Sugar Baby Chronicles: Aimes

She ran a warm cloth over my cheeks, wiping away my tears and drool, before cleaning up the mess on my thighs.

I should be embarrassed, but I couldn't summon the energy for a blush. She'd seen it all, anyway.

She'd had it all.

"Thank you," I whispered as she pulled me close, letting my face rest on the swell of her breasts. "I've never... thank you."

My voice was hoarse. The back of my throat tingled; I belatedly wondered how loud I'd been.

She pushed the sweat-soaked curls off my forehead, replacing them with her lips.

"Would you like to stay the night?"

"Can't... move."

Her puff of laughter warmed my rapidly thudding heart.

"Give... give me a minute. Then I'll rock your world," I promised.

Her lips lingered against my forehead.

"I'm good, babygirl. Just sleep. Rest."

"But you... you didn't come."

I struggled to sit upright, only to be shoved down onto the mattress again.

"That's my choice," she said, pulling me against her, flush with her stomach. "Now rest."

I slung a leg over her hip, burrowing into the pillow of her breasts.

"Okay."

I was more than happy to oblige.

*

My screaming bladder woke me up before dawn, although I fought it as much as I could. I was too cozy, too comfortable, too warm.

My seeking lips found errant bits of flesh, pressing kisses to the soft, yielding surface as I grappled with consciousness.

Through the night, that deep floral scent had somehow become my own, sticking to my skin like a permanent mark of her brand. My eyes popped open at the thought, adjusting to the low light in the room and focusing on her sleeping face.

The tension in her shoulders and jaw was gone as she breathed against my tousled hair, lips parted peacefully. Her hand was still cupping my bare ass, holding my leg over her hip as she slept.

There were no covers; we didn't need them. She was warm enough to keep me cozy, inside and out.

A brief glance at the old-fashioned alarm clock beside her bed told me it was a little before six. I squinted at the red numbers and saw an alarm set for seven.

On a Saturday?

As gently as I could, I disengaged myself from the web of her limbs, padding across the room naked to the bathroom hidden away past a large walk-in closet. My bladder was insistent and I took care of that as quickly as I could before peering into the large mirror above the sink.

I looked... ravaged.

Holy shit.

My hair was a tangled mess of curls atop my head but that wasn't what caught my attention. No, it was the redness of my lips, the swelling of their sensitized curves... and the obvious bite mark on my shoulder.

My fingers ran over it, the red mark stark against the paleness of my skin. I'd always been one to bruise easily, but never had I thought someone would temporarily mark my body like this. Never thought anyone would want to.

The mark would fade in a couple of days, but I doubt the memory of it, the feel of her huffing against the back of my neck as her weight held me down and she pounded into me... I doubted it would ever leave the black box in my brain.

It would be a permanent fantasy I reached for on days I needed a quick release with my own fingers—this I knew for certain.

My gaze rose from the mark on my shoulder, pausing as I saw the smile on my face. Sleepy, yes. But also satisfied. Contented.

I'd never seen that look on my face before.

Mine.

My breath hitched at the memory of that word, breathed hotly against my skin. She was so clear about her intentions that I hadn't even stopped for a single moment to doubt her words.

I assumed she'd meant I was hers for the night... and while that was okay, I wondered if there was a way I could convince her that I was worthy of more than just a few stolen hours.

There were a couple of shirts hanging on the back of her bathroom door and I selected one, pressing it to me face for a quick whiff before I pulled it on.

It was a shirt made from thick cotton but it hung on me so loosely that one shoulder was bare—the shoulder with her mark on it.

Oh, there was that smile again. I couldn't seem to help myself.

The cabinet under her sink yielded a large bottle of mouthwash and I swilled the morning breath out of my mouth, using a piece of tissue to wipe my teeth clean. I couldn't find any extra toothbrushes meant for guests—or even a spare one for that matter—and my mind was quick to deduce the fact that Mira might not entertain overnight guests very often.

Good.

My fingers ran over the red mark again, shivering at the possessive bite.

Warmth swirled in my belly as I padded back to the bedroom, watching her sleep for just a minute. Or ten.

No one was really counting anyway.

The clock blinked 615.

My tummy growled, resounding loudly in the dark room, and I retreated to the living area so I wouldn't disturb her.

