Sweet Success: East Coast Sugar Daddies: Book 2

by Bates, Austin

  I licked my lips, my mouth dry.

  Quinton focused on my lips, and then slid his gaze back up to my eyes. His pupils were slightly dilated, his irises thin hazel haloes. He shifted in his seat, turning his body more towards mine. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked. His voice was lower than it had been, almost gravelly. I could smell the champagne on his breath, the citrus-y undertone of lemon.

  I licked my lips again, imagining I could taste the sour tang of the fruit on my own tongue. If I kissed him, would that be what he tasted like? Sweeter? Warmer?

  Wetter?

  I stammered a little, bouncing my foot on the thick plush carpet. “I really did. Thank you.”

  He chuckled and touched my hand, a brief caress that felt more like gasoline being thrown onto a fire. I couldn’t breathe. “No need to be so stiff. I’ve heard a stomach growl before.”

  “I haven’t eaten much today,” I admitted. “I was really, really nervous about this date.”

  “And how do you feel now?” Quinton took my other hand in his and tilted his head, studying me.

  I looked deep into his eyes, taking my take sorting through my thoughts because I knew he wouldn’t mind if I did. His eyes were really so beautiful. Striations of gold, green, and copper playing off each other like gemstone facets. If I looked long enough, I felt like I might get lost in them.

  “I’m happy.”

  A wide, pure smile broke out across his face, and I felt as if I was seeing the real Quinton. Not that he’d hidden anything from me, because he’d been obvious and open from the very start, but as if I could see past his handsome features straight to his youthful, playful soul.

  “I’m happy, too. Tell me, Theo, would you like to join me for a late dinner? I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

  I nodded. “I’d like that, please.”

  “Excellent.” Quinton pulled out his phone. “Let me message my driver so he can meet us outside. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not stand around out there in that heat any longer than necessary.”

  “But you were standing around earlier when I met you?”

  He leveled his gaze at me. “For exactly as long as it was necessary. I had to meet you. And I’m very glad I did.”

  My heart fluttered so fast I started to get a little dizzy.

  Quinton looked at me for a few moments longer before turning his attention back to his phone. He tapped out a message and then sent it, and stood up. Holding out his hand to me, he said, “Shall we?”

  I took his hand and stood with him, letting him lead me out through the theatre and to the square and down the steps. Before, when I first arrived, the sheer magnitude of the crowd had rubbed me the wrong way and put me on edge. It had been instinctual, an intense fight-or-flight response I’d had to struggle against every step of the way. The people had been staring at me, judging me, pushing and shoving me, closing in on me like hungry wolves.

  Now, I hardly noticed them. All I had to do was focus on Quinton and I knew I was safe.

  He guided me over to a fancy black limousine, the kind I’d only ever seen in movies. It had to be expensive -but convenient too, especially to me. I’d never driven before. I never bothered to learn how. I’d always held out hope I would be coming to NYC, where public transportation was more than adequate.

  Quinton held the door open for me and gestured for me to climb inside. I slid inside the car and found myself in an open space approximately the size of my apartment.

  “Wow,” I breathed. “I can’t even imagine owning something so expensive.”

  Quinton slid in after me. “Any dinner preferences?”

  Thinking of the caviar, I said, “No seafood.”

  He laughed out loud and placed his hand on my knee. With his other hand, he hit the intercom button and requested for his driver to take us to a restaurant whose name I could not pronounce. The driver responded, his voice carrying a faint French accent, letting us know that we would arrive in less than ten minutes.

  A moment later, the limousine slid into movement so smoothly I hardly felt it. The only way I could tell we were going anywhere was by looking out the window at the city flying by, a blur of light and color.

  Quinton didn’t speak much during the short ride. He didn’t need to. Holding hands and being here with him was enough to make my heart flutter and my thoughts race. Possibilities filled my mind of what we could be doing right now, all alone in the privacy of this vehicle with no one to see us. My thighs tensed and I wriggled a little, shifting in my seat to try and hide the bulge pressing at the front of my suit pants. I didn’t want him to see. I didn’t know how he’d react.

