Page 88 of Sugar Baby Mine

He thrusts into me several more times, and I whimper when the hot flood of his cum starts to fill me up. I love the way he feels inside me, maybe a little too much.

Ben leans over my back, hands coming down on the counter beside my elbows as his breath pants into my neck. “I never want to pull out of your hot little cunt.”

At least we’re on the same wavelength.

I relish his body weight pressing me down into the counter, soaking in the moment where we’re both just catching our breath. It feels so intimate, even with all these fancy clothes still between us.

“You did so good,” he praises with a soft squeeze to my thigh as he finally pulls out. “So fucking good, just for me. Pretty pink pussy stuffed full of my cum for the rest of the night. Should have brought you a plug so you could keep it all inside.”

God yes, gimme, my brain fires back, but thankfully my mouth is too slow to keep up this time.

My elbows crack when I raise up, turning in place to immediately drop to my knees. I part my lips to swallow down his cock, the length softening even as his pulse beats on my tongue.

“Oh fuck, baby.” His hand lands atop my head, and he pulls me down on his cock until my nose presses tight to his pubic bone. I don’t even have to worry about gagging like this.

The taste of his cum floods my mouth with another generous pump from his tortured cock; the bitter from him and tang from my pussy makes it all so fucking sweet.

I let him pop out of my mouth, licking up the underside and swirling my tongue over his slit before backing off.

“All clean,” I pronounce, with a grin curving my lips.

Ben shakes his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Oh, what a wicked way to go.

Chapter 22

My phone is ringing somewhere—maybe over there—not loud enough to be under my pillow—how did I end up with my head at the foot of the bed?—not here either—

“I’m coming, sheesh,” I grunt as the ringtone briefly pauses before starting all over again.

It’s on the floor, nearly under my bed, ringing persistently with Angela’s name flashing on the front of the screen.

Oh fuck. It’s Saturday.

My eyes dart over to the alarm clock on my nightstand which is perpetually stuck in daylight savings mode—eventually it catches up to itself again—but right now that 1 p.m. is telling me it’s really noon, and I should have been at the shop to help her get ready for this wedding an hour ago.

I’m still hanging off the edge of the bed when I pick up the call, slinking out of the cocoon of blankets I somehow wound myself in. “Hello—I’m sorry, I’m on my way in.”

Angela’s sigh is devastating, because I’m sure she doesn’t actually believe me. Why should she? It’s like I’ve done this before or something.

“All right, we justhaveto get going in about thirty minutes orI’m going to have a bridezilla and an angry wedding planner on my hands. Need me to pick you up in the van?”

“Yeah, that’d help. I’ll see you soon.”

I sink down against the carpet and bang a fist against it before blowing out a breath and pick myself up off the floor. I’m thankful Angela is forgiving, that Valerie calls off more than I’m late, and that I took a shower last night so I don’t have to hop in there now.

Twenty-five minutes later, I’m zipping up the back of my ankle boots and tripping down the stairs to make it outside before I don’t have a job anymore.

I’m sure that Angela has been sitting in the shop’s delivery van outside my apartment since just after we got off the call, but she greets me with a smile anyway when I climb into the passenger seat.

“Hope what I’m wearing is all right.”

She looks over the rim of her glasses, glancing over the navy blouse I’ve tucked into my trousers before turning her attention away again and pulling away from the curb. “You look lovely, always do. Forgot your jacket though, dear.”

“I’ll be fine, the reception is indoors, yeah? You’ll just have to crank the heat on the way home.”

“Just as long as we don’t get mistaken for the caterers again—Lord knows I don’t know anything about food.”

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