24

Sir

Why’d she had so many damn shakes? There was too much saliva in her mouth, bitter-tasting as if she was about to hurl.

“Fired?” she managed, swallowing hard. The hand Mr. Sugar had on her shoulder had been nice and warm… now it was just plain unsettling.

His thumb pressed into the hollow of her throat. “As in, employment terminated. No severance. Probably no benefits.”

She wanted to ask why, but she already knew. Bryce’s eyes had been confirmation enough when the man had been fucking her. There’d been a flash of jealousy, so dark and so deep she’d almost begun fighting him.

“I… I’m sorry, Mr. Sugar. I didn’t know—”

“Please,” he hissed. He leaned in again, his other hand grabbing her arm when she reached for her milkshake. “You’d have fucked him even if you knew. Because you wanted to know what it would feel like, screwing me over.”

He looked as if he’d expected her to deny it. Watching. Waiting.

She shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

Uncrossing her legs, she slid to the floor and snatched her handbag from the floor. Mr. Sugar grabbed the back of her chair, barring her way with his arm. A well-toned, muscular arm despite the fact that he’d probably stopped working out more than a year ago.

“I need to use the restroom.” She glanced behind her. “That shake went straight through me.”

“Was it worth it, Angel?” Mr. Sugar’s lips were right against her ear. “Was it fucking worth it?”

“You know…” She turned to him, glancing up into his eyes and then staring at his mouth. “It wasn’t, actually. But I’m not the kind of person who wallows in regret and self-loathing, like you.”

Then she pressed her lips against his — feeling air rushing past as he drew a sharp inhale — and ducked under his arm before he could trap her again.

“Angel,” he called out in a low voice. That word trembled in warning, but she ignored him. She really did have to pee; that and clear her fucking head.

Getting Mr. Sugar fired had not been part of the plan. Admittedly, she hadn’t exactly been privy to the plan — Bryce had fucked her and then shoved his dick back in his pants, leaving without another word to her — but she had never imagined…

She shouldn’t have let him record her. She’d looked like jailbait, dressed up like that; no makeup, hair in braids.

She’d dressed up like that for Drew. Done it because she’d thought he’d like it. Most men did. And she knew he’d have liked it even if he would never have admitted it to himself. Because men fucking loved touching smooth, taut skin and pretending their hands were the first.

Claiming someone. Ruining her.

Desecrating her most sacred inner sanctums. And, because she knew nothing of relationships and could offer them nothing more than a good lay, they became nothing more than thieves. Taking what they could before bailing.

Joes only had the one restroom. But it was surprisingly clean and smelled only faintly like urinal cakes. She dipped into her handbag and used a few spritz of her perfume to get rid of the smell. Then she sprayed some on herself too, hoping it would wash away what was starting to feel suspiciously like guilt.

Her handbag thumped to the floor when the door burst open behind her. She swung around and lifted her arms as Mr. Sugar advanced on her.

“I wasn’t done.” He bared his teeth at her, then stopped and smelled the air.

Realizing she was crowding against the basin like a scared kitten, Angel stepped forward and squared her shoulders. She even managed to flutter her eyelashes at the man. “Have I made you mad, Daddy?”

He gave his head a shake. Stalked closer. Grabbed her arms and pushed her against the wall.

“Stop calling me that,” he said through his teeth.

“I would… if you said it like you meant it.” She glanced at his eyes. “But you don’t. The only reason you want me to stop is so that you don’t have to keep pretending that I don’t turn you on. So you can keep lying to yourself about how much you want me.”

“I don’t—” but he cut himself off. Perhaps knowing here — in Joes’ bathroom — that there could be no witnesses. Just as there hadn’t been when they’d been in his house. There, his reserve had been shallow and fleeting.

“You could have owned me the minute I walked into your house, Mr. Sugar.” Angel pressed her palms against his chest, feeling his lungs expanding and contracting under her fingers. “You get that, don’t you?”

“Why would I want that?” he murmured down to her. The grip on her arms was relaxing, his gaze flickering over her face as if he was trying to reason her out. “Why would you want that?”

“He phoned me before he came to your house.” She peeked up at him through her lashes. “Did he tell you?”

Drew didn’t say anything; he just watched her as if he was frozen in place.

“He called and said he was coming over. That I had to be ready for him. Do you know what that did to me, Mr. Sugar? That… anticipation?” She ran a hand up his chest, along the side of his neck, over his jaw. Brushed the outline of his mouth with a fingertip. “I was so wet, I almost couldn’t stand it.”

His mouth drew into a thin line under her finger. Opened, as if he wanted to speak. But she laid all four her fingertips over his lips, sealing them.

“You’re forgetting.” She pushed her hips out and smiled when she felt him hardening against her. “I still thought I was talking to you. Waiting… for you.”

