Page 63 of Sugar Baby

Another kiss, then he slips away from me, closing the bedroom door behind him. I am alone. So, so alone.

Tears are burning the back of my eyes, so I close them.

I will not cry.

I will not cry.

I don’t even fucking know why I want to cry.

I haven’t cried since—nope, not going there.

I inhale deeply through my nose, something I’d seen a TikTok therapist recommend on a live stream once, and hold it for four. I continue doing box breathing until I don’t feel like my emotions are going to explode across the room like a Jackson Pollock painting.

When I have myself under control, I open the bag and sort through my things until I have the clean sweatpants, oversized ratty T-shirt, fresh panties, and bralette elaid out on the bed. I stare at the clothing and regret not packing one of the negligees they bought me.

In my defense, I didn’t expect them to hang around like this. The men normally left before I could even sit up.

Once I have everything on and my bag zipped back up, I carry it over to the door and place my hand on the handle. Before I can talk myself into living in this room for the rest of my life, I press down and push the door open.

The low murmur of masculine voices cuts off as I walk into the living space. They are all seated in the positions of their kisses.

Darcy leans against the end of the table. Hudson is in the chair beside him. And Hunter and Daddy are on the couch. I wonder if I will get to know their names too? At the sound of the door opening, their heads swivel in my direction. I’d laugh at how psycho-movie the motion is, but my stomach is tied so tightly in a single gigantic knot, I’m pretty confident that if I open my mouth right now I’ll vomit.

Not wanting to draw more unwanted attention to my backpack, I drop it on the floor by the kitchen, then pad over to the coffee table, which is still super close to the TV. I desperately want to curl my legs up and under me, forming a tight little ball, but I force myself to just cross my ankles under the table and to grip the edge with both hands.

They’ve all managed to get their clothes back on, but their shirts are in varying stages of done-up. Completely undone, partially done, fully done. Why the fuck am I noticing all of these tiny details?

“Emmy.”

My eyes flutter shut, and I take a breath before forcing myself to look at Daddy. His gaze is roaming all over me, stopping on my white knuckles before coming to rest on my face.

“What can we do? What do you need from us right now? There is no wrong answer.”

My mouth drops open as I stare at him.

What doIneed fromthem?

Have I stepped into an alternate reality? Was the doorway from the bedroom to here some sort of portal to a land where fuck-and-run doesn’t actually mean run?

What the fuck does he mean, what do I need from them?

What words does he want from me?

I furrow my brows as I stare back at him.

Hunter makes an annoyed sound next to Daddy, and before I can actually puzzle out what my answer is supposed to be,Hunter strides across the room and scoops me up, bridal-style. My head spins with how fast he marches us back to the couch, turns, then sits back down with me in his lap.

Now, instead of staring at Daddy with an open mouth, I’m gaping at Hunter. This time, my words don’t fail me. “Fucking excuse you. Put me back on the coffee table.”

There is a huff of laughter from the direction of the table, but I don’t break eye contact.

Hunter stares back at me, dark eyes unreadable, before giving me a one-word answer. “No.”

I glare back at him and raise my hands to shove at his chest, but he captures both of my wrists in one.

“Let me go,” I demand through clenched teeth. Involuntarily, my eyes dart through the gap made by him and Daddy, spying the door. My heart rate escalates in a less than pleasant way, and I’m suddenly regretting telling Oakley not to check in with me until lunchtime tomorrow.

If I can get free, I can be gone in seconds. I can take the stairs instead of the elevator and dip out.