Sugar Daddy

by Rie Warren

  Couldn’t resist the invitation, could I?

  At the next red light, Reardon grunted and craned his neck, his body moving with my fingers strolling up his cock.

  The light turned green. Horns blared.

  “Jesus, Shay, what you do to me.” He removed my hand, braiding our fingers together on the console, weaving us toward Patriot’s Point Marina.

  On the docks, we strolled past yachts, each one grander than the one before. Of course, his slip would be the last one, holding the piece de resistance–

  I shaded my eyes, looked up and saw...nothing.

  Looking down, I found…a skiff? The fuck was this?

  “I use this…” He rubbed the hull of the drab green boat. “To get to that.” He pointed across the many-mirrored waves to a yacht so majestic it had to be moored at open sea.

  Struggling with the enormity of his wealth, I frowned at the almost-rowboat, seeing its name in bold black letters on the stern: Ransome I.

  “For your brother.”

  “Yeah.” He hoisted me in. “This is the quickest way to get to the shrimper. Whistler and Badger are waiting for us.”

  Hang on, what happened to winin’ and dinin’ and some raunchy sixty-ninin’? Romancing? Replaced by a dinghy, a shrimp trawler, Whistler and Badger?

  Reardon pulled the engine’s cord and yelled over the outboard’s roar, “They haven’t really met–” He shut up, but I knew what he was saying.

  Another first for Reardon.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, darlin’. You’ve already met Whistler and made quite an impression.” His brow furrowed. “And I’ve known Badger since I can remember. They’re family.”

  I joked to cover the triumphant jolt to my body. “I meant, y’all sure this thing is seaworthy?”

  He threw his head back as the waves sprayed over us. Damn, there was nothin’ finer than Reardon laughing.

  Except maybe the very pretty sailboat out there, winds wafting its white sails.

  “She’s mine too.”

  I gawped when we putt-putted past Ransome II. “This was your first?” I slapped the creaking sides of our vessel, then held on for dear life.

  “Yeah, me and Ransome used to take her out on the creeks, back when I was a teenager.”

  I was consumed staring at him–a magnificent captain even in this sure-to-sink boat.

  A monstrosity bore down on us until a massive shadow darkened the water all around.

  “Shit,” he swore, the ship sidling too close.

  A large ruddy faced man leaned over a railing. “You playin’ hooky two days in a row, Reardon?”

  “Slaughter.”

  Slaughter? His business partner?

  Slaughter leered at me, smacking his fat-slug lips.

  I sat straighter, even though I wanted to slink beneath the bench.

  “Shepperd Slaughter, Shay Greer.” Reardon curled an arm around my shoulders.

  “Yeah, playin’ hooky with the hooker.” There was no mistaking his meaning.

  Punching to the balls of his feet, Reardon reacted with murder in his eyes. “What did you say?”

  I tugged on his arm. “’S okay. Technically he’s right.”

  “Like hell he is.” He stepped in front of me. “You insult Shay again, and I will fucking end you.”

  Meaty hands spread before him, Shepperd didn’t exactly apologize. “No harm, Reardon. Give your momma my best. See you at the board meeting tomorrow.”

  We sped in the opposite direction while SS Slaughter wallowed in our pathetic backwash. The ship no more than a speck behind us, Reardon slowed, bringing me to his side.

  He insisted I look at him. “You do not see yourself like that, you understand me? You are not my–” His mouth tightened. “You’re not.”

  I needed to defuse his anger, distill my pain. “Let’s just go meet Whistler and this Badger of yours.”

  We floated aside the trawler branded the Sea Witch–outfitted with long arms of netting draping over the ocean like huge dragonfly wings–and the boys above helped me up, while down below Reardon took his station as rear guard very seriously.

  Aboard, beers cracked open, bottles clanked, and I got my first eyeful of Badger.

  “Where ya been, boy?” He hauled Reardon against the bulkhead, giving him a good hiding. Hulking linebacker muscles, legs like steel girders, a grid-iron chest, he strutted around at having laid Reardon low. Until Reardon toppled him to the deck in a headlock that turned his face such a shade of purple it set off his black and white crewcut.

