Page 31 of Brat Baby (Sugar Life #1, #3)

Marie’s small cough and voice snap me out of the moment. “This is Emery. Emery, Darcy.”

Emery smiles and holds out the hand that isn’t clutching the robe between her breasts, pretending like we don’t know each other. Like I hadn’t covered her in my cum every chance I had not two weekends ago. “Hi.”

I stare at her hand, a glare forming at the cosmic fucking injustice of all this.

So, it’s perfectly acceptable for Emmy to pose, naked, in front of an entire classroom full of students and their lecturer, but she can’t have a consensual relationship with me?

She can be a student and model nude, but she can’t be a student and choose who she wants to be in a relationship with?

What the fuck even is that?

Anger boils in my gut, locking me rigidly into place. I trace my gaze from her hand, up her arm, over the robe, and back up to her face. Her smile dims, the corners drooping and the little twinkle of mischief snuffing out as my frustration focuses on her.

Why the hell is she here? The only reason I haven’t broken down and thrown everything to the fucking wind is because I’ve forced myself to stay away. I was doing okay—not great, but still, I was coping.

Now she shows up, here, in my space, painfully tracing over all the cracks and flaws in this sculpted jail cell I’ve confined myself to.

No. No, I’m not going to let her ruin everything we are trying to achieve. She’ll understand next week. But right now, she has to go. There is absolutely no way I can handle having her as the model, having my entire class ogling her body that is only meant for our eyes now. No.

“Absolutely fucking not,” I growl, the noise so low I don’t recognize it as my voice. I grab her arm and drag her back into my office, ignoring the shocked sound that comes from Marie and the confused murmurs of my students.

As soon as we are through the door, I slam it shut and yank down the little curtain thing over the viewing window to block out any prying eyes.

When I turn back around to Emmy, I’m expecting fear, nervousness, or contrition, but that is not what I get. Instead, she yanks her arm out of my grasp and narrows her eyes at me.

I see her irritation in her clenched fists on her hips and hear it in the venom in her voice. “Excuse the fuck out of you. The last time I checked, you weren’t my daddy anymore, which means you do not get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Fury burns along my skin. “Whether or not I’m your daddy is irrelevant. I’m telling you to leave my class. Your services as a model are no longer required. I’ll make sure Marie pays you, but you need to leave, right now, or so help me, princess.”

I know I’ve fucked up the moment the endearment leaves my lips.

Emmy’s features smooth out and that twinkle returns to her eyes, a mischievous smile overtaking her face. Between this breath and the next, I watch the transformation between my baby girl and the brat we have only seen glimpses of so far.

Backing up a couple of steps until her ass bumps into the edge of my desk, she smirks at me.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to do that.

You need me. Your class needs me. Or how are you going to explain that your personal life is jeopardizing their education?

Besides, I need the money. My previous… arrangement is no longer an option. ”

Before I can formulate a response through the rising red haze, she lets go of the robe and leans back against my desk. And motherfucking fuck.

The robe slides open like a fucking stage curtain, exposing cleavage, a hint of underbreast, her belly button, and her smoothly shaven pussy. White noise fills my head as I stare, utterly transfixed as she parts her thighs the tiniest amount.

I can hear my brain screaming at me to not look, to turn away, but I am utterly paralyzed. The fantasies that have plagued me for the past week and a half are absolutely nothing compared to this fucking moment.

But I don’t get to relish in it the way I want to. There is a quick tap on the connecting door before it opens and Marie’s head pops in. “Is everything okay?”

Her eyes switch between me and Emmy, pausing on Emmy, then widening as they scan her from head to toe, before returning to me, a nervous air suddenly flowing from her.

Emmy doesn’t even bother to cover herself up; she just shrugs and shoots a smile at Marie. “Everything is fine with me, but I think Darcy needs to take a minute to himself.”

“Don’t be a brat,” I all but growl at her, infuriated by the joy she can barely contain at this situation.

She shoves up from the desk and stalks toward me, and somehow—I don’t know how—she makes me feel like the prey. Emmy stops so close, I can smell her perfume, something sweet and floral.

This close, I can see her Tiffany necklace. That’s new.

Her hand touches my chest, and she pats right over my heart. “Make me.”

Then she walks away from me, in the direction of the goddamn classroom I just banned her from.

“Come on, Marie. Let’s do this,” Emmy orders as she leaves me alone in my office, Marie trailing after her.

My stomach lurches, and I think I might actually throw up.

How the hell did my afternoon turn into this?

With legs that feel like they are filled with cement, I force myself out of the room and back to my students.

As much as I hate to admit it, Emmy is right.

My students need a model tonight, especially considering the epic fail that was last week.

As for the money, I know that’s a load of crap.

