Page 13 of Sugar Daddies

It would be a nice habit to take upon; it’s not dangerous, and it can curb my boredom when Daddy is too busy with his company.

I lay my forehead on the bathtub, and the water laps at my chin. The heat is making me dizzy as my fingers are wrinkled. I’m a prune with glitter stuck on me, but at least I smell like a field of flowers.

Daddy will appreciate that I smell good for him when we go to bed, though he did complain one time that the smell of vanilla was too strong.

Daddy doesn’t complain. He brings up concerns since he refuses to admit that he complained. I don’t see why he feels the need to be embarrassed about it, I whine a lot, and it is over trivial things most of the times.

It wouldn’t hurt his image; Daddy is the purest form of an alpha male, but then Mr. Stephan came in, and now there’s two of the purest form.

I shudder just from the thought of an argument between them. I know Daddy is a determined man with a stubborn attitude; he’s like a brick wall. Mr. Stephan looks about the same, and it’s a fight that I don’t want to witness.

Gut feeling tells me that neither of them will ever back down from a fight, and it’s even worse when the opponents have same characteristics as each other.

One has searing ruthlessness and the other has cold brutality.

Would they talk it out like gentlemen or use violence like gladiators?

No matter which side wins, I can’t imagine it because neither of the scenarios seems plausible.

“I would win,” I grin to myself and throw droplets of water over to the front of my head with my swimming feet.

Then I really think about it, “Well… maybe not.”

“I could run away, and that would get Daddy’s attention. He’d probably come to find me and stop the fight with Mr. Stephan,” I muse to myself with a swoosh of my body to rock the water up to my neck.

I giggle at the ticklish nip as it recedes back down to my shoulders. If the tub is just a tad bit bigger, I can practice swimming in here, not that I have any desire to be near the ocean since the unknown should remain unknown and far away from me, and pools have too much chlorine that my hypersensitive body hates.

I wasn’t like this when I was little, but the more I grow, the more I realize that the world is set out to stomp on me. I’m not an outdoor type of girl, and I would get drained of blood by mosquitoes; they tend to favor my blood over every human being on earth.

Shaking my head, I sit up from the tub and turn to drain the milky water. A trail of silver glitter swirls down the drain as a ring of blue coats the bathtub. I stand to make sure the rest of the water has a smooth path of going down.

I take a good amount of time to clean off the glitter and run the soap twice over my body to get rid of the blue foam that clings onto my body.

Once I deem it’s good enough to get out, I fish for the towel and wrap it tightly around me. It’s fluffy, but it’s too cold to take advantage of the fine material.

My feet slap on the marble bathroom floor and into the gorgeous wood coated in a protective film; it’s a shame that I’m almost never in here to enjoy the beauty of it.

I get dressed quickly in the spare clothes in the closet, and I’m distracted by the number of clothes that I have not seen before. I chalk it up to Daddy spoiling me again. I barely have enough limbs to try on all the clothes in his room.

It’s technically our bedroom, but I like to call it his because itishis.

My next stop is the kitchen. I barrel my way through the halls of this mansion, but I make it there with a big smile as I swing open the refrigerator. The gallon of milk sits innocently on the middle rack with fruits surrounding it.

I shouldn’t have sugar close to bedtime, so I ignore the temptation and take the milk out in a cup.

Many people would question if I was okay because I warm up my milk in the microwave oven, but cold milk wakes me up rather than help me sleep.

As I sip the drink, something catches my attention, and it’s a pretty orange box with a big purple bow on top. I put my cup on the kitchen island and pull the box to me. I examine it for a gift card to indicate who it is for or any markings that would show Daddy’s company’s logo.

There is nothing, and I’m always weak against things that scream do not open. My fingers unwrap the ribbons and open the top lid to peek inside.

I’m sure it’s a present from Daddy; he likes to leave gifts for me to find and this sounds like something he would do.

If it’s not and it’s Mr. Stephan’s, then I can just tie it back and pretend nothing happened.

Just one little peek won’t hurt if they don’t know. I’m expecting something materialistic or trinkets, maybe a new type of candy that Daddy has made, and he wants me to taste it for him.

It’s none of that; the content is a box with golden covers.

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