Page 30 of Sugar Baby Mine

My thighs are already shaking. “What’s for dessert?”

Ben pulls back to watch me, fingers tracing down the front of my dress, playing with the buttons all the way. His hand slips underneath the hem at my thigh, skating up my legs. Then he uses his foot to knock against my ankle, kicking my legs apart as I sink down the wall an inch. My lips open further to suck in a breath as his fingers brush over the gusset of my panties in thelightest of touches.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, keeping my face turned up to him as his thumb dips between my lips to press down on my tongue. “Surely, I don’t need to spell it out for you.”

I scrape the pad of his thumb with my teeth and he retreats, but I grip him between fistfuls of his pullover. My nails dig into his sides to bring him closer as I shift my hips into the hand between my legs. “Indulge me.”

His fingers spread over my jaw, sliding into my hair. He’s so close I could flick out my tongue and swipe it along his lip. He hovers, his mouth above mine. We’re sharing the same breath, and it’s driving me crazy.

“I’m gonna lay you out on my bed and eat this pretty little pussy” —Ben brushes his fingers over my panties, grabbing at the top of them and pulling them tight over my cunt. My clit throbs as I swallow down the whimper trying to leap up my throat—“until you beg me to stop.”

“Who says I’m going to beg?”

His lip twitches up at the corner. Even though I’m probably desperate enough to do anything he asks of me, I won’t admit it to him. But what I do want is him to close the rest of the distance and kiss me. My fingers ache from how hard I’m gripping at the fabric in between my fists, my stomach fluttering with each intake of breath.

If he would just—

Something brushes against my leg.

Something furry.

“You have acat?” I gasp, shoving Ben out of the way as I look down at my feet and watch a multicolored, long-haired cat weave around my ankles. Crouching down, I smooth my dress over my thighs before offering a palm turned up for the cat who has skittered off behind Ben’s legs.

“This is Pebbles.” He gestures with a wave, stepping out of theway. The cat’s fluffy tail swishes in the air, big blue eyes trained on me curiously. “He’s somehow shy and a cockblock at the same time.”

“Awww, Daddy is being mean, isn’t he? Come here, Pebbles, I’ll give you some scratches.”

The cat comes toward my wiggling fingers with a cautious, low-to-the-ground slink, sniffing politely. I can see his little teeth and I just want to scoop him up, squish him, and pepper him with kisses all over.

Did I mention I was a cat person? I just don’t necessarily have the fortitude to care for another living, breathing, eating thing when I have a hard time caring for myself right now. Or else I would have a cat. Or three.

Pebbles decides he’ll take me up on my offer, turning his head to nuzzle his cheek along my palm, making me coo at him. I let him rub over my hand for a moment before taking over and moving up to scratch behind his ears, petting down the fur of his head and neck. He starts to purr, and it rumbles loudly in the quiet space.

“Such a pretty kitty, huh? You like that, huh?”

“Okay.” Ben tuts, running a hand through his hair and tugging on it. “Enough. Let me give you a tour, you can pet my cat later.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” I ask, my mouth turning up with a wicked grin.

“Emmeline.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. That’s clearly inappropriate.” I shake my head as I give Pebbles another pat on the head before rising and swallowing down my wince at the ache building in the arch of my feet.

I turn on my heel away from Ben to escape the dark look on his face, like he’d rather bend me over his knee right fucking now—before dinner, before anything else at all. I’d rather like to see the rest of his apartment before all I’m looking at is his bedroomceiling for the rest of the night.

I walk further into the space, and I’m even more convinced he’d have an aneurysm if he saw the inside of my bedroom. Typically, our common area is kept moderately clean between Cora and I, but it’s clearly lived in—neither of us are obnoxiously tidy.

Ben’s space is incredibly orderly with a wide open floor plan for his kitchen, living, and dining. You could fit our whole apartment within a couple rooms for sure. Sleek concrete countertops in the kitchen, modern line sofa in the living room, glass-top formal dining table. Minimal approach to decorations with shades of gray, black, white, blue, and green. A bachelor pad, if I ever saw one. But a clean one.

I run my finger along the edge of the kitchen island, walking toward the potted plant sitting on the floor by a bookshelf in the living room. Rubbing the leaves between my fingers, I glance down at the pot.

“It’s fake,” Ben offers, as if aware I’m trying to sus him out. “I couldn’t keep a fiddle leaf fig alive in here even if I tried.” He moves around the couch, bracing his hands along the back of it before tilting his head toward Pebbles, who is perched on the arm of the couch. “He eats plants.”

“Well, aren’t you a little weirdo,” I trill, dropping the large leaf and booping Pebbles on the nose as I walk past. I look over the two bookshelves along the wall, glancing at the titles for anything interesting. I’m curious to know if they’re just for decoration or if he actually reads, considering there are quite a few shelves worth.

Multiple titles by Stephen King, Micheal Crichton, Jeffrey Archer, Jane Austen, and John Grisham—among other standalone titles.

I hook my finger on his copy ofPersuasion, sliding it down the cracked spine. “You like to read, then? You’ve got a lot of books.”

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