Page 31 of Sugar Baby
But Emmy is real. And she is fucking gorgeous. And young. So fucking young. The smile on her face makes something inside ofme snap. Joy lights up her entire being as she drops whatever is in her hand and rushes to stand up.
I almost lose my grip on my control and groan out loud.
Motherfucker.
The outfit she is wearing is . . . sinful, and not at all appropriate for a baby girl.
Delicious.
She’s a goddamned wrapped present, with nothing but a satin bow covering her breasts. My eyes rake over her, taking in the way her waist dips the tiniest amount. Gaze trailing down farther, I can tell there is something odd about the crotch of the lingerie, but I’m distracted by her voice.
“Daddies! You’re here.” She rushes up to us, her hands stretched out. “Come and look at what I made!”
She captures my hand and Hudson’s and starts to tug us in the direction of the love seat.
I glance at Hudson, and he stares back at me, wide-eyed. He must feel it too. This swooping feeling.
I’m off-kilter.
And with every step, my cock is getting harder.
I’ve never had a play start like this before, like we are mid scene and are the puppets, not the masters.
Emmy’s smile doesn’t disappear as she drags us closer to what she wants us to see. “Come on, it’s perfect. You’ll see.”
Somehow, I find my voice, clearing my throat before I speak. “I’m sure it’s perfect, baby. I can’t wait to see.”
She beams, then drops our hands, turns to the side, and points at the coffee table in a ta-da motion.
I drop my gaze to where she points, and a smile spreads across my lips.
A partially completed blue kitten.
It’s clearly done with crayons, but where a child’s strokes would be haphazard and disjointed in an attempt to fill theentire outline, hers are done with purpose. The fur of the cat moves in slightly curved strokes, with several hues and thicknesses.
The drawing is perfect, and if we had any plans to ask her for more than just this one night, I would keep that picture in my office to view whenever I needed.
“Well, what do you think?”
I turn my focus from the artwork to her, still feeling like I’m at a disadvantage, and have to smother a laugh as she glares up at the four of us, her hands on her hips. And I do meanup. We have close to a foot on her. And she definitely didn’t lie about her age.
She’s barely legal.
And adorable.
Knowing that her SugarLife profile has a verification badge proving that she is eighteen is the only thing that keeps me in the room.
And the fact that breaking her down to her very core is going to be an absolute fucking pleasure.
Darcy steps forward and crouches down to take a look, his hand adjusting the drawing so that it faces him more directly. “Emmy, this is perfect.”
He looks up at her with a smile, and she melts, suddenly looking a little sheepish, hands coming together to wring her fingers. “It’s not finished yet.”
His lips quirk. “That’s okay, maybe you can finish it after?”
She pauses, her chest rising and falling as his words hit her. I can see it, the moment when she considers leaving, that little kernel of self-preservation.
The room stills as colors from the television flash over the five of us in the dim lighting.