Page 28 of Sugar Daddies

I did hear them come home when Mr. Stephan stepped into the master bedroom, but he barked out the order for me to go to the corner and face the wall. He left soon after I positioned myself to the wall and he hadn’t given any indication of when I would be done with counting the minor imperfections of the wall.

The only place they could be is at the office, and I want to have super-hearing, so I can tell what they’re talking about.

I entertain myself by rummaging through my thoughts and the memories that I have with both of them. I think back to the first time I met Mr. Stephan and Daddy’s reaction since the office is the first link that connected all three of us together.

What I still don’t understand is what Daddy is thinking. He’s sharing me with Mr. Stephan, and that is a red flag that should have smacked me in the face the minute he walked into the office and saw me on his friend’s lap.

While I’m stewing in my thoughts, I’m beginning to feel upset and slightly fidgety as time ticks away into the night. My skin tingles under the oppressive heat of a pair of eyes, but I don’t know which man it is that is causing a riffle of my neck, and neither do I care.

“Turn around.”

It’s Mr. Stephan’s voice.

I take a deep breath and look across the room where the shadows created by the light above swallow the light in his brown eyes. It’s black now, undeterred by its primitive nature swimming in his gaze, and the weight of that façade that whispers desire.

He allows me a moment to acknowledge his presence, and when he has done enough waiting, the timber in his voice rocks my equilibrium as heat nips at the sides of my neck.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”

I nod with much effort as I scan the room for Daddy, but then my ear picks up the sound of the bathroom door open. It’s a connection to the bedroom, and the fog settles on the floor in thick puffs as Daddy steps out with a towel around his waist.

The sculpted grooves of his frame and the water droplets licking his skin penetrate the already scattered thoughts in my head.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Mr. Stephan’s voice barks.

I feel lust creep into my blood and spread through my veins like electrical current flashing repetitively.

I notice that Mr. Stephan has changed into something that he wasn’t wearing from the morning. It’s a casual cotton shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants that hangs low on his hip. The creases fold into his body like a second skin, drawing attention to the narrowing of his waist as it tapers off to the untied strings that swing between his legs.

That gets my eyes to the tent in the front and my mouth waters at the potential size.

“What did I say?” It’s not a question; rather it’s a statement that makes me cough in surprise.

I jerk my eyes up, anticipation wringing me uptight as the trickling fear confidently takes in the shape of my lungs.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur softly. It is best if I start with an apology to ease the tension in the bedroom.

I’m scared to look at Daddy, but I see him sit on the bed just to the right of Mr. Stephan’s standing position. There is sinister anger brewing in his eyes, clinging to the overheated breaths that I’m struggling to suppress.

I peer back at Mr. Stephan. He crooks a finger to have me stumbling on my own feet towards him as I choke a surprised whimper. It’s as if I’m walking into a lion’s den with two hungry predators stalking me with their gaze.

One wrong move and their teeth would rip into me.

“You disrespected Max,” he expresses with a clipped tone, “Where are your manners, little princess?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I say, to one or to both, I don’t know.

“When you disrespect him, you are also disrespecting me.”

It hits me harder than it’s meant to be, and the looming danger removes its cloak of an unflattering fear that rotates its ugly head to laugh at me.

My fingers bend with the force of my hand. The yearning pulses through my clit to encourage me to make this better in whatever way I can.

One shaky breath, two nervous eyelashes flutters, and an infinite skip of my heart, I am a mess. I subtly shift my legs to fight against the numbness eating the sensation of my muscles as I operate under the strictest form of punishment as I metaphorically pretend that I have been hit by Medusa’s spell.

I’m not forgiven. The apology meant nothing to them, but it’s a start because at least Mr. Stephan is talking to me.

The growing resistance to not look at Daddy is catching up to me. I find it easier to breathe when the pain from my nails digging into my palm calls for balance.

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