Page 23 of Sugar (Gilded #1)

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EASTON

F uck, I was close.

Inhaling deeply, I tried to slow my movements. Tried to pace myself. Tried to think about baseball stats, pain, and every other cliché trick to stop myself from exploding in her tight cunt before I was ready.

But I wasn’t in Maddie.

It wasn’t her pussy squeezing my dick. She wasn’t riding me while her perfect tits bounced as I slammed up into her.

She wasn’t instantly following every demand with a natural submissiveness that made me want to push and push and fucking push.

She wasn’t coating me in her sweet arousal while she came apart around me.

No one was.

It was my own hand that’d started working myself the instant my ass hit my couch.

I hadn’t even taken off my clothes first. Hell, I’d barely waited until I was home.

I was truly a sick bastard because if the partition glass in the town car would’ve been operational, I would have freed myself the second I was alone back there.

It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d stroked myself in a car after seeing Maddie.

A night with her had been torture. Sweet torture, but still fucking torture. She’d exceeded all expectations as a date. She was smart and delightful and funny. Christ, I couldn’t remember the last time someone consistently made me smile, much less laugh.

Those events were usually hell for the minimal length of time I stayed, but Maddie had made it enjoyable—even if the sight of her in that damn dress was enough to make me painfully hard the whole night.

Especially when the fabric would separate to show her tanned thigh.

It would’ve been easy to cover her hand on my leg and drag it up so she could feel the effect she had on me.

It’d taken every ounce of control I had to just keep it pressed to me—pathetically grateful for whatever contact I could get.

In my fantasy, though, I did what I wanted.

I made her touch me while she stared at me with those innocent wide eyes.

I taught her what I liked before taking my time to learn what she liked. How she felt. How she tasted.

I slid my hand along the slit in her dress, hearing her gasp for me. Feeling her shift, needy and restless.

In my head, when she leaned closer to whisper to me, it wasn’t a conspiratorial act to make people think we were together. It was to beg me to touch her. To make her come.

I tightened my fist around my cock until it was one step below painful as I imagined sliding my fingers into her beneath the table. Working her faster. Ordering her to move how I wanted her. To do what I demanded.

Controlling her.

I imagined using the fabric of my tie to restrain her delicate wrists as she handed me her trust. Her submission. Her. The way she would cry my name echoed through my head, it was like she was there. Like it was happening.

My release hit suddenly, and I didn’t have the chance to grab anything to catch the load that shot out to land on my stomach and chest.

Fuck.

As my tunneled vision returned to normal, I hung my head back and panted.

The lack of control I felt when it came to Madeline Baker should’ve been enough for me to call off our arrangement. The torment definitely should’ve done it.

But I must’ve had a hidden masochistic streak because I didn’t consider it. Not for a second.

My conscience might’ve stopped me from having her the way I wanted her, but I would happily— greedily —take what I could get.

I mentally ran through my schedule for the week, but other than Dave’s birthday the following weekend, there were no other occasions that called for Maddie’s company. I didn’t think I had anything for a few weeks.

For once, that was disappointing.

Maybe she was onto something with the sugar daddy shit. If we extend this beyond events, I could have access to her whenever I want.

The more I mulled that over, the more the idea held merit.

I’d never had to pay for it. Unlike a good chunk of my colleagues, I didn’t celebrate a win by paying a stranger to strip as she pretended to be interested in me. I sure as shit didn’t take off to Vegas for a long weekend of gambling, blow, and a room at a brothel.

But the situation with Maddie was different than that.

If Cohen was correct that she was looking for something more at Gilded, it shouldn’t be with some prick who would take advantage of her inexperience.

I could give her some insight. Teach her.

An intro class, of sorts. It would also give me more time with her.

And more control over her.

I was tempted to text her then to run the idea by her, but it was late, and she was likely sleeping.

If she agrees, then it won’t matter what time it is.

My spent cock twitched at just the thought.

I tucked it away before standing to go shower off the mess I made. I grabbed my discarded jacket on the way by, the smell of Maddie’s perfume still clinging to it. It reminded me of a coconut cookie, which was fitting considering how badly I wanted to devour her.

Even if I couldn’t.

I tightened my hold on the fabric, and something dug into my palm.

What the fuck?