  But, I also really wanted him to see me like this, excited by him, excited by his attention and his hand wrapped around mine. He could easily, so easily wrap his hand around my dick and I would melt and let him do whatever he wanted to me. If he would just look over here and see my erection, hear my fast breathing, sense the heat rising inside me…

  The car slowed and I jumped a little. My erection wilted, the sudden absence of tightness and heat almost painful. Looking around, I saw a tall restaurant with a glass front on the other side of the street, offering glimpses of round tables and silhouetted patrons sitting in low moody lighting.

  Quinton reached over and touched my shoulder. “Are you ready?” he asked. He pointed out through the car window at the restaurant. “That’s where we’re going.”

  “I’m ready.” My voice squeaked. I cringed inwardly and flicked a sideways glance at him to see if he’d noticed. He hadn’t, already turning away to open his door. I hurried out after him. “Don’t we need reservations for a place like that?”

  “You let me worry about that.” Quinton held out his hand for me. The glow of a nearby street lamp caught in his palm, casting the lines and creases in shadow. I traced their curved paths with my eyes, wondering what a palm-reader might find written there. This night we were spending together, was it a predetermined fate, or had I gotten lucky?

  “Theo?”

  I reached for his hand and placed my fingers in the middle of his palm, right over what was called the head line. Being around him had all my senses straining toward him, my mind and body drawn to him. I felt the subtle divot of the curved line, the branching wrinkles and intercepting contours like Braille to me, speaking a language I could marvel at, but not understand.

  Quinton closed his hand around mine and pulled me closer to his side, our hips brushing together. He wrapped his arm around my waist and tilted his head to smile at me.

  Breathless, my stomach quivering, melting from the heat of his smile, I pressed my body closer to his. “I’m ready,” I repeated.

  I don’t know if I mean I’m ready to go to the restaurant, or something else.

  Quinton stepped down off the curb, holding onto me, and led me across the street to the glass front doors of the restaurant. The name of the restaurant swirled in cursive over the awning above the door, a series of accented words that I thought might be French.

  A man in a tuxedo stepped out from inside and held the door open for us. “Welcome,” he said.

  Quinton nodded to him. I said, “Thank you.”

  The interior of the restaurant was brighter than it had seemed from outside. I glanced around and noticed the windows were easier to see through from this side, too. They must have been colored, or tinted; wealthy people sure did seem to like their tinged glass. I wondered why that was.

  I peered around Quinton as he led us up around the front of the line and started speaking with one of the hosts, after beckoning them over. They conversed in low, serious tones, almost whispered. As much as I was curious about what they were saying to each other, I couldn’t stop looking around with all this fancy stuff to check out. Everything was decked out in burnished tones that complimented the copper glow of the mood lighting, flickering reflections of candlelight radiating across the room. Men in suits and their dates sat at small tables, each set a significant distance apart from the
others. To make a private, romantic atmosphere, I guessed, even though every visible table was full and the conversation was still very loud as a result.

  Like at the Lincoln Center, like inside the theatre, the sheer magnitude of everything going on around me made me painfully aware of how small and insignificant I was.

  What am I even doing here? I stared around at the graceful russet bows of the light fixtures, each one as big as a car and probably as expensive. I don’t belong here. Not even with Quinton.

  “Theo?” Warmth glanced across my cheek.

  I started and focused on Quinton, his hand cupping my face. “Y-yeah?”

  “We’re good,” he said, his tone gentle. “Let’s go to our table and get you some water.”

  Water sounded great. I nodded and lifted my hand to hold onto his again. He slid his thumb over the back of my hand and tugged, pulling me after him. We followed a hostess with pale hair across to a grand mahogany staircase which wound up to a quieter, emptier second-floor loft which overlooked not only the dining area of the first floor but a section of garden and outside tables behind the restaurant. I didn’t see anyone out there, which seemed like a shame.

