Sugar Read online

  I yanked my arm free. “You’re awfully grabby.”

  “You’re awfully sneaky. Where are you slinking off to?”

  “I have to pee.” Not a lie. I couldn’t help that my internal clock woke me up every morning at dawn. A rigorous trip to the gym each morning instilled such habits in a person.

  “Fine.” He released my arm. “But you’re coming back to bed when you’re done.”

  After using the bathroom, I washed my face and nosed through his cabinets, glad to find an unopened toothbrush still in the package. I brushed my teeth, eyeing every corner of the immaculate room for clues about Noah, yelping when the door swung open.

  “Do you mind?” I mumbled, spitting out a mouth full of minty foam, and rinsing my teeth clean.

  His fist rubbed the socket of his eye as he groggily stumbled toward the toilet. “It’s your fault for waking me up stupid early.”

  My eyes widened as a trickle echoed through the tile room. “Oh, my fucking God! Are you taking a leak?”

  He shrugged, his bare back thick with muscle and his naked, toned ass emphasizing his tapered hips. He was fucking pissing while I was in the middle of brushing my teeth!

  “You’re disgusting.” I dried my hands and returned to the bedroom.

  “Sorry…”

  I searched the floor for my clothes, gathering items against my naked chest. The toilet flushed, and water ran. Just as I was reaching for my discarded thong, strong arms banded around me, tugging my clothing out of my grip and tossing it back on the rug.

  He laced his fingers with mine and towed me back to the bed. “No, no, no, no, no. It’s too early.”

  “My clothes…” I wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open.

  He collapsed on the mattress, face down, and groaned. “You don’t need clothes.”

  I hesitated.

  “Come back to bed, Avery. There’s no need to wake up with Jesus and the chickens.”

  My gaze trailed over his toned thighs, dusted with masculine hair, and held at the perfect cleft separating his biteable ass cheeks. My handprint would look divine on his flesh. My inner Mistress purred at the sight of him, face down, ass up. I had to get out of there.

  I shifted away from the bed. “I’m wide awake.”

  He shoved a pillow over his head. “Haven’t you ever heard of a Sunday? I’m not leaving this bed for at least another two hours.”

  I pulled the blanket to my chest and sat. Waiting. Was I supposed to just sit there while he slept the day away? Like I had nothing better to do with my time. I was his guest. He should be making me breakfast or something. At least pointing me in the direction of a coffee pot. “You’re a terrible host.”

  “Avery.”

  “What?”

  “Lay down and shut the fuck up. It’s five thirty in the morning. The sun isn’t even awake.”

  Pursing my lips, I eased my back to the mattress and stared at the ceiling. “Can I take a shower?”

  He flopped onto his back and glared at me. “There’s something wrong with you.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m used to waking up at dawn.” I was usually thirty minutes into cardio by this time. He knew I had a routine.

  “Well … go run around the block a few times and chill out.”

  “I can’t. I only brought heels.”

  He chuckled. “You actually thought about it, didn’t you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t like missing a day. It makes me lazy.”

  “You’re a freak of nature.”

  I wasn’t a freak, but I didn’t like straying too far outside the lines. Noah, on the other hand… He was a haphazard disaster. A rule breaker. A risk taker. And someone I had no business waking up next to.

  Last night was a mistake. What the hell even happened?

  You know…

  I winced at the memory and then scowled at my snoring bed partner. This was all his fault. He turned me into an idiot whenever he came around. I should never have agreed to go on a date with him.

  I groaned. I was attracted to him. But sometimes we liked the wrong people. And I needed him more as a friend. He was pretty much the only friend I had that didn’t pay me for my time.

  Whatever happened last night couldn’t happen again. Period.

  I poked him in the ribs, and he growled. “Can you wake up and take me home?”

  “Maybe I’ll wake up and strangle you. Go back to sleep, Avery!”

  I’d take a cab, but we weren’t in the city. I wasn’t even sure if they had taxis in neighborhoods like this. Every driveway seemed adequately supplied with fully loaded SUVs and sports cars. The cost of Ubering back to Philly would be astronomical. I hated not having control.

