Manhattan Sugar (From Manhattan Book 1)

by V. Theia

  His mouth stretched in a line as he stared at me with a bossy glare taking control over his brooding eyebrows.

  “India, no.”

  I gave a pithy snort. “I don’t like no.”

  “You have no problem throwing no at me.”

  “That’s different,” I grinned, “and I’m seeing my mother today. Not sure what I’ll feel like after that if I want company.”

  “Do you have a bad relationship your mom?” Those piercing gray eyes looked as if they could see clear down to my anxiety.

  Did it make me a bad daughter If I dreaded seeing my mom?

  All answered pointed to yes.

  I loved her, I did.

  But she drained my energy and I feared if I allowed it I’d become just as neurotically empty one of these days. Jacky died, and she’d degenerated into herself.

  It killed me that she couldn’t live her life. She missed Jack and the asshole she married, that she couldn’t turn the page to the next day. She was forever stuck in her own miserable time warp.

  “Eh.” I answered vaguely. Avoiding his knowing eyes. “She has problems and we don’t always agree,” I found myself telling him.

  “I can meet you there if you would like company.”

  Gray going to Staten Island seemed too polite and alien, but meeting my mom at the same time? I almost choked. I tried to brush it off with a laugh. “Thanks, but she’d freak out if I brought someone home.”

  More like I’d do all the freaking out because no one had ever seen me agitated and anxious before.

  Angry? Sure. I wasn’t afraid to let my temper fly.

  Life and soul of any party? Definitely.

  But that sensation of feeling like I was going to die as my heart pumped too much and my lungs churned to fight for oxygen? No one saw me in those rare situations. It was too personal exposing my real self.

  “My day is about to begin, sweetheart,” he told me as I watched him swing into a navy jacket, fitted perfectly to his form.

  I wet my lips.

  He noticed.

  “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?” I played dumb.

  Picking up his phone Gray brought it closer to his face giving me the opportunity to gaze into his eyes and have bad thoughts.

  “You keep telling me no, baby-girl, but those luscious lips are all about the yes. Bookmark this, we’re coming back to it later.” He said in a commanding tone that rippled down my spine. It wasn’t my fault my thoughts took me there.

  How commanding he’d be in bed, out of it or up against a wall.

  Was sweet Gray a good guy with a dirty boy personality?

  His rumbling hum brought my eyes to attention. “I’d love to know what just went through your mind. Tell me later?”

  “Maybe,” I flittered a smile and waggled fingers at him. “Go make millions, Sugar D. I have apartments to view in a little while.”

  His forehead dissolved into a frown and before he could speak like I knew he was going to I waved. “Bye!”

  I mean, there’s only so many times a guy will offer you a whole apartment before I’d snap his hand off and being in the same living space as Gray … my legs of their own accord would carry me to his bedroom.

  And then what? We live happily ever after in sugar daddy heaven?

  I scoffed pushing the table back, so I could get on with my workout.

  This wasn’t a romance and I wasn’t a heroine who got the guy.

  Visiting my mother really needed to come with hazard pay.

  Or a free fucking Coachella gift bag. Something.

  If only now for the clothes that were ruined and most probably spider’s eggs nesting in my hair.

  By the time I got myself back on the ferry I was mentally drained hugging my ice water bottle like a new born as I rested my head back on the seat.

  It had been one of her bad days.

  Like she had good ones, that was a joke.

  Mom had subdued days then she had manic episodes where she absolutely needed to find Jack’s baseball mitt, or the world would come to an end.

  To keep her calm, I was forced to search a filthy, dusty closet a hoarder would get a boner over. She’d packed everything of my brother in there years ago, but god forbid if I tried to get rid of something to make room.

  So, it stayed in that messed-up shrine behind closed doors.

  I’d found the mitt a dusty hour later. And what did she want it for? Absolutely nothing. She’d smiled, told me thank you, and placed it on a shelf in the living room.

  Screw my life.

  After that it was a case of paying bills, cooking so I knew she’d eat. I asked if she wanted to come into the city, she loved flowers, we could have walked around a park. It was met with a resound no, she was too tired.

  Her therapist said she was still in the process of five stages of grief. I just wanted a mother who could remember to turn off the fucking stove, so she didn’t burn the house to the ground. Was it too much to ask for?

  It was growing ever closer to the realization I’d have to move back to Staten Island if some miracle didn’t drop from the sky any time soon.

  I’d heard nothing back from any job application.

  The apartments I’d viewed so far weren’t even fit for vermin to live in.

  My phone beeped right as I was getting off the ferry.

  Sugar Daddy: Everything go okay with your mom?

  Damn. Sweet man.

  India: Yeah. I survived. Starving now, going home to bury myself in a triple hot cheese pizza.

  I nearly invited him over.

  Jesus. I wanted to fuck that man.

  I was so itchy to get my hands on him that seeing his screenname gave me a case of the pussy clenches.

  The urge to scale and cuddle him was a constant one.

  This attraction was messing me up.

  I could do it in three seconds flat if I invited him over and have a second spare to lick that arrogantly raised eyebrow while my legs cobra-wrapped around his slim waist.

