by Callie Bardot

  Effie hurried down the stairs. Exactly. What does he see in me? Whatever it is, I like it. She knew this wasn’t a basic sugar-baby, sugar-daddy alliance. We’re breaking all the rules. Which means, my heart’s going to be obliterated when the contract ends. Their relationship wasn’t anything like Haley and Arnold. But, she couldn’t help herself.

  And, then, there’s all the attention I keep getting. Being the current trending topic in a Twitter shit-storm of Mystery Maiden vs. Bitch Banks hadn’t been exactly fun. She’d hid in her dorm room yesterday, trying to avoid everything and everyone and immerse herself in studying. It hadn’t worked. Between Haley pestering her to look at Twitter, and Zander worrying about her, she hadn’t gotten much studying done. I’m going to fail my Biomedical class for sure if this keeps up. Which will make Zander’s gift of money and this tragic romance all the sadder.

  As she hurried toward the library, trying to savor the few minutes of sun between buildings, her phone rang. Hoping it would be Zander, she shrugged her backpack off her shoulders and fished the phone out of the top pocket. She glanced at the screen. Shit, it’s my mother. She thought about not answering it, but knew, from experience, her mother would then make it her mission to keep calling until she received a response.

  With a sigh, she connected the call.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said.

  “Effie,” her mom said, in a disapproving tone.

  Effie’s stomach lurched.

  Her mom’s voice grated against her eardrums. “Why does my neighbor have to come to my door and show me a picture of you looking like you stepped off the cover of one of those fashion magazines?”

  Oh, no. My mother doesn’t look at social media. What did she see?

  “I don’t know, why? Is this a riddle? I’m late for work, Mom.” She stepped up her pace.

  A canyon of silence met her ears.

  The real question is when have I ever talked back to my mother?

  “You haven’t taken to shoplifting have you?” her mom finally said.

  “What? No! Why would you even think that?” A knot of annoyance formed in her belly. “How on earth did we get from your neighbor to me shoplifting?”

  “Answer my question,” her mom insisted.

  “Which was what? Why your neighbor stopped by? No clue.” She started to jog, veering left across the lawn she was supposed to stay off, or so said the sign on the tree.

  “How do you have money to dress in those fancy clothes?” her mom said.

  “Mom, I have a job,” Effie said.

  So, it only pays minimum wage.

  Her mom kept speaking, apparently not hearing a word Effie said. “And, that photo of you on a—what are those? Fake walls? That photo was the worst. I couldn’t believe you would risk your life by climbing a fake wall. Shocked. I was shocked. Those aren’t the values I raised you with.”

  Effie sighed. Her mom could have said a million things, like, “Wow, you look really pretty,” or, “Good to see you trying something active for a change.” But no, not my mom. Her mother wouldn’t listen to her. Her mother never listened to her. Why should this moment be any different, simply because Effie had a surge of confidence? Her shoulders drooped as she stepped into the library foyer.

  “Promise me you won’t do any more dangerous things, Euphemia Olivia D’Archangel,” her mother said.

  “Mom, I…” can’t promise that. Any more than I promise to love that horrible name you saddled me with.

  “Promise me,” her mother insisted. “Or, so help me, God…”

  Effie’s shoulders fell. Or, what? She stood in the lobby with lead feet.

  “Euphemia, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, Mother, I’m listening.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Fine,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back.

  A loud gasp met her ears. “Effie!”

  “What?” Effie said, in a sullen, sixteen-year-old voice.

  “I just put two and two together. Tell me you haven’t become a prostitute. Oh, my baby,” Effie’s mom wailed. “That must be it,” she cried.

  The words slammed into Effie like a missile. Shame heated her face into red-hot flames. Like some strange, judgmental, truth-telling seer, her mother had just voiced Effie’s worst fears—the fears she kept tucked far away from her consciousness. If anyone found out about her taking money to be Zander’s companion…more like his sex playmate…she’d die. We shouldn’t have crossed those lines. We should have kept it as it was supposed to be—companionship, nothing more.

