Page 104 of Sugar Baby Mine

“Baby, I made you come so hard you had to use your safe word.”

“Don’t sound so happy about that,” I grumble, but it turns into a sigh as he presses kisses over my brow and top of my cheeks, leaving tingles lingering on my skin.

“I’m fucking thrilled,” he says, and it’s evident in the way a grintakes over his face. But his eyes flicker down my body in a slow assessing sweep. “But let’s take care of you now.”

“Take care of me?”

“We’ll start with a bath.” He begins to stand, pulling me up on shaking legs before sweeping me into the cradle of his arms. “And I’ll wash your hair. Then I’ll put you to bed and fix you a snack.”

That sounds…so nice.

“Ice cream?” I ask, looping my hands around his neck as he walks us back up toward the house.

“Whatever you want, I’ll give to you.”

Chapter 26

The ride home from the Hamptons feels short, even if I keep looking at the clock every five minutes. I’m not as restless as I was on the way there, but it doesn’t mean I can pay any attention to anything slipping by outside the window in the distance or to the traffic around us, let alone anything Ben says to me. When I see the city skyline looming closer, it feels strange all of a sudden, like something’s wrong, but I can’t pinpoint the reason.

Ben opens my door for me and then grabs my bag out of the back of the Range Rover, carrying it up to my apartment once I get the key in the lock of the door. I’m not sure what to do when he sets it down on the kitchen counter, his palms curving over the edge as he looks over at me.

There’s a silence that feels expectant when he looks over at me. His gaze is unwavering, the steady presence comforting. I haven’t even kicked off my shoes or stepped more than a foot into the apartment.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, and my stomach drops all of a sudden.

I realize I don’t want him to go, but I don’t want him to feel obligated to stay. He shouldn’t have to ask me that question,though, especially after just having me with him for a weekend in the Hamptons.

I fiddle with the strap of my purse as I hang it on the hook, because I can’t look at him when I say the words, “No. Go home, it’s Sunday afternoon. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

There’s a beat of silence until I can hear his sigh, even as quiet as it is.

“Okay,” is all he says before breezing over to me.

I turn toward him as his fingers lift my chin, tilting my face up so I have to look at him. I can’t decide whether he looks disappointed or relieved, the emotions flickering in his eyes as he fixates on me aren’t as straightforward as normal.

“I’ll call you.”

Ben leans down to kiss me, and I rise up to my tiptoes to meet him, because this feels like a goodbye I want to treasure. Somehow, it feels like it’s going to be the last.

My hands fist in his shirt as I pull him to me, deepening the kiss, committing it, him, to memory. He’s the spicy cinnamon I’ve learned to crave, to salivate for on demand. My tongue swipes over his just as he brushes my cheek.

My skin is wet beneath the press of his thumb.

He falters, pulling back and my eyelashes flutter, wet and sticking together. I don’t even realize I’ve started crying until a sob bursts from my chest. And then it just doesn’t stop.

“Emmeline…What’s wrong?”

That only makes itworse.

My chest is tight, and I suck in a breath as I shake my head, teeth biting into my lower lip. Because as much as I want that word vomit, it’s frozen just like the rest of me. Like someone pressed the pause button. All I can do is stare up at him while tears run down my cheeks as I fight the way I’m crying, which only makes the whole thing uglier.

Ben wraps his arms around me to lift me off my feet as he walksus down the hallway to my bedroom, setting me down gently on the bed. He pulls off my shoes, letting my socked feet drape over his thigh where he’s kneeling at the edge of the bed.

“Emmeline,” he says again, brushing the hair away from where it’s sticking to my face. “Tell me how I can help.”

“I don’t—” I scrape my hands over my eyes, thankful I didn’t put any makeup on today. That’d make this even more awkward than how my face gets all red and blotchy when I cry. “I’m so fucking stupid, Ben. I’m sorry. You should just go. You need to just go.”

His silence is deafening, and I peek through my fingers at him.

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