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I dug in the breast pocket.

And pulled out my credit card.

The one I’d given Maddie.

I’d already been looking forward to talking to her about the changes to our arrangement. But at her blatant disobedience…

I couldn’t fucking wait.

Maddie

“Wake up.”

“Meehhhh…” I groaned as I attempted to roll over. My path was thwarted by another body.

Since I distinctly remembered going to bed alone—unfortunately—it was a confusing turn of events. A mystery I would solve later.

Like when the sun was up.

“You’re in the wrong bed, Goldilocks.”

“Wrong friend, my hair is brown.” She flicked my ear. “Up.”

I reached out to swat her but ended up just palming her face. “Snooze.”

The blanket was ripped off my body. Worse still, the heavy shades were moved to let in natural light. Way too much of it.

“How do you know I wasn’t sleeping in the nude?” I muttered angrily as I curled into a ball.

“Because you don’t. The real concern was whether you were sleeping alone since word has it you didn’t spend the rest of the evening by yourself.”

Ah, if it’s not the consequences of my own actions.

I blinked a bleary eye up at the disapproving scowl of my best friend. My other best friend looked on from her position near the opened window, a frown marring her pretty face.

The epitome of being disappointed, not angry.

“I can explain,” I said.

“We don’t want an explanation,” Wren said as she crossed her arms.

Uh oh.

But then she lost the hold she had on her expression, and a smile split her face. “We want details. Was it Attorney Hot Stuff? It had to be, right?”

“It was.”

“I knew there was more to that interview bullshit,” Greer seethed before whacking me in the head with one of my own pillows. “You liar.”

“Am not. The interview was normal.”

The auction that followed was not.

I still wasn’t going near that side of me with them, so I glazed over the details. “But after that, he asked me to attend some events with him. It’s good networking.”

“And I ask again,” Wren started with a brow waggle, “is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

I rolled my eyes before rubbing them because it was far too early for sass. “Why are you here at the crack of dawn?”

“It’s eleven,” Greer put in.

“Like I said.”

“You’re lucky I made Wren wait until after hot yoga. She wanted to barge down here before that to punish you for keeping secrets.”

I shuddered at both the threat of getting up early and their morning exercise.

Wren played up their hurt at my betrayal.

“Do you know what we went through last night? All these people asking us about the older hottie in the tux who whisked you away. Did we have answers? No. Did we have a heads-up so we could camp out in the lobby to spy on you? No. Did we get so much as a glimpse at your dress that was described as, and I quote, hot as shit?” She pressed her palm to her chest as she closed her eyes.

“No. No, we did not. We were left to look like oblivious fools, waiting around while you traipse all over town with that floozy.”

“Floozy?” I asked.

She cracked an eyelid to peek at me. “Too much?”

“Just a bit.”

She shrugged. “Whatever, I was in the zone.”

“To make up for this injustice,” Greer said as she walked to my closet, “we’re going to brunch where we’ll ply you with mimosas until you tell us everything that happened. Every single detail.”

“There’s not much to tell. I’m just his occasional event date to keep the vultures away. I was home before the carriage turned back into a pumpkin at midnight.”

“So he gets arm candy, you get connections, and that’s really it?” There was nothing exaggerated about Wren’s genuine disappointment.

“Exactly.”

“Did he even try to show you his bar exam?”

I laughed. “I have no idea what that means, but no.”

“Hey, cut it out.” Greer visibly recoiled at the state of my closet, but she kept her opinion to herself—like a good friend. She flipped through carefully. “We’re supposed to be talking about this over brunch.”

“Why do I feel like this is less about me and more about wanting food?”

“Possibly. You know I’m starving after yoga.” She tossed the clothes she held at my head. “Get dressed and let’s go.”

“You better listen before she gets hangry,” Wren called over her shoulder as Greer dragged her from the room.

Once the door closed, I began the arduous task of prying myself out of the comfortable bed.

There was very little that could motivate that feat, but French toast was pretty high on that list. I was nearly ready—and looking pretty much the opposite of the glamorized version of myself from the night before—when my phone vibrated with a clatter on my nightstand.

Easton: Good morning, Madeline.

Uh oh. Madeline, not Maddie.

Me: Good morning, Tyrant.

Easton: Good instincts.