  Would he grab my butt? He looked like a butt grabber.

  Just get two good handfuls and squeeze.

  I bet if he fucked from behind he grabbed the butt really good, just open me up and pound.

  It took some hard inhales to let my body know we weren’t about to throw down.

  Invite him over. Kick him out of bed the next day when I’d used him up. There was no doubt at all I’d wring him dry.

  The guy was a walking sex advert for horny women.

  I was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally.

  My legs could hardly carry me as I took the long walk back to my apartment.

  Cheese scent greeted me on the stairwell and it only grew stronger the closer I got to my door. Neighbors tempting me with their dinner. My belly growled like a lion.

  A tall boy was propped against my door holding three boxes.

  “Delivery for S. Baby?”

  Sugar baby. God, he was funny. I was going to kill him just as soon as I’d ripped the pizza from this kid’s hands.

  “I’m assuming he paid and tipped?”

  “Sure did. Gave me a hundred to park my ass here and wait for you, too.”

  I was half way through a first slice, gulping cheese and salami without chewing to sate my immediate hunger, my shoes kicked off, hair piled on top of my head and my butt on the couch before I called him, mumbling with a mouthful.

  “You’re like the batman of deliveries,” I accused with a smile to my voice.

  “You sounded hungry. I feared for the people you met on the way home.”

  I am hungry. Ravenous. Fucking starved for that husky quality in his voice when he emitted that chuffed-half laugh of his.

  One pizza and a box of garlic knots and I was anyone’s.

  Well, I’d be Gray Ellison’s.

  If circumstances were different.

  Why couldn’t I be less complicated, so I could enjoy a delicious man and not catch feelings?

  Gray was th
e perfect man, he should be married or screwing a score of women. Wait, maybe he was. He was a part-time rock star. It was a guaranteed panty-dropper.

  “Are you hooking-up with anyone?”

  A snort. “Right this second? If I have time to make a phone call, then I’m doing something wrong.”

  My tongue dried. That just meant he wasn’t currently banging anyone.

  My swirling belly suddenly didn’t feel so good and jealous thoughts crept in.

  I fired back. “They have diagrams online to help you, Grayson.”

  He barked a deep, rumbly sex laugh and just like that I wanted to forgive him for the faceless women he was fucking. “Mean girl is in fine form. I’m not hooking-up. Unless you want me to cancel my gig tonight and come over?”

  Though I heard the darkly dangerous edge to his voice and all my sexual organs quivered and begged me to say yes, I concentrated on something neutral.

  “You’re being mister rock star tonight?”

  “I’d invite you, but your favorite word to me is no.”

  “I’ll come!” I almost burst his eardrums and I was up off the couch and through to my bedroom where I grabbed the first pair of ripped skinny jeans I landed on and a crocheted sleeveless shirt. “What time and where?”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I told you I wanted to see you in action.”

  His voice dropped in my ear. “I was hoping for something more intimate when you said that, baby-girl. Not in a packed crowd.”

  Unf. That sexy rock star. He should come with a warning label; will cause vaginas to explode.

  “Text me the address. I need to shower and—”

  “You can stop at shower. My mind will fill in those wet blanks nicely.”

  I laughed at his pervy retort. “You are a wicked boy aren’t you, Grayson, under the veneer of a sweet man.”

  “Who the fuck said I was sweet?”

  “I did. And Gray?”

  I loved his voice, we’ve established that by now, but that thick quality, like he was already licking me from the inside outward was making my belly feel funny.

  “Yeah, baby-girl?”

  “Be extra rock star tonight, okay? Be so fucking sexy I lose my mind and throw my panties at you on the stage.”

  I took his laughed agreement into the shower with me.

  I was falling for a shoe salesman rock star who sent me food gifts.

  Damn, if I didn’t sit on his face tonight after watching him being all fucking masculine and hot then I might as well sign up to a nun 12-step program.

  I wondered if they had one of those in Manhattan.

  OH. MY. GOD.

  Had the rapture come early?

  Was I hallucinating?

  Or was the god-like man who’d been trying for days to break into my heart, sexier than ever up on the raised stage in the crammed club in lower Manhattan?

  It had been days since I’d used any of my social media accounts, mainly because I didn’t want to see that smug hag’s face all over my feed holding up her promotion.

  But seeing Gray, sweat dotting his face, jeans perfectly formed to his legs and his hair all finger-fucked disarrayed as he strummed like Keith Richards bending over his sweet-as-fuck matt-black electric guitar in his capable hands … this was going on my Instagram.

  In the throng of the crowd, it pulsed and sang along to their cover versions of Pink Floyd, The Red-Hot Chili Peppers, even some Pearl Jam and Queen so far.

  Their set was amazing and had the crowd animated.

  It was a young crowd too, not sure if that surprised me.

  The two guys up on stage with Gray were good looking too. The singer had a smoky-rasp quality to his voice.

  It was the guitarist who held my attention.

  Gray was completely mesmerizing, and I haven’t been able to tear my eyes off him from the moment I entered Bonafide, a prominent club on East 52nd street.

