Page 62 of Sugar Baby
“Open,” he quietly demands when he gets to my thighs.
I shuffle my feet open, staring down at the blond hair of the man kneeling at my feet, carefully removing water from my body.
For some reason, the fact that I don’t feel his fingers brush against my pussy makes my heart tumble. The damn organ doesn’t know what to do with itself, and it’s unsettling.
It’s supposed to just beat in my chest—circulate my body with blood and keep me alive. It is not supposed to be doing acrobatics.
When Viper is satisfied that he hasn’t left a single drop of liquid on my body, he tips his head back and looks up at me—which, admittedly, isn’t that far up, with his head being in line with my ribcage—and smiles. “All done.”
When he stands, I come face to face with his chest and the absolutely gorgeous piece he has inked into his skin, which actually looks like a series of images that have been stitched together with time.
An eagle sits at the base of his throat, wings outstretched as its feet grip onto one of the many cursive letters written over his right pec. The font is outdated, slightly hard to read, but I can tell it’s a quote about perseverance and strength.
His shoulder converts into the night sky, with several constellations clearly visible. The other side of his tattoo is made up of geometric designs, interposed with thorny roses and music notes. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my fingertips trace along the edge of a set of triangles arranged in a line.
He captures my hand, thumb across my palm as he cups my hand in his. “Hudson.”
My eyes dart up to his face, and I remember my manners right at the very last second. “W—excuse me?”
“My name. Hudson. In case you wanted to know it. We didn’t have much time to introduce ourselves,” he responds with a wink.
Of all the fucking times, now is when my cheeks decide to bloom red. I lower my eyes, not really sure what he is implying. Did they not like it? They seemed to. Did I break some rule? Were we supposed to sit through stupid awkward chit chat before someone worked up the nerve to make a move?
Embarrassment still burning in my chest, I try to come up with a response, but I end up making a series of unintelligible noises. “I, ah, it was . . .”
“Come on, kitten. We’ll get you dressed, and then we’ll go see what the others are up to.”
It sounds like a suggestion, but the way Hudson pulls on my hand until I follow him back into the bedroom lets me know I won’t be getting my own way about any of this.
That’s okay.
I can keep playing along for a few more minutes. Then we’ll go our separate ways, and everything will be over.
Besides, I’m kind of enjoying letting someone else take charge for once. Well, besides Oakley making me dinner last night. Holy shit. Had that only been last night?
Damn, that feels like it was a million years ago.
“Derek found your bag. I assume all of your things are in there?”
Hudson’s very neutral tone snags my attention, my eyes zooming from his face to my ratty-ass backpack that’s held together with duct tape and safety pins.
Ah, fuck.
With my eyes trained on the backpack, I nod.
Silence emits from the man by my side, like toxic smoke from a chimney, and it occurs to me that he is waiting for something very specific.
“Yes, Daddy.” I ignore the slight shake in my voice. Hudson has the manners to ignore it as well.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him raise his arm, and I flinch, a tiny whimper escaping.
Motherfucker.
If the silence a moment ago was toxic, this silence chokes me and makes my vision go black. My breaths stutter, and it is taking all my willpower not to grab my bag and dash out of thehotel room and into the corridor, naked as the day I was born. Fuck the money.
But then, a warm hand cups the back of my neck, and an equally warm body brushes against my arm, before lips press into my hair. “Get dressed, kitten. Then come out and talk to us. We have something we would like to discuss with you.”
I start to nod, but then remember myself. “Yes, Daddy.”