  “Make nice to the lady,” Reardon commanded.

  Battling for air, his hand shot out. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss.”

  “Nice to meet you, Badger.”

  His palm swallowed mine.

  “Miss Shay, pleasure to see you again.” Ooh, that Whistler.

  “Ass kisser,” Badger whispered.

  I liked him too.

  We drank beer and chatted for a long while before Reardon noticed my pink tinged shoulders.

  “Sunscreen?” He scooted behind me, offering to oil me up.

  Whistler scrambled to his feet. “Gotta go check…”

  “The course.” Badger scooted right after him, shooting oh-so-obvious winks at Reardon.

  I rolled my tank top off, presenting my back to him, clad in only a bikini.

  He cussed quietly, warming the lotion in his hands. Down my back, reaching around my waist, rustling my hair up to get to the nape of my neck with his lips first, he massaged me.

  Rounding on him, I threw my head back as he worked the SPF 5000 over my belly and pulled aside scraps of cloth to cover my breasts with slicked palms.

  “Feels so good,” I whimpered.

  “How’s the sunscreen coming along?” Badger broke our sensual dance.

  Shit.

  “Shit.” Reardon replaced my top. “I will see you naked, later,” he promised.

  Damn right you will. Shoot, I was pretty sure he just needed to say the word, and–poof–my clothes would magically disappear.

  “I’d say she’s done,” he hollered over his shoulder.

  “Ass.” I pushed him away so he had to hide his hard-on on his own.

  “So what’s your real name?” I pointed my beer at Badger.

  “Dickerson Bull.” He kept a straight face.

  Whistler snickered. “Dicky Bull.”

  Dicky Bull Badger got in his face. “Say it again, dare ya.”

  Whistler squared off. “Bring it.”

  His white-striped friend grinned, punching him in the arm with enough force to make him stumble. “Just fuckin’ with ya, braw.”

  He was the coarsest of the crew, so naturally I gravitated to him. “Of the Bull Distributors?”

  “Yes’m.” He performed a gallant bow at odds with his massive size.

  “Y’all got your hands in just about every piece of lowcountry pie.”

  “Reckon I know somethin’ about pie.” The rogue winked at me. Oh God, him too?

  Badger and Whistler went off to check something nautical or other, leaving me with Reardon, to get naughty, I hoped.

  “Am I doin’ okay?”

  “Better than okay, darlin’.”

  Lips cool with beer, skin hot from the sun, we kissed with unhurried pleasure.

  He pulled me onto his lap, and I decided a little bump and grind was in order, but the big Rat Bastard party pooper kept me well away from his groin. “Badger runs the catering side of the family business, big Charleston events.” He nibbled lightly on my shoulder. “Thing he loves most though is working for the charities. Red Cross, Darkness To Light, MUSC Children’s Hospital.” His chin rested on the top of my head. “Does a lot of good work.”

  Barreling down the boat, Badger handed out another round. “What’re y’all talkin’ about now? My ears were burning up there.”

  I squinted at him. “Y’all’s civic work.”

  He blushed and blustered. “Yeah that. Bet big mouth Boone didn’t te
ll ya why I do it though.”

  Whistler appeared, taking aim on something very interesting in the blank blue sky while Reardon busily inspected the contents of the beer cooler. Clearly I wasn’t getting anything further out of Larry and Mo. But I was keeping tabs on Badger.

  The day filled with banter and booze, rough-housing, and me and Reardon messing around when we got a minute or two of privacy. We passed Fort Sumter and left land behind. All that remained was a splat on the horizon and the ocean before us. Lunch was fresh-from-the-ocean shrimp, cooked by Badger, paired with a cool white wine. With the grime of sea salt drying on our skin, hot juices from the succulent shrimp dripping from our fingers, we sat and chatted.

  Two old hens, Badger and Whistler shared a look when Reardon scooped a drop of grease from the edge of my bikini top.

  He whispered so low I almost didn’t hear him, “Wish it was my mouth on you.”