  The hostess took us back to a table in the corner, which overlooked the garden and put significant distance between us and the nearest diners. Quinton pulled out my chair and then sat down across from me, accepting the menu handed to him. I held my own menu, which was both smaller and far fancier than any other menu I’d ever held. I flipped through the few pages and almost choked in surprise at the first item I saw. Cod. For fucking $130.

  What the fuck? Was it a fucking magic, talking fish?

  “Your server will be along in a moment,” the hostess informed us, smiling.

  This time, my tongue was too tangled-up to even say thanks.

  “You look overwhelmed,” Quinton murmured. He reached over and placed his hand on mine. His touch, already becoming familiar to me, pulled my attention to him. I looked up at him, away from the apparently gold-plated magical unicorn cod, and forced myself to take slower breaths.

  “This is…” I stopped.

  I can’t keep saying it’s too expensive. If I signed up for this the proper way, I’d expect this. I can’t keep giving him hints that this isn’t what I thought it would be.

  “Are you sure all this is okay for our first date?” I asked, finding a better way to express my doubts. “What if you don’t like me and don’t want to see me again?”

  Quinton’s eyebrows went up and he opened his mouth to speak. My shoulders stiffened, anticipation souring my stomach even further than it already had been.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” said a prim, cheerful voice. A young woman approached from the direction of the staircase, the sweet pear scent of her perfume preceding her. “What a lovely night, isn’t it? I hope you’re enjoying the view. My name is Alouette -you can call me Allie- and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

  I leaned back in my chair, gripping my knees under the table. Think, think. Find something to say. “Why isn’t anyone outside?” I blurted out.

  Alouette -Allie- smiled. “We don’t offer reservations for outside seating when it’s so hot. We pride ourselves on the best dining experience in all of New York, and we refuse to let our guests be uncomfortable.”

  “O-oh. That makes sense.”

  Quinton smiled at me. “If you like it here, maybe we’ll come back when the weather is nicer.”

  Maybe we’ll come back.

  Quinton kept speaking. I heard the sound of his voice, what he said, the meaning of his previous statement resonating inside my head like the deep chiming of a gong. I had asked him what would happen if he didn’t like me before we were interrupted, and he had still managed to sneak an answer to me. He liked me. He liked me enough to come back here when the weather was nicer. That would be months, in the fall.

  He liked me.

  I repeated it to myself over and over, hardly able to understand, and understanding all too well what it meant.

  “Theo?”

  I snapped my head up. Allie had gone away, leaving us alone again. “Yes, Quinton?”

  He reached across the table for my hand and held it when I gave it to him, stroking my knuckles and smiling. I watched the soft back-and-forth of his finger and trembled, tingles of desire flittering up my spine. “I know you caught what I said. I’d love to spend more time with you. What do you think? Would you be interested?”

  This was so much more than I’d imagined. I didn’t know what to say. Thoughts crowded to the front of my mind, all fighting to be the first out, wedging together so nothing could escape.

  Quinton kept stroking my hand. Back and forth, a hypnotic rhythm. I felt so totally, utterly under his spell, every part of me focused upon him and the way he made me feel. My erection pressed against my pants again, and this time I let it be because I knew he wouldn’t see it under the table.

  “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he murmured. He peered at me from underneath his eyelashes, which glowed like gold in the candlelight. “We can talk about it later when you’re ready. I just want you to know I’ve enjoyed our time together. And I want you to also know even if you decide not to have another date with me, I’m not going to regret spending any of this money, and I would never ask you to pay any of it back.”

  That’s too good to be true.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He blinked, looking startled. “Because I’ve enjoyed our time. Every moment with you has been fun and exciting. It could never be a waste.”

  I placed my hand over my pounding heart, stunned back into silence by what he’d said. No one in my entire life had said anything like that to me, not even people I’d dated for longer amounts of time. Not even my own father.

