Page 2 of Sugar Daddies

“Calm down, little girl,” said the man using the same name that my heart seems to react to. His tone is velvety and silky.

Only Daddy calls me that and it’s making me feel hot. I’m not supposed to feel this way for anyone other than Daddy.

I swallow thickly, palms clammy with nerves, twitching in the awareness that the man is boring holes on my forehead.

“My name is Stephan,” he says.

The striking halo behind him from the sunlight dims as a dark cloud eats up space. Nothing can prepare me for this moment; I can’t control the shivers that run down my body when he steps closer. He’s too close for Daddy’s rules to not ring loudly in my head, so I take a step back like the good girl that I am.

“Stop,” Stephan commands, and I want to die.

My body did stop. I’m not aware that I’m capable of listening to anyone’s orders other than Daddy’s and I’m afraid of what he’ll say when he finds out.

Would he be mad that I’m a bad girl forwantinganother man?

I can’t. No matter how much my little heart thrums for this deviously handsome man, I have to resist his sexiness, or I will have to face dire consequences.

“You’re Pepper,” he says, and I nod nervously.

Another bad sign. He knows my name; this is getting too overwhelming. I’m not familiar with actions that needed to be taken in his situation. Daddy never taught me what I should do and what I should say at a time like this.

Speaking of Daddy, where is he when I need him?

“You don’t need to fear me,” he steps in front of me. I twist my fingers, and the humming of blood in my ears grows louder.

His scent invades my nose, and I try not to breathe it in. There is a faint smell of something inexplicably deep. My tongue is thick and useless in my mouth, but my eyes are always the better speaker in figuratively speaking.

Mr. Stephan has to see the shyness and awkwardness, and my body isn’t exactly subtle when I’m confronted with something beyond my area of expertise.

I don’t have many skills, and this is definitely not one. Dealing with hot and demanding men is a skill that is for seductresses and femme fatales, and it’s certainly not for little girls barely old enough to drink.

I have never even been to a night club. I think it’s an unspoken mandatory experience everyone needs to have before they reach twenty-one. Underage drinking and sweaty people are parts of the experience that I do not want to think about; just the smell of bile and stale alcohol is nauseating.

“Come sit with me,” Mr. Stephan said while taking my smaller hand in his big one.

His grip is tight, and I can’t fight him off. He shoots a stern gaze from his shoulder, and I’m more pliable than play dough.

As he steers me to the chair right in front of Daddy’s office desk, I briefly wonder if I can turn back time and not come into the office.

Daddy doesn’t care that I go into his office. He just has to know where I am at all times so he can keep tabs on me. He knows that trouble follows me like a bad omen and he wants to know everything that goes down in every minute. I love his overprotectiveness.

The hand around my small wrist is rough and callous, but it’s the pulse under his palm that forces my mind back to this predicament. Focusing on his wide back is safe for now, and the suit jacket is needlessly filling in the grooves of his muscles; it becomes a test to my confidence when he sits on the chair.

One strong tug and I’m tumbling down to his chest. The way I fall lands me directly on his thick thighs, and he catches me with his bulky arms. My butt is nuzzled on the solid muscles of his thigh while he scoots me towards his big body. I try not to flinch when his hand wraps around one of my butt-cheeks.

Do I fight and scratch his face like a cat?

I have to do something instead of sitting on his lap inDaddy’soffice. That’s so offensive to Daddy, and I have to find a way to get out before he sees. He’s going to be so disappointed in me if I don’t try.

Maybe this is a test. Yes, it must be. No one in their right mind would touch me because everyone at his company knows that I belong to him in every way possible, and there is no room for another man.

Especially not with Daddy’s temperament.

“Max tells me you’re a good girl,” he rasps, lifting a hand to trail up my spine as fear strikes an iron fist through my big girl act.

I’m not a big girl; I have always been a little girl and I love Daddy too much to actually feel this way. I’m not supposed to feel my panties wetting nor my nipples hardening under the pretty bra that was a present to me.

It’s a bad dream. I mentally imagine Daddy’s angry face. It helps a little to divert my attention, but my limbs feel weighted down and I can’t stop the mewl from tumbling through my lips as Mr. Stephan presses something hard and hot on my thigh.

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