  I think they even clucked when he took off his t-shirt to pull it over me, claiming I’d had enough sun for one day. I wasn’t certain because I was too busy fawning over his bare chest.

  Damn good thing he went off to move the anchor, gave me a chance to tow my tongue back into my mouth.

  If my drooling mouth caused me problems, Badger and Whistler were going blind, judging by the way they’d stopped blinking.

  “What?”

  Badger spoke up, “We like you.” Ah, a two-for-one deal. Did they go tinkle together too?

  “Yeah, sis,” Whistler concurred. “You got a potty mouth, and I bet you could drink a sailor under the table.”

  High praise, thanks, fellas.

  “We haven’t met one of his women since…” Badger left off with Whistler’s elbow to his gut. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Shay, but we ain’t seen him like this since, well.” Badger scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head.

  “Not in a damn long time,” Whistler finished. The more he drank, the chattier he became.

  I was touched.

  Until they mentioned shit like, “Easy on the eye.”

  “A real keeper.”

  “Bet she’d even like that pussy joke,” Whistler said.

  “Real as it gets.” They clinked bottles.

  And suddenly I was in a Miller High Life commercial.

  A pair of arms swooped under me, pressing me to Reardon’s chest. The Two Stooges did the uh huh, ’s what we’re talkin’ about thing where they raised their eyebrows at each other.

  “Ready to go?”

  “I want to talk to Badger first.”

  Stiffening–not in the way I liked–he relented. Not like he could stop me. I had some mad moves, pretty sure I could inflict some damage.

  I followed Badger’s proud bearing until, out of sight of the others, he gripped the railing with white knuckles and his shoulders sank. Underneath the man mountain lived a softie with something he didn’t want to–or couldn’t–talk about.

  “You guys come here a lot?”

  “Often enough.” He looked over the water reflecting the orange rays of the sun. “Always ’round this time of year though. He ain’t what you think.”

  “What do I think?”

  “Stick-shoved-up-his-ass, unfeeling, money-makin’ motherfucker.” He blushed. “Pardon the language. Am I right?”

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “Reardon’s nothin’ but a homegrown boy beneath the bullshit. He’s just been…”

  “Burned,” I finished. “This about Ransome?”

  “He told you about his brother?”

  “Only that he was in the war.”

  “I see.” Capturing my hand, he spoke earnestly. “I can’t tell you what you want to know. Not my place.”

  “Maybe I’ll get you drunker next time.”

  “Deal.” His fingers stopped over my wedding rings. “Married, huh?”

  Pulling free, I cast around for some excuse. There wasn’t one. “Yes.”

  “Don’t you hurt him, Shay.”

  “I won’t,” I whispered. I was the one who was gonna get hurt.

  Grabbing me close, he rocked me in his mighty arms. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You’re lookin’ out for him. I get it.”

  Suddenly, his voice rose, and his tone lightened, warning me of Reardon’s approach. “Yeah, he sure do take some lookin’ after. Biggest pain in my ass, that one.”

  Doing his best to put Reardon at ease, Badger led us to the ladder. It didn’t matter; Reardon kept his distance.

  Waiting while I said bye to the boys, he finally broke us up. “Okay, y’all can stop groping her now.”

  In the motorboat, dusk chased after us. I watched longingly as we left Ransome II and III in the wake of our tippy little outboard. One hand on the tiller and the other on his hip, Reardon’s continued study of me made me queasy.

  “You don’t have to be jealous, you know.” I scooched forward, stroking his thigh.

  “Not of them, maybe.”

  “You realize jealousy is a feeling, right?”

  The muscle in his jaw clicked. “I think it’s clear my feelings are already involved. I don’t want to share you, Shay.”

  I rocked back.

  The boat rocked with me.

  I thought it would capsize.

  Grasping my hand, he guided me to him, his words strained. “He shares your bed, he sits at your table, he can kiss you any time he damn well pleases.”

  “But he doesn’t.”

  He searched my face for the truth. Unsatisfied, he slanted his mouth against mine. His possessive kiss seared me, igniting a hot flush to my lips, my nipples, the damp flesh between my thighs.