Somehow she found out about this modeling position, and she deliberately applied just to fuck with me.

Emmy and Marie are standing by the side of the couch, with Marie gesturing at it.

I come up behind them and place a hand on Marie’s shoulder, trying to exude a calm I certainly don’t fucking feel. “Go back to your easel, Marie. Everything’s fine. I’ll get her set up and we can start.”

The worried expression Marie shoots me doesn’t fade as she walks away and takes a seat.

It’s only then I realize I’m still holding the piece of chiffon. Trying to find my calm, I take a deep breath as I place my free hand on Emmy’s lower back and use the fabric-holding hand to gesture at the couch.

“This is called a daybed. It is designed to act as both a couch and a bed. You need to lie down, with your back slightly arched over the cushion, head on this seat behind it, and then you’ll have your leg resting along the top of the backrest where it dips down.

I’ll also be draping this fabric over you.

You’ll need to hold the position for as long as the class requires. ”

She eyes the couch before glancing at the students who will most likely have a view of her pussy if I don’t drape her well enough. The thought of them seeing what’s mine has me fucking murderous, which instantly rules out any thoughts of teaching her a lesson.

Carefully, I take hold of the material of the robe at her shoulders. Lowering my voice and doing my best to gentle my tone, I offer her some guidance. As angry with her as I am, fighting the urge to help her is not something I have the energy for. “Slip out of this and go lie down.”

A shiver runs down her spine, and the fine hairs along her neck and shoulder stand up as she does as she’s told, pulling her arms free and stepping toward the couch. I follow behind, keeping the robe stretched out until she is seated.

Using as much of my body as possible to block the view of my students, I help her lie down until her back is arched over the tube pillow and her head is on the cushion. And then I do the worst thing possible—I look.

I scan her body, savoring every inch of bare skin, darkened nipple, dipped stomach, curved hip, and rounded thigh.

The noticeable absence of protruding hip bones and ribs is a sight that makes my heart swell.

Her skin glows under the studio lights that Marie must have turned on while we were in the office.

My gut heats with lust, and I battle against the need to dive between her thighs and become reacquainted with the taste of her.

With as much care as possible, I work the fabric down her body, starting with it piled in the back corner behind her head.

As it slips through my fingers over her collarbone, the backs of my fingers graze over her skin.

I vary the thickness, the tips of my fingers working the fabric over and around her breast, brushing over her nipple.

Her quiet gasp sends a bolt of heat straight to my already semi-hard cock, and I know there is no way I’m escaping these next two hours without it being torture.

Continuing to work with the fabric, I make sure to leave plenty of shadowing for my students.

Throat tight, instead of covering the breast closest to her audience, I droop the fabric, like it has fallen from her motions.

The last yard of the fabric, I position over her stomach and down over her pussy.

I arrange the fabric here and there, until there is a pool of it at her entrance, sufficiently hiding her from view, but offering a hint of depth. Gathering the fabric from between her thighs, I adjust it a little, my knuckles grazing her entrance. Her wet entrance.

I pause, breathing deeply through my nose, and look up the full length of her body. Like the good girl I know that she is, she hasn’t moved, and all I can see is my fabric and her breasts.

One little taste couldn’t hurt, right?

There is a cough, and I snap my hands away and stand.

My jeans are painfully restricting as I go back up to the head of the couch. Emmy’s eyes are closed, her hair is bunched beneath her head, and she is awkwardly holding her arms by her sides. That will not do.

“Raise your head,” I murmur as I crouch down beside her.

With her eyes closed, she raises her head.

My heart swells at the trust she is placing in me right now, even though I was an absolute asshole to her only a few minutes ago.

I slip my fingers behind her neck and gently gather all her hair, undoing the messy bun, and then scooping it up and fanning it out around her head, allowing some of it to drape down to the floor.

I grasp the wrist that has her bracelet and raise her arm, which is so relaxed that I have to take the full weight as I raise it up and over her head, bending it until her fingers appear to tangle in the back of her hair.

I position the other arm but place it so that her bent arm forms a triangle to her shoulder and the backs of her fingers almost press to her lips.

Unable to resist, I cup the side of her face and smooth my thumb across her cheekbone. Her lashes flutter open, allowing me to gaze into those hazel eyes that aren’t quite as focused as they were.

“All you need to do is stay perfectly still for me. Can you do that, princess?”

Her only response is to press her cheek into my hand before closing her eyes and relaxing into the pose. Could she be any more perfect for me?

Glancing around, I spot a spare easel. If I get to spend the next few hours with her, but not actually with her, I’m going to at least make a memory that I can hold on to. Something I can use to get me through this next week.

That meeting with Thayne cannot get here fast enough.