Page 61 of Sugar Baby

The shower is that walk-in style with no door, and the showerhead hangs from the ceiling. The tiles are all white and go to the ceiling, only broken up by the mirror that takes up over half of one of the walls. The sink is a raised porcelain bowl with an open waterfall spout.

Like . . . damn. The apartment I share with Oakley has a fairly nice bathroom. Everything works as expected and nothing leaks. No cracked tiles or broken mirrors. I thought that was nice. But this shits all over that.

The tiles are cold beneath my feet as Darcy walks me toward the toilet, where he guides me to sitting on the lid, which is blissfully cool against my overused pussy. He keeps hold of my hand while he leans around the glass wall of the shower and fiddles with the tap to get the water running.

Once he’s happy, he turns back to me and smiles before pulling me up to standing and leading me into the steam-filling shower. He positions me out of the water and quickly steps under the cascading stream.

He pulls the band from his hair as he steps backward under the water. Instantly, his wavy brown hair plasters itself to his head. Darcy holds his hand out for me, and when I place mine in his, he tugs me just the tiniest bit closer, before twirling me around like a dancer until my back is to him.

“We should probably wash your hair, but I don’t think the others would be pleased with me for stealing so much of their time with you.” He scoops his hands between my neck and hair, slowly gathering all of it into one hand. My eyes flutter shut as he continues working the heavy weight up my head until he can twist all of it into a messy bun, using his hair tie to hold it in place.

He peppers kisses down my neck, and I tip my head to the side to give him more access. The kisses aren’t the kind to set my blood on fire. No. These are the kind to help me pull myself back together, piece by piece. Like there is comfort to be had in this tiny glass room with the sound of water reverberating off the tiles.

Darcy wraps his strong arms around me, one along my waist and the other along my collarbone. I shift my head to the side and use the crook of his elbow as a pillow. He steps us backward, shielding me from most of the water falling.

“You doing okay, princess?”

Humming, I open my eyes and tip my head until I can see him. “I’m still kind of floaty. But it s’okay. I like it.”

And, apparently, I have no filter.

He grins and traces a finger across my forehead, dragging some wet wisps of hair away from my skin. “I’m glad you like it. You were perfect tonight. Everything we could have ever wanted.”

I know the grin on my face is dopey, but there's nothing I can do about it. It’s like my brain refuses to tell my face not to smile.Why the fuck do I care that he thinks I was perfect? I absolutely do not have a warm gooey sensation in my chest.

And I am absolutely not dying to beg him to keep me.

No. Fuck, no.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we can talk.”

Talk? What’s there to talk about?

My heart hardens in my chest.

Is this when they tell me I didn’t satisfy all of their needs, and they won’t be paying the full gift?

Chapter 25

Emery

Darcy and I don’t talk for the rest of the shower. He spends several minutes washing my body with the hotel-provided body wash and a small cloth. When I get out, I find Viper in nothing but his package-hugging boxer briefs waiting for me, a towel in his hands, like he plans to dry me himself.

A blush threatens to spread across my cheeks, but I refuse to let it get the better of me. Being naked in front of this man, or any of the others, is nothing to be embarrassed about. They just used me like I was their own fuckable sex doll.

The water shuts off behind me, and a tattooed arm reaches around me as Darcy snatches up the remaining towel from the shelf. I stand there, dripping on the mat, staring at Viper, but startle when I feel the softest brush of lips against my temple.

“See you out there, princess.”

Darcy skirts around me with the towel wrapped around his waist, and I get an eyeful of his back and the intricate lines of a tattoo that wraps over his shoulder.

When it’s just me and Viper, I turn my attention back to him, goose bumps starting to rise on my skin from the cool air, wet skin combo I’m rocking right now.

He holds up the towel, outstretched between both hands. “May I?”

I manage to keep my face from revealing all my thoughts, but the effort results in me blinking like an owl. Eventually, I manage to nod, and the tension in Viper’s shoulders relaxes.

He steps right into my space. I expect him toaccidentallybrush his fingers against me, but he doesn’t. There is nothing but the terry cloth touching my skin as he goes over every inch of my body with the towel.

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