  Groaning, he leaned back. Then he grinned and offered me the boat. “Wanna take us ashore?”

  I smartly saluted. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The wind spurred my face, my cheeks hurt from smiling, the thick shaft vibrated in my hand. Wrong thick shaft, but whatever.

  Once we docked, he stopped me on the wharf, brushing the clinging hair from my face. “Want to tell me what was wrong this morning?”

  “Delilah’s death. It was a year ago Tuesday.”

  He folded me close. “God, Shay. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve–”

  “You could’ve what? You can’t bring her back.”

  A tender touch of his fingers tugged my face to his. “I know. But I wouldn’t have subjected you to the boys, for one thing.”

  “I’m glad you did, it was perfect.”

  Leaning back, Reardon’s lips formed an incredulous line.

  “Bit too much testosterone though.”

  “Yeah, they go a bit overboard.”

  “Don’t blame it all on them, you’re cut from the same cloth.” Knocking his shoulder, I earned a wide smile and chuckle.

  “What can I do to make you feel better, darlin’?”

  Where to start? “How about I give you a blowjob?”

  He stopped in his tracks. Right before he hustled us to the truck. Bingo!

  Inside, I waited expectantly.

  He slammed his door. “Much as I want to, and I really want to, it’s not a good idea. You’ve been through a hell of a lot this week, and–”

  I cut him off. “Handjob?”

  “Jesus.” He went into face-scrub mode. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman.”

  I ogled the solid mass outlined in his shorts. “Good.”

  Peeking at me from behind his hands, he caved. “Yeah.”

  I went right to work on his cut-offs. Gift horse? Mouth? Not me.

  “No, Shay. I asked what I could do for you.”

  Fuck bingo, this was LOTTO.

  He was already lifting my shirt and talking to the girls. “You have any idea what you’ve done to me today?” Untying the skinny strap of my bikini, he pulled the material down, dragging his thumbs over my nipples. “This bikini. Your breasts.” He nipped my tit, palming the mounds and making them bounce.

  What, my itty-bitty white bikini? I thought it was demure.<
br />
  “Your backside.” He grabbed a handful.

  I squealed.

  “Get in the back.”

  I scrambled to comply. He was right after me, bumping his head on the dome light.

  I burst out laughing, and he came at me. “You think that’s funny?”

  Holy Hell. Hot, dangerous Reardon was about to go down on me.

  He was at my side, touching, talking, licking, not balking, not like Palmer at all. He spread me out and memorized every curve, every dip and wet divot. “So creamy,” he murmured.

  Towering above me, he teased my nipples into pink points, sucking one, then the other into his mouth.

  My thighs pressed apart, my shorts skimmed off, his dark head rested on my pelvis. Reardon devoured me with his eyes. He rubbed circles inside my thighs, reaching higher.

  I whined and arched when he dug his thumbs into the tendons at the tops of my legs. “You like that?”

  I nodded.

  Centering on my lips, he spread them apart, spearing me with both thumbs. “How about this?”

  “Oh my fucking God.” Wet heat spilled from me.

  Diving his tongue inside me, he nosed my tight nub. “How long since a man touched you like this?”

  I hauled his head up. “There’s only been Palmer. And not for a very long time.”

  Between rough laps through my slit and long sucks at my clit, he said, “The things I’m gonna do to you, Shay.”

  The windows fogged; my hands clawed the seating. He plucked and teased until I had him in a chokehold between my thighs. He snacked on me–nibbles and bites–murmuring against my labia. His chin damp, his lips swollen, he smiled. “Gonna get right inside you.”

  His shoulders bulking, he shoved my thighs over his arms, lips rough against my aroused pink ones, tongue inflaming me, tasting me, rolling inside me until his hooked fingers joined the chase.

  “Oh yeah!” My heels punched the roof, my hips gyrated against his mouth while he pumped me with two and three fingers. I grabbed his wrist, babbling when he turned his fingers to dive so fucking hard.

  The giant wave of my orgasm obliterated all the bones in my body. I hung onto his hands and his hair, driving him into me.