Page 18 of Sugar Baby Mine

“What panties?” I ask coyly, licking the last remnants of sauce from my fork. I drop it on the plate and push it forward so I can lean onto my elbows. His gaze dips down to my tits pushing together.

His gaze flicks back up to my face, eyes narrowing, and he reaches his hand further across the table, palm turned up.

Damn it. He saw through my distraction.

“You’re lying. You’re just a good girl trying hard to be bad. Take them off.”

Ben’s confidence is overpowering my resolve, crumbling it to shreds. My thighs reflexively press together since my panties are so fucking wet.

“You’re a psycho,” I hiss, not even afraid that it’s too early for this kind of attitude when he said he liked my spice earlier. If he wants this relationship, wants me to be his sugar baby, then he better get used to it. Because I’m not changing that for anyone or anything.

But I like it. Maybe I’m a psycho, too.

At the very least, I’ve just never done anything quite like this before. Maybe I’m more of an exhibitionist than I realized because everything about it is making my chest constrict and my pussy ache with want.

And here I am, reaching under my dress and shimmying my hips so I can pull my panties down my legs without falling out of my chair or making it glaringly obvious to everyone around us what I’m doing.

Snatching up the pink satin from around my ankle, I slap the fabric into his palm and hope that some higher power isn’t about to smite me down. Even if I’m certain this is only the beginning of any sort of public debauchery.

“As requested, sir.”

“Good girl.”

The way my entire body just clenched up.

This man is a walking sin, and all he’s doing is breathing. Existing. I hope he’s ready to drag me to hell for the nasty things I’m imagining we do together.

Ben curls his hand around the fabric, and I thoroughly expect him to pocket them. And he does. Tucks them right into the front pocket of his suit jacket, the edge angled like a pocket square.

I cross my arms over my chest, our waiter continuing his impeccable timing of appearance, because nothing can stop me right now.

“Going to think about my perky little tits while you jerk off with my panties tonight?”

Jacob sputters as he comes to halt in front of us, wide-eyed. “Sorry to interrupt. Do you two want the check or d–dessert perhaps?”

Ben looks over to me, waiting for my decision. And as much as I like this consideration, this consent, I’m the last person in the world to ever ask about dessert because I’ll say yes every time. I’ll eat dessert first if I get the chance.

“Do you have anything with lemon?”

He nods. “We have a lemon ricotta cream cake.”

“Great, I’ll take that, please.”

“Bring the check with it,” Ben adds.

Jacob nods, clearing our plates. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I immediately turn my attention back on Ben, expectant.

He gives me a dangerous look, eyes dark as he shakes his head. “Baby, I’m gonna think about a whole lot more than just your tits.”

“Good,” I say, nonplussed. Though I’m fucking sweating through my dress and really wish I still had those panties on to hold back the arousal threatening to drip down my thighs.

There’s a terse silence. We stare each other down while I try not to imagine what he looks like underneath that suit. Or with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Or with me sitting astride his lap.

I blink and Jacob is back, setting down the plate of cake with two spoons in front of me. I almost tell him to take one back, but I drag the plate toward me, allowing Ben a bite when he asks, though I shamelessly eat most of it. He watches me lick up and down my spoon, entirely for show of course. I find I don’t mind one single bit when he takes it from me and finishes the last bite, licking the spoon clean.

When Jacob comes back to collect the payment, I start to get nervous. Ben slides an Amex card into the check folder, and I watch Jacob walk it back out of sight. Only then do I pull my gaze back across the table.

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