Home > Sugar Daddies(8)

Sugar Daddies(8)
Author: Jade West


I’d put money on it. Much more than a measly fucking grand.

Time to check out my predictions. I squeezed Rick’s neck, my fingers massaging his throat. “Let’s call it a night.”

Katie drank her wine back, placed the glass on the side. “I’ll get my bag,” she said.

I watched Rick walk her out, saw the huddle of them by her car. A big fucking thing for such a dainty looking girl.

“I’ll show Katie up,” he said as they stepped back inside, but I shrugged.

“No need, I’m coming up, too. We’ll all go up.”

I led the way, purposefully opening the guest room right next to ours. I pointed out the en suite, the tumbler and mineral water on the dressing table, and then I left her there, backing Rick out of the door with me.

Her eyes followed us until I closed the door.

And Rick was pissed at me. His breath was in my ear, all hissy and angry.

“You could have at least let me kiss her.”

“Chill the fuck out, loverboy,” I said, pacing through to our own room.

“Jesus, Carl. I could have warmed her up to the idea.”

“She’s fucking wet for it,” I said, my voice low. “She’s like a bitch on heat over the idea of your cock in her tight little snatch. You’d have to be blind not to see that.”

“Both of us,” he said. “She wants both of us.”

I laughed. “Like fuck she does.” My eyes met his. “But she will.”

He pulled the bedroom door shut, but I shook my head and threw it wide. And then I unbuttoned my shirt while he watched, and his eyes were hooded, the swell of his cock plain as day in his fucking jeans.

“Now get naked and get on that fucking bed,” I said. “And I’ll prove my theory about Little Miss Tight Snatch next door.”

 

 

I breathed a sigh of relief once my bedroom door was closed. Just me. Alone and in one piece. Albeit one slightly inebriated piece. Carl may be curt, and blunt, and really fucking intimidating, but he could sure pick a decent wine. I chalked up a point on his virtual scoreboard.

So far it went a little like this…

Rick. Score: 879. Hair, smile, tats, tongue bar, artistic, funny, nice chest, good hugs. Cool shoes. Dimples. Nerdy-chic. I opened my overnight bag and pulled out my satin slip. Tongue bar. That was worth at least a hundred points on its own.

Carl. Score: 001. Good wine picker.

Scrap that.

Carl. Score: 002. Good wine picker. Scary hot.

Is scary hot even a thing? I pictured Carl’s looming muscular frame, his hard jaw. Chiselled from steel and softened to perfection with goat’s milk and the tears of young virgins. That’s how I imagined him. Yes, scary hot was a thing.

Rick, hot. Carl, scary hot.

Katie. Score: 1000.

I checked my mobile banking app again just to be sure, and the balance made me smile. Three grand a fucking month. Nice work, Katie, well played.

It seemed all so easy now there was a closed door between us.

I cast aside my heels, dress and push-up bra — and hell, what a relief. On closer inspection of my bedtime attire, I decided to stick with my slut-knickers — a scrap of lace that was more frill than substance — as much as anything because I didn’t feel my regular bedtime panties were deserving of the opulence of this place. The room was more like a posh hotel gig than someone’s spare. Another point for Rick, his interior decor skills were faultless. This room was cream and black, stark and striking, with a huge white bed and black scatter cushions. Shabby chic furniture, but the uber-expensive kind. I mean, I even had a bottle of mineral water on the dresser for Christ’s sake. Who even does that?

I poured some out and glugged it back, then slipped my skimpy satin slip over my head. I’d never wear this crap at home, but it felt right here. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and it barely skimmed my arse, plunging down into a truly indecent v at my cleavage, too. I teased the knots from my hair, then struck a pose. Escort Katie looked confident as she stared back at me. Baby-doll satin and wine, a winning combination.

My confidence shrivelled faster than a piece of Rick’s dehydrated tofu when I heard footsteps on the landing outside. In a panic I flicked off the light and dived into bed, burrowing under the sheets as though they had the power to render me invisible. I listened until my ears were ringing, but there was no more movement. The faint orange glow disappeared from beneath the door as the landing light went out.

I caught my breath, tossing back the bedcovers enough to feel the cool of the air.

It seemed I really had escaped a night of double-fucking. The thought was both a relief and a disappointment, but mostly a relief. There was a niggle, though, under the surface. The niggle that it would be so much harder next time around after having baulked and opted for the spare at the first opportunity. Maybe I should have fucked them, broken the ice and earned my money. I’d shaved and everything, and show me a single girl who wants to go to all the bother of shaving her bits for a non-event. Not this one.

I shuffled down into the mattress, and it was comfortable. Much better than my one at home.

Fuck, how I wished I was fucking Rick. Just Rick. His hot tatted body over mine.

But Carl.

Shit.

There was fear lurking under the bravado and I wished I couldn’t feel it. Bravado was good, bravado kept you safe and happy and smiling, confident in the face of a world that wants to judge you and tear you down at every opportunity. Everyone loves the smiling, confident, happy-go-lucky girl, and mainly that was me. Mainly. But here I felt out of my depth, galloping into the unknown for the sake of a small-time dream nobody in the world except me took seriously.

I rolled onto my side, my knees to my chest, snuggling down into the pillows and heading for sleep.

Until the noises came.

Just one at first, and it was him, Rick. My heart did a little flutter.

His groan was loud and guttural, and slightly pained, followed by another that was even more pained. Sex noises are always so unmistakeable. They churned in my stomach, and made me feel guilty, and awkward, and… horny. My breath was shallow as I listened for more. Low, deep grunts in a staccato rhythm, and I couldn’t stop my mind chasing them, wondering what was happening through the wall, even though the pulse between my thighs already knew. Oh God, I knew.

And oh my fucking God, how I wanted to see.

There was still enough wine in my system to urge me on, and my thighs fell open, fingers slipping inside my lacy thong. I wondered if Rick was pinned, held tight to the bed as Carl’s steely body took him. I wondered how much it was hurting, if it really was as rough as it sounded, but soon his groans turned from pained to desperate, and altogether more frantic. I strained my ears for more, hoping for the sound of flesh slapping flesh. Hoping for the sound of Carl, too. Maybe he was whispering, maybe his mouth was on Rick’s ear, telling him how good it felt, how tight he was. Maybe he was talking about me.

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