Page 25 of Sugar Baby

I don’t want to be spanked, do I? That paddle looks like it will seriously hurt. Pain is so not my kink. I’ve had sex with guyswho’ve liked it rough, and it honestly hasn’t done anything for me. Not that regular sex has done much, either.

“One hot chocolate.”

I quickly lock my phone and place it facedown before taking my hot chocolate. The woman also offers me a folder, which I presume has my bill in it. Before I take it, I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of cash. I shoot her a quick smile as I peel off a fifty and hand it to her.

She stares at the cash in my hand, mouth open a little, before taking it and the folder with her, not giving me a chance to mention the tip. Oh well, if she doesn’t just take one, I’ll give it to her when she comes back.

Even though she seemed angry, I’m going to give it to her anyway. Hospitality is fucking hard work, and she deserves whatever extra she can get.

No new notifications display on my screen when I turn the phone over while simultaneously taking a sip of the fucking amazing drink. I peek at the teddy bear in the toy store window again and wonder if it is as soft as it looks.

The woman comes back and offers me the folder. I take it, quickly checking the tip situation. She didn’t take one, so I flick through the change, find a five, and offer it to her. “Thank you.”

Her smile isn’t quite as tight as the first one, but she says her thank you and heads back into the store.

Taking that as my sign to leave, I pick up all my things and aim for the toy store.

Chapter 11

Emery

Two hours, a little bit of grocery shopping, and one taxi ride later, I’m home and I have details.

Brat4Us:The Armitage Hotel. Check-in has been completed. There is a key card waiting for you at the concierge with some paperwork. Send us a message once you arrive. We will arrive at 7pm, sharp. Be ready for us.

My stomach flutters unexpectedly.

Just under six hours to go. Okay, then.

I toss the frozen chicken and veggies meal I bought into the microwave and do a search for the hotel they booked. It’s twenty minutes by car. I tap the side of my phone as I think about options on how to get there.

Uber is out, no money in my bank account. And as much as I should be stretching my cash, I’m going to opt for a taxi over a bus tonight.

The microwave dings and I take my meal out. Pinching just the corners to avoid the steam, I carry it over to the couch and turn on the TV before going back to the kitchen for my phone, cutlery, and a drink. Then I go grab my charger from my room because shitty old phone is going to shitty old phone.

Back on the couch, I get comfortable with my legs pretzeled under my ass. My meal is actually half decent for a change, and I’m glad I went with the more expensive frozen option.

Once I’m all settled, I start flicking through the channels, but nothing holds my attention. Eventually, I give up and stop on a reality TV show that I don’t even bother to try focusing on—I’m just too keyed up.

Seven.

What do I need to do to be ready by then?

I stroke my fingers through my hair. If I wash it, I’ll need to dry it. And style it. That’s an hour to an hour and a half. And while I’m washing it . . . yes, I need to shave my legs. A quick check under my arms and, yeah, there too. Then . . .

I peer at my denim short, covered crotch.

Would that be taking it too far? I mean, I’m tidy and all, but not bare. Does a baby girl need to be bare?

Another internet search later, and most forums say it’s a personal preference, but being bare helps them to stay in the baby girl mindset.

So, shaving there too. And carefully. I really do not need razor rash or a cut in that particular location.

Okay so, wash, dry, and style hair, shave all the places.

I can decorate the room with the children’s art supplies and toys that I bought when I went looking for the teddy bear in the window. Which I also bought. Oakley’s loan is at about fifty percent of what I started with thanks to the daddy’s paying for all the lingerie, and I’ll definitely need to eat into the rest for the taxi.

I should be paid by . . . holy shit, I still don’t know their names.