As I made my way to the kitchen, I shook out the clothes I found on the floor, laying them out on the back of a stool. Then I stacked our shoes by the doorway so they wouldn't track any dirt onto the polished wood floors.

There was a fancy coffee machine taking up prime space on her kitchen counter, set to Latte, single shot, large. The barista in me made note of that order as I slid a new pod in, letting the coffee drip into its assigned mug.

As the machine worked, I peered into her fridge.

Huh.

Two eggs. A tiny bit of 2 percent milk. Some really good cheese with French words I didn't understand. And a few takeout boxes that were due for the bin.

I withdrew the eggs and milk, placing them on the counter, wondering if she had any bread for french toast. There was none in the small dry pantry—although that search unearthed a whole row of spices with the seal still on the bottles. I palmed cinnamon and vanilla sugar, placing it next to the wet ingredients.

Well, if she didn't have any bread, maybe I could make an omelette instead...

I finally found white bread in the last place I thought to look: the freezer. It was well past its 'use by' date but it looked like it had been frozen before it went bad. I pried several slices from the loaf and slid them into the toaster to defrost.

There was a tune on my lips, although I didn't know what song it was. I hummed it as I worked, mixing up the ingredients to make a sweet custard bed for the bread.

I didn't let the toaster go for too long—I wanted the bread to be dry, not toasted to a crisp.

I planned everything out just as my mother used to on lazy Sunday mornings: pan on medium heat with a little butter melting in it. Bread soaking in the custardy mixture.

The kitchen/living room began to smell like cinnamon and vanilla and buttery goodness. My stomach spoke up, growling loudly in anticipation.

I hummed to myself, sipping on black coffee, setting each piece of bread in the pan to sizzle with a knob of butter. That was really the trick to the best french toast: never skimp on the butter.

By the time the last crusty toast was stacked high on a deep blue serving plate I found, I heard the alarm go off in the bedroom.

I quickly switched the coffee machine setting back to a large single shot latte and let the machine run.

By the time she appeared from the corner of the bedroom, I'd laid out the plates and cutlery for breakfast.

Her hair was gloriously puffy, like a halo around her body. She'd opted for a dark green jewel-toned robe that looked like silk against her dark skin. I think I had a goofy smile on my face, watching her blink sleep out of her eyes.

"You're still here."

It felt like my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I felt the smile fade from my lips as I stammered... "Oh. I-I could just go. If you want. I'm sorry."

A frown marred her brows. "Did I ask you to leave?"

"Well, no, but..."

I tugged at my curls, wanting nothing more than to take a step forward and let her kiss me good morning. My lips were already tingling. Yearning for it.

She cleared her throat, knotting the robe more securely around her waist.

Her voice was uncharacteristically soft as she said, "I thought you'd already left."

Oh. Ohhhhh.

This time, I didn't resist, stepping into her arms and going onto my toes to press my lips against hers. I felt her grip on my waist, tightening on my shirt and pulling me closer. Her lips seemed to cling to mine, sliding against them over and over until I forgot what it felt like to breathe.

She tasted like mint and sex and warmth and I wanted to curl up on her lap and sip at her lips like it was fine wine.

I'd initiated the kiss but she quickly took over, sliding me onto one of the bar stools so she could grip my face between her hands and slide her tongue over mine.

My fingers landed over hers, back arching like a bow as I melted into her touch.

When she pulled away, her chest billowed under that silky robe and I let out a little noisy puff of yearning.

"Good morning," she said, her fingers turning into a caress of my cheeks.

"Morning." I turned to press a kiss into her right palm.

"Did you sleep well?"

I tilted my head, assessing her question. "Considering the fact that you pounded me until I passed out, I would say yes, I slept very well."

Her surprised laughter warmed my soul.

She looked so beautiful this way—face stripped of makeup, hair wild around her shoulders. Laughing at something I'd said.

Her fingers ran over the mark she'd left on my skin.

"I didn't mean to do this."

Hmm.

"I think on some level, you did."

She didn't object as she traced the red skin.

"It won't happen again."

I pouted. "Well, why not?"

Surprise was evident in her dark eyes. "You like it?"

I licked my lips, considering my words. "I like what it represents."

My words echoed around us as her fingers stilled on my skin.

