Sugar Daddy

by Rie Warren

  “Good, because, uh…” When he retreated, I glanced around the intimate room. Glowing candles illuminated old tapestries and damask, French doors opened to an enclosed courtyard pouring in the sweet perfume of jasmine.

  I glimpsed a thatch of salt and pepper hair beyond Reardon’s shoulder and the lover’s idyll became a lot more crowded.

  What the Whistler?

  Reardon hurried to explain, “I ran into them outside, and I invited them to join us.”

  Always the good ol’ boy. “Of course you did.” Wait...them?

  “Besides, this is only the first part,” he reassured me.

  A feminine voice intruded. “We tried to decline when he told us he was meeting you.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Reardon, and he had the good grace to flush. The lady in question put out her hand. She was about as statuesque as me, had perhaps six years over me, and was bottled-blond and bubbly as much as I was a true redhead in color and temperament.

  I shook her hand. “Delighted to meet you, you must be?”

  “Chantal.”

  “My woman.” Whistler came up.

  “What I should be is your wife, Wayne Sottile,” she said with disdain. Oh goody, more namin’ and shamin’. Not only was Chantal bubbly, but she was good at wielding the verbal hickory switch, too. I already liked her.

  “Now don’t be goin’ on about our affairs in front of thessse good people,” he said with his teapot whistle. “’Sides, we got that common law thing goin’ on. Sixteen years of unwedded bliss, right?”

  Chantal rolled her eyes.

  “Good to see you, Miss Shay.” Whistler pulled me into a back-cracking hug.

  Once he let me go, I got an eyeful of his outfit. He was altogether dapper with hair slicked back and chin free of whiskers, until his suit coat parted, showing a t-shirt proclaiming Your bait sucks and your boat’s ugly too. Then there was his cap dangling off the back of a chair: Pluff Mud, it keeps the condos away.

  I had no chance of hiding my laughter.

  Chantal saw me. “Oh, don’t even get me started on his attire, Shay.” Condemning on one hand, she stroked his chest with the other. “If he could polish up like your Reardon, that’d be somethin’.”

  Thankfully she wasn’t looking at my Reardon like she wanted to jump his bones–that was me–because I would take my heels off if I needed to. Mmm, he did look fine tonight. He’d had a fresh shave so his cheeks were slightly pink under his tan. The deep blue of his suit highlighted his dark coloring and dancing eyes that watched me giving him the thrice-over.

  We sat at the table placed by the open doors, and Whistler’s woman patted my arm. “Anyway, don’t be scared of me, I don’t bite.”

  “And don’t be lissstening to Chanty, sis, because yeah, she do.” He was batting a thousand, and Chantal beaned him on the back of his head with her handbag.

  “Romance?” I murmured to Reardon, one more time.

  He tickled my earlobe with his lips and warm breath. “This is only the first course, darlin’, I promise.”

  “Hmm.”

  Through a meal of vintage vino and veal something or other, the talk flowed and my hand wandered. Lowering his chin to his chest, Reardon struggled to keep his head in the conversation. I laughed and made small talk and did some under-the-table servicing of my own. My nails scratched lightly along the inside of his thigh to the point where his length pressed heavily against the inseam.

  “Seems to me Mount Pleasant’s bein’ overrun by them damn carpetbaggers from up North.” Whistler soapboxed on every Southerner’s favorite topic since time immemorial.

  “Terrible.” I gave my Amen.

  Reardon said, “Go on and ask Chantal where she was born.”

  I waited expectantly.

  “Maine.” Her eyes twinkled. “Yep, you got a damn Yankee in your midst!”

  “Oh Lawdy,” I exhaled. Then I turned on the guys, who were laughing together. “Y’all are scoundrels.”

  Whistler held Chantal’s hand. “We-ell, I reckon Maine’s so far north, it’s not even considered part of the U-nited Territories.” He kissed her knuckles softly, smiling at her. “Anyway, she’s a southerner at heart.”

  Reardon pushed his chair back. “I’ll go settle the bill now if you’re done insulting our guests, Shay.”

  I smacked his leg. “I did not! Whistler set me up, and you trapped me.”

