Page 60 of Sugar Baby

Wait, there was a question.

I narrow my eyes, and then it comes to me. I nod. “Yes.”

I frown down at the glass. Why does my brain feel so disconnected from my body?

“Come on, princess. Let’s get you in the shower,” Angel says as he offers me his hand.

I continue to hold my glass with one hand and slip the other into his palm. Hunter’s arms tighten around me, like he doesn’t want to let me go, but then he relents and Angel gives my hand a tug.

My legs are tangled in the blanket, but Daddy helps get me unwrapped. The cool air of the room feels amazing against my heated skin. With heavy limbs, I try to sit up and swing my legs to the side of the mattress, but my entire body protests, like I imagine it would the day after an especially strenuous gym session.

It doesn’t help that Hunter’s body is hard and unyielding underneath me, and I kind of don’t want to get off.

“Here, let me take that. Then Darcy can help you into the shower.”

The cup is removed from my hand, but I pay absolutely zero attention to that. No, my entire focus is on the gorgeous man with the brown strands of hair escaping his bun and floating around his face.

One side of his lips tip up into a half smile as he reaches for my free hand and pulls me from my perch on Hunter. “Nice to meet you, Emmy.”

Angel is Darcy.

I study him in a way I’m positive is rude, but I can’t help it. I love my name for him, but I have to admit that Darcy suits him. The dark blue eyes, with straight severe eyebrows, softened by the neatly trimmed beard that frames his lips and jaw—totally a Darcy.

But I’m still going to call him Angel—in my head, at least.

As soon as my toes touch the carpet, I’m hauled upright. It’s one hundred percent one of those cliche moments from a movie when the hero helps the girl, and when she stumbles into his chest, they do that cheesy stare-into-each-other’s-eyes thing.

But it’s totally not cheesy. My hand lands on his bare chest, and the full length of my body is pressed to his, skin on skin. Slowly, so freaking slowly, I tilt my head back until we make eye contact, and I could drown in the blue that surrounds his pupils.

If my entire body didn’t ache like a ninety-year-old’s, I’d totally be asking for a repeat of the last few hours.

Wait, how long has it been?

Are they all satisfied?

Was it enough?

My brow furrows and I lower my gaze.

Was I enough?

“Hey, where’d you go just now?” Fingers grip my chin and tilt my head back up so that I’m forced to make eye contact with Darcy again.

Hot, gross emotions swirl in my chest and clog up my throat. I bite my lip and give a tiny shake of my head. He frowns, eyes roaming over my features before he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

An honest-to-god forehead kiss.

Tears threaten.

Distantly, I can hear a voice screaming inside of my head to pull myself together. That this is a transaction. He is only being sweet to me right now because he and his three friends just used and abused my body however they fucking wanted.

But I don’t listen to the voice. I pick it up, wrap it in a canvas sheet, and stuff it in a box that I shelve in the furthest reaches of my mind.

This might be the only time I get to experience these feelings, and I want to feel all of them. Even if they don’t make sense.

Darcy wraps an arm around my shoulders, then steps backward, turning to face the entry to the en-suite. I’d used it to get ready—not that I’d had a whole lot to do.

It is the nicest room I have ever been in. Period.

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