Neither of us spoke for a minute that stretched out like warm taffy.

Then she cleared her throat, letting her fingers fall away. I almost leaned into her, following the direction of that warmth.

"Not a lot of people wake up earlier than I do on the weekends," she commented idly.

I shrugged, reaching out to play with the knotted ribbon on her robe. "My body clock is pretty messed up. I'm usually up at odd hours gaming with people across the world."

"Ah."

"I made french toast."

"I'd be blind not to miss this huge stack of carbs. Are we entertaining guests I don't know about?"

I glanced at the plate. "It's only eight slices."

"Only?"

She looked appalled. I wondered how she'd react if she knew I could scarf all of this down in minutes.

"Why don't you sit?" I said instead. "I'll get your coffee."

She shook her head. "I'm quite specific about my coffee."

"Single shot large latte?"

She paused. "How did you know?"

I tapped at my temple. "I can read minds."

She raised a sharp brow.

"Fine, fine. I noticed the setting on your machine," I confessed, pressing my fingers into her waist. "Sit, please. Let me serve you."

She settled onto the high bar stool, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter.

As quickly as I could, I placed the steaming cup of coffee in front of her, as well as two warm pieces of eggy toast.

"So," I asked, downing the last of my cold coffee and rinsing the mug in the sink. "What are you up to today?"

"Work."

"It's a Saturday!" I protested.

That vague humming noise again. "I rarely stop working."

I dried my hands and leaned over the counter. "You weren't working last night."

Her brow rose. "That's 'cause I had someone to keep me occupied."

I plucked a slice from the platter and folded it in half. "Well, how about I keep you occupied tonight? I have a shift in a couple of hours but I should end by six-ish."

She stared at me for just a second, before nodding. "Okay. Where's my phone?"

I'd hung her little shoulder bag over the back of the bar stool but it was now piled with our discarded clothes.

Stuffing the edge of the toast into my mouth, I wiped off my hands and ruffled through the pile to retrieve her bag.

Then I slid the stool a little closer to her and hopped onto it so that our shoulders brushed as we ate.

She thumbed through her phone for a minute as I got to work on the pile of french toasts. They were pretty good, given the frozen origins of the bread. The fancy vanilla sugar was definitely the star of the show—I wonder how much it had set her back.

"So how many hours should I book you for tonight?"

The question was so swift, so unexpected. It cut through the sweetness in my mouth.

I jerked away as though she'd slapped me. And to be perfectly frank, my heart was starting to hurt as though she had.

"W-what?" I stammered, struggling to swallow the bit of toast in my mouth.

"For tonight," she repeated, fingers tapping on the phone. "How much do you want?"

I could feel my face twisting, heating, the words tangling on my tongue.

Under my borrowed shirt, my chest billowed as a sharp burst of anger lanced through my gut.

"Are you deliberately trying to hurt me?"

The words were ripped from my lips. Tight, tense.

She looked up, surprise evident in those deep, almost-back depths.

"Aimes." Her tone was rational. Reasonable. I hated it. "This is our arrangement."

My fingers shot out, grasping her phone and setting it aside.

"Did you really think we did what we did last night because of this... arrangement?"

My heart thudded dully as I said it. She couldn't have such a low opinion of me—surely, she couldn't.

"Well, yes."

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

I tried to swallow away the thickness in my throat, letting my gaze drop to the counter.

"Aimes..."

Her fingers reached out as though she meant to touch me, but I bolted straight out the chair, reaching for the clothes I'd draped over the back of it.

"I have to go," I said between numb lips, tugging on my pants. I couldn't remember where my briefs had gone; I didn't really care. All I knew was that I couldn't be here anymore.

She slid off her seat as well, a fierce frown on her face. "I think I'm missing something here."

I jerked the top over my head.

"Stop," she ordered.

I hesitated for just a moment before I reached for my blazer.

An irritated growl hit my ears a second before I was in her arms again. She pressed me into the counter, one hand holding onto my chin so I would meet her eyes.

"Let me go."

There was no use fighting her hold—I didn't have it in me. But her touch felt different now with the knowledge that she'd thought I'd slept with her only because she'd paid me.

I'm nothing better than a prostitute to her.

"I think there's been some miscommunication."

Damn her.