  “Come on, Noah. You brought me here. I wanna go home.”

  His blue eyes narrowed and his scowl curved to a wounded frown. “Why are you in such a rush to leave?”

  “You know why.”

  He shifted to his side, propping his body up on one elbow. “No, I’m serious. What’s going on?”

  This was what he did. He was a dick, and then he turned all nice and concerned. Mixed signals everywhere. “Never mind.”

  I wasn’t spelling it out. Last night went totally wrong.

  It had been amazing and mind-blowing, and I actually thought for a minute I’d hit the cunnilingus jackpot. But he’d taken it too far. I needed control, and I told him that, but he wouldn’t listen.

  Words like stop, enough, don’t, and no didn’t register in his vocabulary, or if they did, he cajoled his way around them. That’s why there were safe words, but usually the safe words were for the other person, not me. Would I have safe worded?

  He hadn’t hurt me but pushed me miles outside of my comfort zone. He made me believe I was in control, but I never was. And I fell for it, like some stupid girl who knew absolutely nothing about men.

  I knew men. I had plenty of them in my life. That’s what being a sugar baby was all about. But none of them—well, hardly any of them—meant anything to me. Noah wasn’t a client, and he meant something. He was my friend, and he knew I had loads of reservations about going out with him. Last night he broke my trust and—

  Why was I even debating this—even with myself? He broke my trust. Fuck him. I flung the blanket off and grabbed my thong, hiking it up my legs. “Where are your keys?”

  “What?”

  “Your keys. The things you use to start a car. I’m going home, and if you’re not going to drive me, I’ll drive myself.” Let him pay for a cab or take a train back.

  He sat up, eyes glaring under his disheveled bedhead. “What the hell is your problem? I’ll take you home. It’s early—”

  “Now, Noah! I want to go home now.”

  His hands lifted, fingers splayed. “All right. Jesus. You don’t have to be a—”

  “Call me a bitch and I swear to God I’ll punch you in the dick.”

  He climbed out of bed and shoved his legs into his wrinkled jeans. “Good morning to you, too.”

  By the time I was dressed, I was trembling and on the verge of tears, but I didn’t know why, nor did I want him to see me upset—again. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “I’m coming,” he huffed.

  I waited at the front door, wondering where the hell he hung my coat. He was there a few minutes later, opening a closet and handing me my jacket. I avoided eye contact as I stuffed my arms into the sleeves. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  “It’s locked.”

  “Then I’ll wait outside.”

  The lights on his BMW flashed, and I climbed in. The car started, scaring the bejesus out of me. Of course, he had an automatic starter. I adjusted the heat and waited for the interior to warm. What the hell was taking him so long?

  Several minutes later, the driver’s door opened, and he slid in, wearing a scowl and holding two travel cups of coffee. “Here.”

  I took one of the hot cups. “Thank you.”

  He backed out of the single home driveway and sped down the em
pty roads of suburbia, not uttering a single word and holding the wheel in a white-knuckle grip.

  Since he provided coffee, I felt the need to send an olive branch back. He was, after all, taking me home.

  “Thanks for leaving so early.”

  “Like I had a choice.”

  Okay. He was pissed. Well, so was I. And confused. And a whole bunch of other crap I didn’t have names for.

  “Well, it’s probably best we get back to reality. Put this whole mistake behind us.” The car veered right, and I screamed, “Jesus! Watch out!”

  He peeled off the road, careening onto the shoulder fast enough that I nearly dropped my coffee. He slammed it into park and twisted in his seat, arm braced on the wheel as he glared at me.

  “What the hell was that last part?”

  “You maniac! I almost burned the shit out of my hand!”

  “Repeat what you said.”

  Rolling my eyes, I secured the hot tumbler in a cup holder. “Come on, Noah. This was a mistake. I told you—”

  “Last night was not a mistake, Avery. You cried, and I fucking held you. Shit like that isn’t meaningless.”

