Page 22 of Sugar Daddies

“I thought you want to go home to Max,” he comments while leaning over me to throw away the wet napkin.

I catch his scent and inhale deeply while absentmindedly saying, “I want to go home with you too.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s then I realize what I said and duck my head in embarrassment.

“Yes, we’ll go home together,” he agrees with a laugh.

It’s the angel again. My mind tricks me into thinking that he’s always been an angel and that the reason I thought he was the devil is that he’s taking in the influence Daddy has and morphing it into his own.

“It’s almost five, and the firework starts at eight, you can only have three more snacks.” Mr. Stephan lays down his rule, and I very reluctantly agree after one solid minute of debating the advantages and disadvantages in my head while he muses at my funny expressions.

“Four?” I show him four fingers with my eyes open wide and begging.

He’s nice and accommodating. He doesn’t treat me badly, and there is so much that he allows me to do that Daddy would frown upon.

I know that Daddy is protective of me because he thinks that I’m too innocent and naïve that I’ll get kidnapped for being too kindhearted. Mr. Stephan balances him out by giving me time and space to experience the magic of being a big girl while simultaneously being his little princess.

I like the compromise.

“Three,” Mr. Stephan says as he doesn’t budge on my pleading expression.

My pout falls. It was worth the try to know what limit he has set for me and where his boundary of being a dominant man lies.

“Okay, three,” I push one finger down to show him the rest of the fingers.

It’s better than nothing, though I had to try my luck to be sure that I get the best deal. It’s not every day that I can be here. I know that firework happens every night at Disney World, but I can’t be here every day.

This is my chance to take in every little thing even if it kills me.

I think I can get one more try out of this, “Daddy doesn’t let me eat junk food…”

“I’m aware,” he says as we stand up. We interlace our fingers together with eased practice.

“Max is only worried; you don’t react well to changes.”

We walk towards the next destination on my list of things I want to do before I leave today. People brush past me and run in front as they laugh with their friends.

Girls my age should have friends to come to Disney World with, but I’m here with a man more than double my age, and I frankly love the time spent with him.

“My tummy is fine,” I argue weakly.

“For now,” he remarks back, “You’ll regret it soon.”

I whine softly, “Daddy is really strict on what I can eat. Please let me—”

“No,” his answer ends the discussion from proceeding any further.

I huff grumpily before my eyes brighten at my next ride. I squeal happily while dragging Mr. Stephan to the entrance where they check passes.

It’s not the time to sulk when I’m about to experience another round of heightened adrenaline that’ll keep my giddy for hours.

I show the employee my wristband, and she scans it with a hand machine before I dart off into the expedited line while waving back to Mr. Stephan. He returns my wave with less enthusiasm than me, but that tells me that he’s going to be at the exit waiting for me when I get off.

Everyone has a FastPass for the expedited line, but mine is a red band around my wrist.

I never noticed why other people have different passes than I do, and it’s only when I’m behind a FastPass person did I know what the difference is.

This red band is paid with extra money to be the first person for any entertainment in the theme park. Mr. Stephan paid who knows how much to get it, and I’m bumped to the first person in line while the other FastPass people wait behind me.

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