  I snapped a ton of selfies with Gray in the background, sending one to Sena who immediately messaged back several heart eyes emojis and “That is one gorgeous man.”

  But it was my Instagram stories that were dominated by the rock star shoemaker. For my 800 strong followers if they clicked open my stories they’d seen him rocking out and mouthing along to the words, completely in the zone. They’d see him laugh at something his band mate shouted over at him. They’d see the hottest man alive, dripping in sweat as he lifted his black T-shirt to wipe his forehead and they’d hear the crowd of mostly women screaming like horny banshees the moment his washboard abs were displayed.

  I might have been one of those screaming.

  Okay, I was the loudest.

  I couldn’t help it. From his frame it’s easy to see Gray was put together nicely with both height and muscle. Like all his pieces were in the right place. I just hadn’t expected the bump-bump-bump plus three more to be nestled on his torso.

  And now I was obsessed.

  I may have been the voice in the crowd yelling ‘take it off’ more than once. And he saw me, and that handsome boy sent a wink my way and then licked the corner of his lip.

  By the time their set was finished, I was shaking with excitement as I hastily typed out one more Instagram post. My feed looked like a teenage crush had blown up all over.

  I didn’t care.

  From the amount of likes it’s getting, Gray Ellison rock star, was a hit.

  Who knew the businessman had this kind of sexy in him.

  I did.

  When the band finished and exited the stage to applause, I never expected Gray to prop his guitar up against a large speaker, jump down off the stage and make his way towards me through the mass of people slapping his back and trying to talk to him.

  Everything in my lungs seized as I stood there like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  He held me with his gaze, even as someone got in his way, those eyes came right back at me and I found my feet moving to get to him faster.

  My heart pumping.

  Desire like nothing I’ve felt before urging me on.

  I knew we were about to make out.

  The way our bodies came together, chest to chest, breaths heaving, and the way Gray dropped his head, gazing at my mouth hungrily, letting me see how sweat had darkened his hair to midnight black at the front.

  His hands gripped my hips, dragging me in and god help me I whimpered.

  “Gray…” I whispered, tasting him in my throat.

  It was too noisy for him to hear me but as I lifted on my toes for his mouth to consume me, I was in reach of those perfect lips again.

  I licked mine and he pulled back.

  “Not here.” His voice was growl and gravel.

  With a forceful arm snaked around my waist I was whisked through the crowd and he found an alcove. Don’t ask me how, I could barely see in front of me, what with my whole body shaking with lust.

  The man I thought was so sweet looked at me like I was meat and he had a knife and fork at the ready. Head dropped, eyelids half mast, mouth wet from slaking it with his tongue and he was breathing heavy.

  A bull ready to mount and I was so incredibly wet I just about cried out for something … anything to stop my ache.

  Oh, look. We were slammed against a wall again.

  Walls appeared to be our thing.

  Before I could joke about it his mouth came crashing down on mine. No timid entry, no coaxing, he growled “Open up for me,” and I did.

  It felt like pop rocks were bursting inside my skull.

  Another perfect kiss shared with Gray as he grinded up against my belly and kissed the ever-loving hell out of me.

  Even as my hormones rocketed into another dimension, something occurred to me that made the way his body towered against mine the hottest experience I’ve had in a long time, not only that, my heart was involved.

  Gray didn’t just hold me like a potential lover with his fingers caressing up and d
own my spine, grasping the back of my neck so he could angle my mouth to a level that made him growl and lick across my tongue.

  He held me like a woman.

  It wasn’t awkward.

  Or stifling.

  It was possessive.

  The hold of a man who knew who he wanted and that someone was me.

  Oh, god.

  We fit.

  “You were so good,” I managed to say in between lip bites.

  In the dark hallway, with Gray’s hands spanning either side of my neck, his mouth eating at mine as hungry of a kiss I’ve ever experienced, I knew we were the perfect fit in that moment.

  Cue full-body explosion. No overstatement. Everything from my scalp to my painted toes pricked like I’d somehow managed to animate every single nerve in my body. My brain filtered out every consciousness that didn’t involve Gray.

  His taste.

  His smell coating my nose.

  His rasping breaths.

  His fingertips still locked in my hair massaging my scalp.

  I pulled away an inch, needing to look at him, to process the visual along with everything else.

  Licking my way into his mouth took a degree of patience I didn’t know I possessed. What I did know was I didn’t want to rush any of this. I’d wanted it—all of it, all of him—so long and so badly I’d even hidden it from myself when the image of Gray tried to sneak in this past year with the what if’s.

  And now that I had him, right there, warm and sweet and real, I needed to take my time.

  His tongue met mine for a hesitant flick that sent our hips rocking in sync again. The sweet, pure flavor of him was like a drug I knew might be addicting but had a high so enticing, I was willing to take the risk of becoming a junkie.

  I explored his mouth, aware of every single response—fingers slipping through my hair, that sexy, raspy breath hitching when I gave a light suck, and that rotate—Jesus Christ, that rotate of his manly hips had me picturing him in every dirty position known to man and a few that may have been physically impossible but seemed awfully fucking tempting in theory. I was willing to break bones and sever arteries to give them all a try.