  Her mouth became dry. She worked her tongue around, trying to moisten her mouth enough to speak.

  “No,” she croaked into the phone. “You’re leaping to the strangest conclusions, Mom. I’m not a prostitute.”

  Only a bought and paid for sugar baby. And, we have sex. How is that any different?

  Mom continued her rant in her usual, hysterical manner. There was nothing to do but wait it out, the same way she waited out all of her mom’s insanity-speak.

  The door exiting the library opened, and Mrs. Schneider’s head appeared, peering into the foyer. “There you are,” she said. “We need you.”

  “Mom, I’ve got to go,” Effie whispered. She hung up the phone, mid-tirade.

  “Trouble at home?” Mrs. Schneider said, a sympathetic expression on her soft, squishy face.

  “Sort of.” Effie wanted to run as far and fast as she could. But, instead, she dutifully followed Mrs. Schneider into the library, her feet catching on the linoleum as if it were made of flypaper.

  Inside the library, ugly thoughts swirled around her head like vultures. I’m a glorified prostitute. A bought and paid for sugar baby. I could have been a paid date, but no, I chose to have sex like a desperate schoolgirl.

  As the thoughts continued, she dropped a stapler, spilled coffee from the coffee pot in the break room when she tried to clean the area and messed up Mrs. Schneider’s neat paper stacks when she handed her a folder. By the time her shift was almost over, she was practically in tears. She sat, slumped in her chair at the front desk, biting her nails, hoping everyone in the library would leave. She’d been too upset to study for her biomedical test and hadn’t really managed to do anything useful except fret about her mother’s accusations. She didn’t have much time before the test next week. A solid schedule of classes, her internship, and whatever Zander planned filled her upcoming week. It’s okay, the test is next Monday, and I can study over the weekend and during whatever time I have in the evening.

  When the front door opened, she sighed. Go away, whoever you are.

  Zander appeared, bearing a ginormous bouquet of red, yellow and orange flowers.

  Her handsome temporary lover rocked a short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans like no man, ever. Remembering her sugar baby rules of “don’t process,” she straightened in her chair and tried to appear happy. What emerged, however, felt more like a stretched-thin grimace. Seeing him only reminded her of the conversation she’d had with her mother.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said.

  “Hi, Zander.”

  His face fell as he strode toward her desk. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s nothing. Work stuff,” she said, using his line.

  He eyed the quiet library, doubt written all over his face. “What kind of work stuff?”

  “Okay, it’s my mother. She called me and accused me of all kinds of things,” Effie blurted. “But, I can handle it. It’s nothing new,” she quickly amended, in case she’d said too much.

  His brow crinkled. “What kind of things?”

  He lowered the flowers to the counter.

  “Dumb things,” she said, dismissively. “Mother, daughter things. You know.”

  “Not really. No,” he said, still frowning. He shifted back and forth as if he had his own problems. His mouth opened as if he were about to speak, but then he closed it.

  What happened? Did he have a bad day at work? Does he need some sort of comfort?r />
  Her insides raced for a topic changer. “Those flowers are beautiful. Are they for me?”

  Snapping out of whatever plagued him, he glanced at the lovely arrangement of bright yellow roses, orange, and red lilies and touches of solidago, nestled in green foliage. Then, he lifted them from the counter and presented them with a flourish. “To the most courageous, beautiful girl around.”

  Heat bloomed along her cheeks. For another fleeting second she thought about what it would be like if she and Zander could be a real couple. An ache of longing bore down on her heart. She’s been focused on her education since leaving home. Zander made her want more.

  “Thank you,” she gushed. “They’re so pretty. I’ll have to find some water for them. I don’t get off for another hour.”

  “They’re not half as pretty as you.” He leaned his forearms on the counter and flashed his dazzling smile. “I’m, uh…” A tic began pulsing on his temple.

  What’s he nervous about? She clenched her hand into a fist.

  He licked his lips. “I’m here with an invitation.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “And invitation? To what?”

  “To my parents for the weekend.” His smile broadened.