  My jaw locked. I cried because he pushed me past my comfort zone and stole my control. “I disagree.” And damn my voice for wavering. “We can’t do anything like that again. We’re better off as friends.”

  “Bullshit! I knew you were going to pull this crap!”

  This wasn’t my fault. “I told you to stop, and you didn’t!”

  “I was giving you an orgasm!”

  “It was too much! I said enough.”

  “Don’t twist it around like I’m some sort of predator who made you do something terrible. I didn’t hurt you. You know I’d never hurt you. Tell me you know that.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I … didn’t like it.”

  “Bullshit. I was there, Avery.”

  This was getting far too personal. “Well, we’re not doing anything like that again.”

  His eyes narrowed. “There’s something here, and I’m not letting you run from it.”

  “You don’t control me!”

  “Yeah, well … neither do you. Fear controls you. Stop acting like you’re some badass chick who doesn’t need anyone. It’s obnoxious—”

  His words cut off as my hand slapped across his cheek. Everything silenced.

  “Sorry...” I never actually slapped a man out of frustration. I didn’t know what to say, and he looked ready to strangle me. “My hand slipped.”

  His jaw ticked and time stood still, the energy of the car tightening like a slingshot about to spring. He dove across the interior and jerked back when his seatbelt stopped him. I laughed because it was funny, but he didn’t appear to think so.

  The buckle clicked and flung toward the door. He was free. The strap of my seatbelt whisked off my chest, and he grabbed my wrist, tugging me over the center console.

  “Hey!” I yanked back, but he had a tight grip. “Get off of me!”

  He tugged my arms over his lap, and my hand shot out to protect my face from hitting the steering wheel. The back of his arm weighed me down, and I squirmed to get back to my seat.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  I nearly swallowed my tongue as heat exploded through my jeans, and the sound of his hand smacking down on my jeans reverberated in the car. It took me a minute to process that he just spanked me.

  My heavy breathing challenged the sound of heat pumping from the vents. The moment I processed his actions, I committed to a reflexive reaction.

  “You fucker!” I went for his nipples.

  Twisting to my side, my back hit the wheel, and the horn honked. I went for his nipples, twisting hard enough to change the color of his face.

  “No!”

  I pinched as hard as I could through the layers of his clothes.

  “You fucking bitch!” He shoved me aside and walloped my ass again.

  “Stop!”

  “You stop!”

  “No! You started it!”

  “You slapped me!”

  “It was an accident!” I scrabbled away as his palm peppered my ass.

  He was going to leave bruises! My jeans did nothing to spare me pain.

  “Stupid dick!”

  I twisted and tried to punch him in the crotch, but there wasn’t enough room with me wedged between his chest and the wheel. The horn blared as I squirmed to save my butt another smack.

  His palm landed on my hip. “Enough!”

  I jerked free and panted, my hair falling in my face and my coat slipping off my shoulders. My throbbing butt sent a pulse through my veins. Furious, I glared, gritting my teeth.

  “Jesus, you’re fucking sexy.”

  Sexy? I wanted to kill him, and he was thinking about sex? “There’s something seriously wrong with you—”

  His lips smashed to mine, his fingers locking in my hair and holding me still as his tongue plunged into my mouth. Something unraveled inside of me, and before I turned into a puddle of brainless hormones, I slapped the thigh of his jeans.

  A satisfying smack filled the car.

  Our mouths broke apart, and his arm flung out with surprising speed, and pain exploded in my boob.

  Cradling my chest, I gaped at him. “Did you just tit-slap me?”

  “You hit me first.”

  I lost it. My hand swatted at his face, shoulders, arms, anywhere I could reach. He wasn’t holding back either. My ass was burning hot, and when his seat slid back, I panicked and reached for the door handle.

  “No, you don’t.” Strong hands wrenched me back, my fingernails scraping on the metal handle as it slipped out of my grip.

  “No!” There was no way he was spanking me again.