  He pulled me to other side of the room. “You know I’m joking. Truth is, you get any friskier with me, I’ll have no choice but to clear the table with your body and fuck you right here.” He pivoted out the door, leaving me a pile of horny mush.

  “I hear our boy has grand plans for you tonight,” Whistler called over.

  “Oh? I thought you and your lovely Chantal were my surprise.”

  He guffawed. “Yes’m, you sure are a charmer.” He followed up with a grumble and an affectionate wink. “Don’t know why you’ve hooked up with the likes of ’im.”

  After we said our goodnights, I dragged Reardon back down the passage. “C’mon, tell me where we’re going.” I was too giddy to wait any longer.

  He smirked and shook his head.

  Reaching the main dining room, I gestured toward the ladies’. “Give me a minute?”

  Soon as I entered the powder room, I wished I’d crossed my legs and held it.

  There was Leila. Of course I’d have a run-in in the restroom with the hex, because my life was a damned Lifetime Movie of the Month at the moment.

  Before I could express my condolences over her son, she sliced through all my good intentions. “I assume you’re here with my husband, since they don’t let any old riffraff get a table.”

  “He’s not your husband anymore. You cheated on him, remember?”

  “Well played, dear. And you, cheating on...Palmer, isn’t it?” Peering into the mirror, she said, “Of course, I did it only the once. Your poor husband. How can he be so oblivious when you prance about like the low class, high-paid whore you are?”

  My intention had been to show compassion; now I wanted to rip her hair right out by the roots. “Don’t give me that bullshit.” Rage made my voice shake. “You couldn’t care less about my marriage. This is about you and Reardon, and the fact he didn’t fight for you at the end, isn’t it?”

  Her invincible Shellac cracked–her lips pulled tight, her eyes revealing pain, her hands gripping the vanity.

  I shoved the truth at her. “Don’t answer, I already know what happened. And you hate me because he cares for me in a way he never did for you.”

  “I don’t hate you, dear, I have neither the time nor the interest to even despise you.” The usual venom was lacking from her cheap shot.

  I smiled, remembering the other night when we held one another to sleep and solace. “You can compare me to his former mistresses all you want. The truth is I am different, and he let you go as soon as he reasonably could.”

  Blanching for a second, she recovered with a facsimile of a smile, one coated in poison as obvious as her blood-red lipstick. “Told you he loves you, has he?”

  The force of her blow must’ve showed on my face.

  “I didn’t think so,” Leila crowed.

  Advancing toward her instead of retreating, I straightened my spine. I didn’t cower or cry. I placed my hand over hers, her tendons jumping at my touch.

  “You may be a petty piece of work, Leila, but I feel nothing but pity for you.”

  Her mouth, which was stamped closed, opened for rebuttal.

  I shook my head. “I do have one more thing to say to you. I am truly sorry about your William.”

  Her sneer disappeared, transforming into the expression I’d often regarded in reflection. The one trying to hold in all the unceasing horror of losing a child.

  Leaving her to her grief, I replaced my shaky knees with a confident sway. I found Reardon and hustled him from the restaurant.

  Thankfully, Junior was idling at the sidewalk. Tucked inside the car, Reardon drew me
over his lap, rubbing my shoulders when I hid my face in the nook of his neck. “Hey? You okay?”

  I nodded. I did not want my rumble in the restroom ruining our night together.

  “You’re shaking.”

  My body stilled. “Got cold back there.” Cold was an understatement.

  “Shay.”

  “Please just hold me, warm me up.”

  He ran his fingers through my hair and down my neck, starting a new set of chills having nothing to do with being upset. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.” In this warm, spicy-smelling happy place, I relaxed. Wiggling further against him I let out an excited sing-song, “Are we there yet?”

  His laughter only stopped when our mouths met in a languorous kiss.

  Approaching downtown’s waterfront over Calhoun Street, I asked, “The Aquarium?”

  “No.”

  “Spirit Cruiselines for a midnight cocktail cruise around the harbor?”

  “Definitely not.” His lips curving, he enjoyed our game.

  “Humph.” I pretended to mind, but I really didn’t.

  Driven nearer and nearer to the harbor, the car only cruised to a stop inside the Charleston Maritime Center.