  Shit. His parents? Why? I have enough parent problems. And I need to study for biomedical. And how does this fit with the sugar baby contract? As her mind raced, she fiddled with a paper clip. But, she knew her obligations. No way could she say no.

  “What time?”

  His shoulders visibly relaxed. “We’ll make it a long weekend. We’re taking my private jet, so…Friday to Monday.” He beamed.

  I have my internship on Monday. And, there goes my grade in Biomed. Mentally, she arranged her schedule. I’ll tell Biophys Industries I have a family obligation. Who needs to know it’s not my family? I’ll get up at 5am to study. But, oh, no, the test is on Monday. Her hands fluttered, knocking a few books waiting to be re-shelved off the desk. She scrambled from her chair, stooped, and began picking up fallen books.

  “Are those times not good? What about Thursday to Sunday? I’ll have to skip a board meeting, but Kent can cover for me,” Zander said. He stepped around the counter to help her retrieve the books from the floor.

  “That would be far better,” she said, accepting the books he handed her. I can pull an all-nighter study session. She stacked the books on her desk. Zander shouldn’t have to miss work because of me. That’s ridiculous. But, then, why should I make his needs more important than mine? Well, duh. He’s paying for everything. Her conversation with her mother began dive bombing her head. She thinks I’m a prostitute and doesn’t want me to do risky things. But, she’s not me. She took a long, deep breath. I’m a straight-A student and a responsible person. So what if I miss a test and a class or two?

  She rose to her feet and stepped toward the book cart at the end of her desk. After placing the books on the cart, she straightened her shoulders and turned to face Zander. “Actually, whatever time you’d like to go would be great. I can rearrange my schedule.”

  “Really? Because I can miss that meeting.” He leaned back against the desk.

  “I mean it. Whatever works for you is fine.”

  Who cares if I get paid to have fantastic sex with this man? I get to pursue my education and grow in ways I never dreamed—like becoming an adventurer.

  The weight of her mother’s accusation lifted from her shoulders. A genuine smile replaced the grimace.

  And, Zander…his face appeared so soft…so open…like she’d just spread the world at his feet. An idea niggled at her insides. They only had a few weeks remaining together. Damn her mother for judging her. This was a beautiful experience. It had truly transformed her into a fit, more confident young woman.

  She intended to give Zander the best gift, ever.

  Chapter 34

  Zander

  Zander’s seduction plan was simple—get Effie on his private jet, wet her lips with Krug Clos du Mesnil Blanc de Blancs champagne, and get down and dirty sexy for the entire flight to Florida.

  “Champagne?” he said, once they were airborne.

  As the jet ascended, and they left Seattle behind, his spirit grew lighter. He glanced at Effie and smiled.

  She returned a warm, open smile.

  A weekend of infinite, pleasurable opportunities seemed to shimmer between them as their eyes locked.

  “Yes, please.” She flashed him a minx-like smile from her seat on the white leather sofa flanking the side of the jet.

  She looked oh-so-temptingly-hot in her new blue and gold slinky sun-dress.

  Zander could barely think straight.

  He poured her a fluted glass of bubbly, him a glass, and handed it to her. Then, he settled next to her. “To an amazing weekend of possibilities.” He held his glass aloft and clinked it with hers.

  They each sipped.

  After he set his glass down, Zander lightly rubbed his fingertips over his parted lips. He savored Effie with his eyes, letting his attention linger as it traveled over her body.

  Effie, holding the stem of her crystal flute between her graceful fingers, let a long strand of her flaxen hair fall over her shoulders. She took another sip of champagne before resting the glass on the table next to her. She idly toyed with the lock of hair, glancing at him with a heated gaze.

  The air in the jet felt sultry, like a hot August night on a Caribbean beach.

  She licked her lips. Her eyes glittered with feral intensity. “Do you want to maybe…?”

  “Yes,” he said, not waiting for the rest of the question. He kept his focus on her every move.

  Gracefully, she rose to stand. She stroked her shoulder, pushing the slender strap along her upper arm.

