I decide to let her tell me more about it when she’s ready.
“What do you like to do for fun? Other than meet old men in bars?” I ask in jest.
“Well, I don’t only meet them in bars. This was your idea by the way,” she winks and an adorable giggle escapes from her lips. “When I’m not sugaring, I enjoy volunteering in the community, trips to the beach, classic movies, reading. Simple stuff.”
She smiles and takes a sip of her Old Fashioned.
“Do you ever have more than one Sugar Daddy at a time?”
“That depends on them and the type of relationship we agree on. Some only want one date a month. Others like weekly interaction.”
“Do you have any active Daddies at the moment?”
I try to control my facial expression as I feel my jealousy and possessive nature rising from within me. I’ve always been a little jealous, it’s human nature. But when my little bird was stolen out from underneath me by the Johnson’s, it set fuel to a fire inside of me that never stopped burning.
“No,” she answers and my inner demons calm slightly.
“What about you, Carver Brooks? What do you do when you’re not running your empire?”
“Did you Google me?” I ask, feigning hurt.
“Maybe,” she answers, flirtatiously.
I have to think about how to answer her question. There isn’t much that I do outside of working and having casual flings with random women.
“Honestly?”
“Of course,” she smiles.
“It’s rare that I’m not working. When I do step away from work, I usually find myself in bed with a woman that I hardly know. A woman who doesn’t want me for me, but for what I can do for her or to say that she was lucky enough to get with Carver Brooks.
“That’s why I signed up for this,” I wave my hand between the two of us, “experiment? Experience? I’m not really sure what to call it.”
“I’m not rich and powerful like you are, but our reasons for delving into the sugar world are nearly the same. I got tired of the game, too. If someone is going to spend thousands of dollars on an experience they’re usually going to appreciate it more. Obviously that’s not always the case. But in the four years that I’ve been an SB, I’ve found that to be true more than false.
My dick gets harder the more she speaks. Not only is she gorgeous, but she is a genuinely good person. So unlike the majority of the girls in Silvercrest. As she lifts her glass in order to take another sip of her drink, a lock of hair breaks free from behind her ear and blocks part of her face from my view. Not thinking before I react, I reach for it and tuck it back behind her ear.
Her eyes lock with mine, just like they did at the bar earlier. I don’t break the connection, but as I am about to pull away from her ear, she leans her head into my hand. The feeling sends tingles through my body and my erection lengthens more, pushing against the zipper on my pants uncomfortably.
I let my hand linger a moment more before it becomes so unbearable that I have to adjust myself. Try as I might, there’s no way that I will be able to do it with an ounce of discretion. The circular booth that we’re in prohibits that. I look down and shift my position quickly. When our eyes meet again there is no hiding the fact that she feels the strong connection between us as much as I do.
Two and a half hours, six drinks, one charcuterie tray, and an order of bruschetta later, and we’re the last patrons in the restaurant. We discussed almost every subject there is to talk about. Politics, religion, science, love, sex, business.
The only one we seemed to gloss over was family. I can tell that it’s a sore spot for her, but she didn’t offer any further details beyond the fact that she doesn’t live at home. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. She couldn’t be more opposite other girls her age. Shit, other women who are decades older than her. Those who should know how to carry themselves. She blows them all out of the water.
“Greg, we’ll take the check,” I catch him as he’s walking past our table for what has to be the thirtieth time in the past five minutes.
“Yes, sir. Here you go.”
He places the book on the table and walks to the back of the restaurant. Before reviewing it, I shoot T a text message letting him know to pull the limo around.
“I don’t think Greg is very happy that we’ve camped out at one of his tables this long.”
“Probably not, but I can say for certain that I enjoyed every moment of it,” she responds.
“I did, too. Very much. I want to see you again.”
“Same here.”
“Shit, we didn’t discuss money or anything like that.”
“That’s okay, we can save that for next time,” she explains.
“When can I see you again?”
“I’m available this Saturday. Does that work for you?”
“That’s perfect.”
I review the bill and pull out enough cash to cover it plus a 50% tip for Greg. Closing the book, I maneuver my way out of the booth and hold my hand out for Ingrid to take. Following her to the front of the restaurant is a hard feat to accomplish without pushing her up against the wall and having my way with her.
“How are you getting home?” I ask her when we step out of the restaurant.
“I have a friend who works for Uber. He drives me to and from all of my meet and greets for safety reasons.”
“I’m more than happy to drive you home if you want.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t trust myself to get in that limo with you right now.”
“I feel the same way,” I admit.
Without thinking, I walk her backward into the wall behind