  “The dinghy again?”

  He shook his head.

  “Okay then.” I accepted his help out of the car and waited while he took our bags from Junior, exchanging a few whispered words.

  “This way, darlin’.”

  Strolling hand-in-hand to a slip, he lifted me on board an aerodynamic speedboat. He hefted the overnight luggage in and loped to the helm, starting the motor without saying a word.

  We broke out of Charleston Harbor, the lights of the city softening in our wake, the waves funneling from the back end of the boat. The vigorous vroom of the motor shimmied through me and laughs bubbled from me like the foamy tide writhing behind us.

  I stood with my arms spread in the I’m the King of the World pose, though not as cheesy. I spun around, the dark sky padding my shouts. “Oh! This is so fucking awesome, Reardon!”

  His laughter was whipped away by the wind that grabbed at my hair. “This isn’t it, yet.”

  Nothing but the dots of the cityscape behind and the sparkling sprinkles of stars a high ceiling above, our breakneck speed slowed so waves lapped back at us. We approached a lustrous, white, elegant...motherfucking enormous yacht. Three tiers of decks punctured the sky with polished brilliance. Rows and rows of long windows blinked down at us.

  Reardon cut the engine and the speedboat–looking like a toy right about now and probably suffering from the same walk-of-shame my Honda did in The Tides parking lot–rocked to a mooring attached to the Love Boat, so big it made the sea heel to it.

  On deck, I was bowled over again by candles lit inside hurricane lanterns and flowers flapping lazily in the breeze, by the endless promenade to the left and right of me.

  “Ransome III.” I smiled shyly at Reardon.

  “Yes.” His chest expanding, he was all proud of himself.

  “He’s a beauty. I can call it a him, right?”

  Popping the champagne cork, he tipped the fizz into two glasses. “’Course. But, since boats are usually female, I might have to buy another so I can name her after you.”

  Jesus, he was serious.

  Our crystal glasses clinked. “To you.”

  My lips curved around the paper-thin rim of the glass, and I took a swallow. Raising my glass again, I quietly toasted, “To Will, to Ransome.”

  Gaze drifting across the wide-open waters, Reardon solemnly nodded before he drank to his son, to his brother.

  “You regret naming them all Ransome now?” I braided our fingers together.

  He took a careful sip. “Not sure how I feel about it, Shay. Maybe it was the right thing at the time, not being openly reminded of Will.” His eyes creased and saddened, he pursed his lips. “Pretty cowardly, I guess.”

  Running my fingers up his arm to his neck, I massaged him until he blinked over the somberness shading his irises. “Not cowardly at all, baby. It still fits them both.”

  His smile was slow in coming, but splendid when it dawned over his mouth. Raising his hands, he grasped my face for a slow meeting of our lips.

  His forehead pressed to mine, he held my hands so sweetly between us. “Thank you.”

  Kissing his temples and his dimples and his chin, I repeated, “Thank you, baby.” I mischievously peered around. “Now, can I go explore this big ol’ beautiful boat?”

  “Have at it.” He let me loose with a grin.

  I kicked off my heels and jumped into a quick hug before taking off at a run down one side and up the other, dancing, giggling, singing complete and utter nonsense in between shouts of “Nuh uh and “No freakin’ way!”

  I popped out from behind a partition to see him ambling toward me, barefoot with his collar opened. He was sexy as hell, but I had other things to look at.

  Pointing, I squealed, “That’s a freakin’ Jacuzzi.”

  “We’ll try it out later.” His voice was laced with salacious intent.

  Before I could get away again, he drew me into him. “Welcome aboard my yacht, Shay.” His kiss was searing, and the ship might not have rocked, but I undulated against him.

  “Big Bitchin’ Boat might be a better way to describe it,” I murmured against his lips. I would need a docent and a blueprint to get the lay of this land.

  He scratched his jaw, half amused, half abashed. “Well, it is a Super Yacht.”

  I rose to my tiptoes and nipped his chin. “No shit it is. Who’s driving this behemoth?”

  “You’re looking at him, crew’s off tonight.”

  Oh yes, Captain, my Captain. I had a sudden urge to salute Reardon, on my knees.