  Their eyes locked in a feverish gaze.

  Her fingers lightly brushed her collarbone, lingering in the hollow in her neck.

  He licked his lips, waiting. His cock pulsed in his trousers, swollen and eager.

  A flash of hesitation danced across her face, quickly replaced by something darker, more intoxicating.

  He could smell her heat and it drove him wild. Still, he waited for her to make the next move. He leaned back against the sofa and parted his legs.

  Effie reached down to her legs. Her fingers trailed along the inside of her thighs for a moment. Then, she lightly grasped the hem of her dress and urged it up and over the luscious curves and valleys of her body. Once removed, she held the garment by one of the delicate arm straps. It dangled by her side like gossamer, draped against her silky legs.

  Zander hissed in a breath. His arousal throbbed between his legs, hard and heavy. He palmed his cock through his pants. This girl…I could get lost in her.

  Clad only in panties, she pivoted and sauntered toward the bedroom, trailing the garment behind her.

  He followed along behind her, behaving like a panting dog, his cock as hard and focused as a heat-seeking missile.

  But, then, she hit him with a bombshell.

  “Take off your prosthesis.” Effie’s face appeared seductively serious as she lay on his bed, at 35,000ft above the Earth, naked, waiting for him.

  Zander stood, hands poised at the waistband of his boxers, stunned. The sense of having collided with a truck scrambled his brain cells.

  “Excuse me?” he said, blinking like an idiot.

  “I want to see all of you. Not just the prettied-up version of you.”

  “Uh,” he managed to say. His erection began to flag.

  Her lashes lowered, and the most feral expression he’d ever seen on a woman flashed before his eyes. “Zander King. I said I want to see all of you. Not what you present to the public for show.”

  Wow. Where did the tigress come from? “I’m, uh…I don’t…”

  “Look, you don’t have to keep it off the whole time. Just please let me see.” A wicked angel smile spread across her face.

  “This doesn’t seem…” he began.

  “Like a good idea?” she said, finishing his sentence. “Li
ke the right time? Maybe this will convince you. I want you to see how much you turn me on.” She spread her legs and moved her hand between her legs. Then, she began to stroke. All the while her hooded eyes stayed glued to his.

  Shit. Feeling like a fly caught in a spider’s web, he hesitated.

  Effie groaned as if she’d found her sweet spot. Her gaze grew feverish, intense…

  Zander turned to stare at his high-tech hand, looking at it like it belonged to a stranger. A sudden memory jolt of Trisha’s response to his stump blinded him like a camera flash. Her utter rejection in the bedroom…followed by the violent fights and the fucking in the dark, always in the dark…the constant shame she ground into him with her actions.

  He blinked and turned his attention back to Effie.

  Her fierce, passionate gaze seemed to be saying, “You can do this, Zander. Don’t be afraid.”

  Her openness compelled him to let her see. The gift she offered felt vast…life-changing. He longed to drop the persistent shame he carried.

  Hesitantly, his fingers moving in some slo-mo warp, he brought his hand to the top of his prostheses. His eyes narrowed, studying Effie’s face.

  She nodded, encouragingly, as she stroked herself in rapid circles. Her lips parted as she pleasured herself.

  He swallowed and gripped the end of the prosthesis. His tongue darted along his lips, as he watched her. Finally, he slid the prosthetic sleeve from his arm.

  Effie stopped ministering to her arousal and pushed herself up on the pillows.

  “Come here,” she said.

  Zander obediently stepped toward the bed, clutching his bionic arm in his left hand. A sharp sense of phantom sensation and the urge to touch Effie with his missing fingers flooded his right side.

  “Sit,” she said.

  He did so, stiffly.

  “Can I touch it?”

  The only people who’d ever touched his stump, beside him when he showered or dressed, were therapists, doctors, and nurses. He extended his disfigured arm in her direction, feeling like a fawn about to be slaughtered by wolves.

  Effie’s gentle touch met his scarred flesh. “Do you have much sensation here?”