Damn her for being so formal and put together when I was falling apart inside.

"Please... please just let me go. I can't be here anymore."

"Tell me why and I'll do as you ask."

"Because." The word burst from my lips. "I didn't sleep with you 'cause you paid me. And everything inside hurts because you think so."

Her grip on my chin gentled, wiping away the tear that had tracked down my face without my knowledge.

She said nothing so I continued. "I-I'll return your money. It never felt right before... and it doesn't feel right now."

"It's yours. Keep it."

"But what does that make me, huh?" I challenged her, trying to wiggle away. But she held me still.

"Aimes." Fuck, why was her voice so stable when I felt like I was falling apart. "In my position, what would you do?"

"Ask me what I want. Not assume I'm some kind of... whore."

Her fingers now brushed through my tangled curls. "All right, babygirl. What do you want?"

"You," I whispered. "I want you. As stupid as that sounds... you're way out of my league and so beautiful my heart aches to look at you. But I can't help what I want."

Her head tipped to the side, assessing me like an anomaly she couldn't quite decipher. Couldn't understand.

"Have you thought this through?" she asked, running her thumb over the sharpest point of my cheekbones.

"No," I said bullishly. "Clearly, I haven't."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "The reason I'm asking is because I'm difficult, Aimes. I like things a certain way. There's a reason why I've been single for so long."

"What kinda way?" I sniffled, feeling my nose tingle with the range of emotions that were flowing through me.

"I always need to be in-charge. I don't like back talk. I spend too much time at work. I can be distant."

My brows rose.

"And that's just a start."

"B-but..." I paused to moisten my lips. "If you're self-aware enough to know all these things, surely you can work on it?"

A puff of laughter. "I like the way I am. I'm difficult, but I'm me. I'm not going to change myself for someone to like me."

Her lingering touch on my cheek was starting to tingle.

"Mira?"

"Hmm?"

"What if I told you I already like you?"

That feathered brow rose a notch. "After one night?"

I felt twin pinches in my cheeks as they heated. "Especially after last night."

She shook her head. "You don't know what you're in for. I'm not joking when I say I'm difficult."

I bit my lip.

"Maybe... maybe I'm being rash. But last night, I got this feeling, you know. That you'll take care of me if I let you."

I let my gaze drop, unable to meet her eyes.

"Is that what you want? Someone to take care of you?"

She placed her thumb into the tip of my chin, pressing in. I could feel my bones trembling, battling to get closer to her. Lean into her touch.

I nodded instead. "But I want to take care of you, too. I want to cook for you, make you laugh. Keep you happy."

"I haven't been happy in a long, long time."

She said those words quietly. Like a soft realization.

I gently touched the fingers that were tethered to my chin.

"Maybe... maybe I could try."

"It's not going to be easy."

I pressed a kiss into the cup of her palm, meeting her gaze as I said, "It's never going to be easy until you let yourself be loved, Mira."

My words took her by surprise, if her widening eyes and furrowing frown were any indication. She leaned into me slowly, pressing me into the hard counter so that my breath left my body in a long exhale.

"Are you sure you want to try this?" she murmured, her lips a mere inch from my own.

I nodded, raising my head to hers.

"I want to make you happy."

The soft pad of her lips found the center of my forehead, brushing a chaste kiss against it.

"I must be crazy to consider this," she murmured against my skin.

I shook my head.

"Deep inside, you know we feel right together. Otherwise you wouldn't have even bothered with me."

She leaned back to stare into my eyes.

"You're very observant," she commented, sounding a little breathless.

"I am. When it's important."

"So, how is this going to work?"

I shrugged. "We could, you know, date?"

That thoughtful humming noise again. "But I'd still like to provide for you. Financially or otherwise."

"That's really not necessary. I'll pull a few extra shifts a week to try and make up the money for the plane ticket to see my mom. It'll be fine. Really."

She frowned. "I have enough miles to get you a free ticket, Aimes. It won't cost me a cent. If you want, you can pick up extra shifts, but in the weeks leading up to finals, I don't want you splitting your time between work and studying."

That seemed all right.

"Deal—wanna shake on it?"

Her lips feathered kisses across my hairline. "I had something much more satisfying in mind."

I hopped onto the counter before she could say anything more.