Drew’s eyes softened, but his jaw clenched tight. Her muscles tightened, readying her to feed his hunger. The hunger that flickered, flickered in his eyes the longer he stared at her. The longer he had her pinned to that wall.

He grabbed the back of her thighs, hoisting her up and wrapping them around his waist in one, fluid motion. His mouth ground against hers, demanding every inch of her attention. It was so distracting, that ravenous kiss, that she almost didn’t hear the sound of his zipper.

She moaned into his mouth when he thrust into her. Cried out and broke away from their kiss when he grabbed the small of her back and drove her hips against him as he fucked her again. She tried to take his face into her hands, to hold him so she could kiss him…

But she’d obviously misunderstood.

This wasn’t Mr. Sugar caving in to her advances. This wasn’t the smell of her perfume messing with his head the same way her not-so-subtle advances had messed with his dick.

He was taking back what was his. Trying to fuck out the lingering traces of his brother from her. Anointing her as his disciple so, this time, she wouldn’t stray.

Mr. Sugar fumbled until he’d captured both her wrists. Then he slammed them into the graffiti scrawled on the wall above her head.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” came his breathy voice in her ear. “Being fucked against the wall of this stinking bathroom?”

Her leg muscles trembled violently. “No, Daddy.” Fuck, she couldn’t help it. And so what if it pissed him off? She was starting to like Angry Mr. Sugar.

“Enough. No more names. I’m Drew. And you’re my girlfriend. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Sugar.” God, she’d agree to just about anything right now, if he just kept fucking her.

“We’re crazy in love, you and I.”

She moaned softly when he caught her earlobe in his teeth.

“We’re going to be together forever, sweetheart.”

Shivers played over her skin as she arched her back. “You’re going to make me come.”

“Oh no, sweetheart.” Mr. Sugar pounded into her a last time. “This is just for me.”

She shuddered, wrestling vainly against his hands so she could get herself off while he was still inside her. But then he was stepping away, tugging her underwear back into place. He tossed his head to flick hair from his eyes, stuck his jaw out, and then set her back on the ground.

He slid his hands between her legs and squeezed, hard.

She gasped, going to the tips of her toes. She ached so hard, she was sure that if he held her like that for just a second longer—

Mr. Sugar released her. He turned to the basin and washed his hands, not looking at her. She swooned against the wall, squeezing her legs together. When his attention was fully on the task of washing his hands, she slipped a hand under her skirt—

“No.”

When she looked up, their eyes met in the mirror.

“I’m the only one who’s ever going to touch your cunt again.”

She exhaled a slow, unsteady breath and slowly raised her hands in surrender.

“Yes, Mr. Sugar.”

He watched her a second longer, yanking free a sheet of paper towel. Then he turned and came up to her, hands held to the side as he dried them.

At the door, he paused.

“Was he better than me?”

She swallowed hard, pressing back into the wall as she tried to will her head to stop spinning. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Sugar glanced over his shoulder at her, and the words froze on her tongue.

His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke. “Don’t lie.”

She licked her lips, clenched her jaw, and gave a small nod. Mr. Sugar lifted his chin, gave her a hard smile, and left.

When she went to the basin, she felt like a wind-up toy moving on stiff, wooden legs.

She’d won.

And it had taken her less than a week, this time.

But when she tried smiling at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t. Closing her eyes, she slid a hand between her legs, squeezing her thighs together. That aching hadn’t subsided, that need she so desperately wanted Mr. Sugar to fulfill. Her hands shook when she took out her cigarettes and lit one. She finished the whole thing while she watched herself in the mirror, while she tried to curve her lips into a victorious smirk.

But she couldn’t.

Her hands still trembled when she let herself out of the bathroom and her heart gave a hard knock when she looked toward the bar where they’d been sitting.

Mr. Sugar was gone.

Angel stayed at Joes until nine that night hoping by then Mr. Sugar would have cooled down.

Fired? How couldn’t she have seen this coming? Bryce wasn’t exactly pulling a prank; he seriously had it out for his brother. And Drew… well, he was like a hibernating bear — all soft and cuddly until you began poking him. Now he’d transformed into a raging beast, and it was anyone’s guess just what it would take to calm him down.

When she got back to Mr. Sugar’s house, all the lights were off except for the study’s. She stepped closer, drawn by overwhelming curiosity despite knowing that, more than anything, she should be disappearing upstairs without making her presence known. She was met with cigarette smoke when she stepped inside the stretch of light thrown from the study’s doorway.

“…fine, I’ll hold.”

Angel paused, her breath catching in her throat. Was he talking to her? Her heart began a slow, solid pounding in her chest. He sounded so business-like.

