Page 64 of Sugar Baby

“Jesus, Xavier, let her go. You’re scaring her.”

The warmth of a hand landing on my knee and gently caressing it breaks through the thundering in my ears. I turn and face Daddy again as Hunter’s—no, Xavier’s—grip loosens on my wrists, but he doesn’t let me go all the way.

Daddy has concern written all over his face, and it is so damn weird to see it aimed in my direction.

My mind rattles back around to thoughts from just a moment ago.

Why the fuck is he concerned about me?

Wasn’t I just a hole—well, two—for him and his friends to stick it in? What’s with this schmoopy-give-a-crap act?

“Emmy, breathe with me.” It’s a very clear order, and if it wasn’t for the fact that my heart feels like it's in my stomach andthe edges of my vision are going fuzzy, I would tell him to fuck off and demand to be allowed to leave.

They’ve gotten what they wanted. What else do they need me for?

Instead, I breathe, mimicking Daddy’s inhalations and exhalations until the ringing in my ears fades away.

“That’s it, good girl. Relax, keep breathing.”

His words mesmerize me, and without consciously intending to, my body relaxes, and I tip into Xavier until I’m nestled against his chest. He finally releases my wrists, then wraps his muscular arms around my body.

Somehow, this calms me more, when not just thirty seconds ago, I was desperate to leave.

Leave. That’s right. That’s what I need to do.

But not yet. Right now, I just want to sit here, wrapped up in Xavier.

Chapter 26

Emery

I must have dozed off again. Quiet male voices slowly pierce my consciousness, drawing me away from the heaviness that coats me.

“I’m on board with that. Need to make sure there are no more drops.”

“Okay, so everyone agrees. Extended aftercare, no taking her at her word that she’s fine.”

There are murmurs of agreement, and déjà vu hits me when I hear Xavier’s voice rumble through his chest.

Embarrassment curls in my stomach and blooms on my cheeks when I think about the mess I’d been in front of them.

Fuck, did I have a panic attack?

Jesus christ.

I haven’t had one of those since I was a pre-teen realizing the foster care system wasn’t all fucking sunshine and roses.

“What’s aftercare?” I ask, voice way more croaky than I expect. Opening my eyes, I scan the three men I can see and push up to sitting in the fourth’s lap.

Daddy—damn it, I still don’t know his name. Actually didn’t Hudson mention a Derek? So, if I’m sitting on Xavier, Darcy is leaning on the table, and Hudson is sitting on the chair, then the man holding my hands is Derek.

For some reason, that thought tumbles out of my mouth. “You’re Derek.”

He grins at me. “Yes. And you’re Emmy.”

I clench my jaw against the automatic need to correct him. They don’t need to know my real name. I give a slow nod. “Yeah, Emmy.”

His thumb rubs over the back of my hand. “To answer your question, aftercare happens after sex or a scene. It’s different for everyone, but in general terms, it is the sharing of comfort and tending to physical needs that any of the play partners require.”

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