  “So.” Fingering the rim of my champagne glass, I peered at him through my eyelashes. “We’re out here in the middle of the Atlantic, all alone?”

  “Completely.” He shed his jacket, ribboned his tie from around his neck until it floated away like a banner behind him. “Alone.”

  A tug on my hand and we were in step to a set of doors tinted a smoky gray. Inside, low lighting prismed off gleaming dark woodwork, saturating the rich cream upholstery and buttery suede cushions.

  “The lounge.” He christened the room by leaning against the back of a sofa, pulling me between his thighs and pressing his lips to my throat.

  “Aaah, I like the lounge.”

  “Good.” He winked. “We’ll get to this later, too.”

  Christ.

  “The most important room is down here, below deck.”

  I hoped that was a euphemism for nautical nookie, because my hoo-haa was sendin’ out multiple MAYDAY signals.

  We descended a set of gently curving shallow steps, the dark wood creating an expensive coziness that seeped all the way into the bedroom. Banks of windows were slid back, letting in a salty sea breeze, and at the center of it all was a beautifully made bed on a chocolate colored dais.

  “The master suite.”

  This time I didn’t curtail my tongue. “Oh yes, master.”

  I exhaled when his fingers swept my hair aside from behind. His fingers hooking under the straps of my dress slid the bodice down to ruffle at my hips. A hand skimmed over my back; the other barely touched my breasts, briefly catching my nipples.

  Whispering, “Lovely dress,” Reardon swished it down my legs. “But I prefer your skin.” So arousing were his light touches, his molten eyes, his hands and mouth wandering up my body.

  I reached for his belt.

  He stepped back. “Uh uh.”

  Huh?

  “Watch.”

  I kept my eyelids peeled as his clothes hit the floor. This was not a sight to be missed, screw the ocean and all her natural beauty.

  Once he was naked–rigid muscles and wide shoulders and burning eyes–I sauntered to him. It was his turn to watch. I held my hand over his heart, licked his other nipple. He jerked, whispering his hands to my waist. I wrapped my
fingers around his shaft for several full strokes and he clenched his hands and cursed.

  He stepped away again with a hoarse laugh. “I’ll come if you keep that up.”

  I licked my lips. “In my mouth?”

  “Shay,” he implored. “Don’t move.”

  He strode to the bedside, a length of black satin gathered between both his hands. Winding it around my hips, he threaded it against my pussy until silken cloth parted my wet lips. The hedonistic sensation made me hiss.

  “I want to blindfold you.” His tongue twirled around my earlobe.

  “Yes,” I whimpered.

  His smile was sinister, sensual. Another sash appeared, and he pulled it back and forth over the tips of my breasts.

  Kissing my shoulder, pulling my nipple through the onyx cloth, he hypnotized. “The remaining senses are more alive when one is deprived.” He looped the silk over my eyes and laid me down on the bed. “I’m not going to tie you up, Shay,” he crooned at me from the swell of my stomach, spreading an exquisite tingling sensation to my breasts and along my thighs.

  Drats.

  His fingertips glided erotically over my belly, curving around my tits, centering a heat deep between my legs. “Although I’m sure I could find some coils of line around here somewhere.”

  Game back on!

  His wicked chuckle was a warm wash inside my hip, where his tongue dandled. My thighs were spread between his palms. “You’re so easy, darlin’.”

  What? I took mock offense to that.

  “This is nice.” He found my own surprise with his sure fingers at the narrow strip of curls I’d grown on my mound.

  “Uuuuh,” I moaned, knowing his eyes were taking all of me in.

  Raining through my downy red curls, his knuckle circled my clit. “Very nice.” His lips puckered over the hot piece of flesh. Our sensual sounds mashed together when he made love to my slick sex with his mouth and tongue and fingers.

  Oh his fingers, opening me, plundering in and out, his thumb rotating lower until it reached the sweet rose of my ass where he tapped a rhythmic beat.

  My hips matched his leisurely pace, begging for more. Arching my back, an endless moaning, “Please, baby, please,” broke the seal of my lips.

  Raised over me, he pierced me with his cock in one swift lunge.