  “Quinton…”

  “And you can call me Win, if you want. Everyone else does.”

  I had to smile. “I like that nickname. It really fits you.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah. You know why?”

  Quinton leaned closer. “Why?”

  “Because. You’ve won me over.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, my shoulders lifting. “I know we don’t have to talk about this right now, but I would really like to see more of you after this. If… if that’s okay?”

  “Of course, it’s okay! Theo, that makes me very happy.”

  Quinton picked up my hand and brought it to his lips, pressing them to the back. I gasped as a hot lance of desire pulsed in my groin, the shaft of my dick stiffening and pressing harder against the crotch of my suit pants. His lips were warm and soft on my skin; his tongue flicked out, a quick, wet touch that sent shivers racing through me.

  “Win,” I whispered, almost panting now. My senses felt as if they were catching on fire, my awareness of the world around me practically vibrating with intensity. I heard the waitress’s approaching footsteps from what seemed to me to be a mile away, through the conversations drifting up from down below, and through the nearby chatter and the clink of silverware on fine porcelain.

  Alouette brought with her a white wine and a fancy curved carafe of iced lemon water, which she poured into my glass. Seeds and pale wisps of pulp drifted in the frost-cold liquid, shockingly bright yellow in comparison with the dark-neutral atmosphere.

  “Have you two looked over the menu yet?”

  I stared down at the slim, complicated menu in my hands, and then looked over at Quinton.

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Want me to order for you?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” I admitted.

  Allie chuckled politely. “It can be a little intimidating at first. It’s good that you brought someone you trust to help you so he doesn’t end up feeding you escargot.”

  I tasted bile at the back of my throat. “Isn’t that the snails?”

  “Oh, yes. They’re quite good. Not for first-timers, though.”

  Quinton also chuckled. “I don’t even like to eat escargot myself. And I�
��ve already made him eat caviar today. I think that’s enough.”

  He ordered our entrees, reassuring me that mine was a relatively uncomplicated chicken thing, and a cheese plate to nibble on in the meantime. Allie repeated everything back to us and closed her little leather-bound notebook. “I’ll go put your orders in and get you your hors d’ oeuvres. Excellent choice, by the way. We hand-craft our own cheeses in-house.”

  “Do you grow your own vegetables, too?” I joked.

  “What do you think the garden is for?” She smiled and walked away.

  I glanced outside at the garden. While it was nice, with flourishing flowerbeds and ornamental trees, I didn’t see anything resembling a vegetable garden. “Does she mean the grass, or…”

  Quinton chuckled and pointed. “Look there. Behind the trees. My guess is the vegetable garden is considered unsightly here and they hide it back there.”

  I squinted and thought I could make out patches of earth through the shadowy tree trunks. “Oh.”

  Our cheese plate came after a few minutes, assorted thin, fancy crackers in darker colors than anything found on a supermarket shelf, and aromatic cheeses that tasted as pungent as they smelled.

  “What are the red things?” I asked, dissecting a scrap of cheese with my knife.

  “Dried tomato,” Quinton supplied. “From the garden, probably.”

  “I think I like fake cheese better.”

  “I suppose we always have a special place in our hearts for what we grow up with.”

  “You ate this stuff as a kid?”

  “No. I mean that, as much as I enjoy caviar and foie gras, nothing you find in a restaurant like this ever hits the spot like a hamburger with a slice of fake American cheese on top. Maybe two.”

  “Ketchup?” I ventured.

  “What else?”

  Our conversation broke off again as Allie returned with our entrees, setting steaming plates of food down in front of us. Mine was some sort of chicken breast and sauce over a bed of unfamiliar vegetables, while I couldn’t even begin to decipher what the hell Quinton had ordered for himself. I wasn’t really looking at the food, though. I was thinking hard about our conversation, realizing how down-to-earth Quinton actually was for such a wealthy guy. He was way more than he had appeared to be at first. If we ended up going on more dates together, as I hoped we would be, I would really like to know more about him and what made him tick.