  I squirmed and struggled, but he was faster and stronger. My hand shot out to the door, the scent of pristine leather filling my nose as his palm landed on my upturned ass with a sharp sting sending fire into my veins.

  This wasn’t happening!

  I bit his side, tasting the cotton of his shirt and not letting up until he let go of me. Jerking my body off his lap, I made a fist and aimed for his dick.

  “Avery, no!” He caught my hands and glared. “You don’t hit a man in the crotch!”

  I struggled to break out of his hold, but he was too damn strong. “You. Spanked. Me.”

  “You slapped me in the face.”

  Damn it! He had a death grip on my fists. “Let go of me.”

  “No.”

  The warm interior of the tiny hardtop convertible spiked toward a hundred degrees and my knee was jammed between the gearshift and the console. I met his glare and narrowed my eyes. His nostrils flared. Those sharp blue eyes held me prisoner as much as his hands. Such Nordic beauty stripped away my resolve.

  As far as physical strength went, I would never be stronger than him. I jerked my arms and slid into my seat. “I hate you.”

  He finally let go. “No, you don’t.”

  No. I didn’t. That was the problem. My shoulders sagged. If I hated him, it would be so much easier to stay mad at him. But even now, ass burning and one sore boob, I couldn’t bring myself to dislike him.

  What was wrong with me? This was not how people our age were supposed to act.

  “Noah…”

  His fingers brushed a snarled clump of hair from my eyes and his arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug but leaving me the dignity of allowing me to stay in my seat. This was not where I wanted to be. His lips pressed against my hair, my temple, my eyes.

  “You need to stop fighting this.”

  I looked up at him, unsure what was happening between us, terrified I was losing my only friend a little more each time we hung out. We didn’t work as a couple. He wanted more. I didn’t. I knew more would only end in disaster, and we’d end up losing everything. Why couldn’t he see this wasn’t worth that?

  His lips traced mine, smooth yet firm, and my eyes closed. That mouth. It wasn’t fair for anyone to kiss so well.

&
nbsp; His hand cupped the back of my head, and I let him, because I, apparently, was a weak moron who thought with her vagina. His other hand slid inside the back pocket of my jeans, massaging the area he’d smacked.

  I gave in to the kiss, too exhausted to fight him off. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were caught in the frienemy zone, in a traffic jam of sexual tension, sarcasm, and explosive chemistry. It was the unhealthiest relationship imaginable. When his lips pulled away from mine, I forgot why we were fighting in the first place.

  He looked at me through gold-fringed lashes. “Are you done?”

  “Yeah.” I slid my feet to the floor and buckled up. “You’re a jerk. My butt hurts.”

  “So do my balls. I’ll take you to Fourth Street for breakfast.”

  And that was that. Nothing resolved. Nothing changed. Just stuck in this weird, little, maybe relationship of I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

  But the label didn’t matter. All that mattered was I still wasn’t ready to sacrifice our friendship for something sexual. Nor was I ready to sacrifice my control. So we were basically back where we started.

  18

  Noah

  I should have known better than to assume this would be easy. Nothing with Avery was fucking easy. The morning we returned to the city I kissed her goodbye and paused at my door. Something told me I should take a long hard look at her, but when I turned around, she was already gone.

  The following day I didn’t see her on my way into work. Nor did I spot her in the building that night. I texted her, but she didn’t respond.

  On Tuesday I texted her again, but she still wasn’t answering. I was growing concerned until a familiar man picked her up. She seemed to open the door just fine for him. I paced a trench in my floor the entire time they were gone, and when he walked her to her door, I pathetically watched through the peephole.

  Seeing another man kiss her—even if it was only on the cheek—filled me with so much rage, I worried for my sanity. What kind of hold did she have on me to incite this much emotion? We hadn’t even had sex yet.

  I tried to do the healthy thing and let her go. She claimed she wasn’t interested anyway. But she was. We both knew she felt something. This was just some bullshit game we had to play until she couldn’t take the distance anymore. We’d played it before. Sooner or later she’d show up in her sweatpants with a bottle of wine and an excuse.