“Not? Okay, that was to be expected. How is her schedule for tomorrow? I have an urgent matter to discuss, one I was hoping to take care of…”

There was the sound of Mr. Sugar’s chair. Angel got to her knees and peeked around the edge of the door. He had his back to the door, feet propped on the windowsill as he stared out at the dark backyard. One hand rested on the back of his head, fingers curled as if he was on vacation somewhere. The other held a cellphone — not his — to his ear.

“Nine-thirty? That’s perfect. Could you set up an appointment? It’s Sugar. Drew Sugar. That’s right, the one on Elm.” He let out a low, short laugh. “Why thank you, that’s kind of you. She is a beauty. All right, I’ll let you get back to it. Thank you so much for—” Another short laugh. “No, that’s all. Have a good evening.”

She had only barely managed to scramble back from the door when Drew spun around in his chair. There was the sound of a Rolodex clicking, and then a harsh exhale of breath.

“Come on… pick up.”

His chair squeaked.

“Harry. I hope I’m not keeping you from dinner?” A low, deep laugh this time. “Glad to hear it. Listen, something’s come up. I need to make a few changes to my trust. Can we meet tomorrow?”

Drew cleared his throat.

“I’d prefer to discuss it in person. It’s rather… personal.”

His chair squeaked again. There was the scritch of pen on paper. “Suits me just fine. Eleven-thirty? Perfect, I’ll see you then. Oh, and Harry? Send my love to the wife and kids.”

Drew’s chair squeaked.

“No, she’s away at Uni. God, I know. No, twenty. Yup. Wouldn’t believe it myself if I didn’t keep seeing those payments going off my account.”

Another laugh.

“You too. Good night.”

Goddammit, but she had to pee. Angel straightened, glancing up the stairs and then down to the guest bathroom just off the side of the dining room. Would he hear her if she walked past to use it? He’d definitely hear the toilet flushing; this house was as silent as a mausoleum.

She crossed her legs, willing her bladder to shrink and then immediately trying not to think about it. She was about to step away when Drew spoke again.

“Hi. Patrick there? It’s Sugar. No, that’s my last name. Okay. Sure, thanks.” The tapping started up again. “Evening. I hope I’m not—”

Drew laughed.

“No, no. Let me phone you back when you’re done. Or, even better—” Another laugh, louder than the one before. “I’m flattered, really. Oh, it’s that bad, is it? She can’t hear you, can she?”

The pen stopped tapping.

“No, sure I’ll hold.”

A glass clinked; she couldn’t hear it, but she could imagine that tumbler against Drew’s lips. She shuddered, squeezing her legs tighter. God, she couldn’t stay to listen, as much as she wanted to. She pressed her palms against the wall, scowled up at the ceiling, and began creeping away from the door.

“Yeah, sorry for the late call. You honestly wouldn’t believe the day I had. Oh, you too? Did it involve a fist-fight with your fucking brother?”

Mr. Sugar chuckled. “I’ll let you figure that one out. But yeah, let’s meet up for some brewskies sometime this weekend. Sunday sounds fine. But hey, on a serious note, I need some funds to be released. Fucking ASAP.”

He cleared his throat, and that pen began tapping as Angel moved down the hallway, trying to steer clear of that splash of light.

“About a hundred kay. More, if you can. Nah, nothing like that; planning a vacay.” Drew laughed hard and deep. “You can take as much creative liberty as you want. Long as it looks legit. One-fifty? That’d be just fine. Thanks, Patrick.” Another laugh. “Oh, this is my new number. Lost the old one; you know how it goes. Yup. No — with a ‘Y’. No, it’s not Bruce. Jesus, how long’ve you known me and you still can’t get my fucking name right?”

Drew laughed hard.

“What, fifteen percent not incentive enough? Oh, now you have starving kids to feed? Told you not to have them so early. Now look where…”

And that was all she could hear before stepping out of earshot. She hurried down the hall, padding on silent, bare feet, and pushed the door halfway closed behind her.

She almost didn’t make it to the toilet seat in time.

Her eyes were still closed from the joy of such anticipated release when air stirred against her legs. She looked up at Mr. Sugar, one hand still against the door, holding it open.

She glared at him. “I’m busy.”

“I can see that.” He shifted so his hip leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “But you’re free tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t sound like I have much choice.”

“You could say no.” Drew shrugged. “If you were leaving. But you’re not.”

She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Can I have some privacy?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Drew began leaving and then turned back. He glanced down and gestured at the underwear around her ankles. “Don’t bother pulling those up. You won’t be needing them.”

She stared at him as he left. A thrill of pleasure wreathed through her at those words… but the feeling was diluted by a sudden flood of uncertainty.

When she went upstairs, Mr. Sugar was waiting for her.