Sugar Daddy Read Online Free

a posy of wild camellias for me and an introduction for Momma–telling way back when his pop-pop had been friends with my own granddaddy as they’d spent boyhood days along the creek’s edge throwing out their shrimp nets for a light haul. After meeting her approval, he was sent out back to Daddy. I heard later he was won over by Palmer’s knowledge of boats, Bud, and night-gigging.
    Did he give me his class ring?
    Yes.
    Did he put his Varsity jacket over my shoulders?
    Yeah.
    Were we a steady item?
    Inseparable.
    Every one of my firsts was with him. His kisses to my lips, urging them open. My thighs splayed by his fingers, which curled inside me one October night just after my eighteenth birthday.
    He tickled my throat with raspy moans. “Can I?” His cheeks flushed. “Can I make love to you?”
    “I’m ready, Palmer,” I’d whispered, clutching his shoulders.
    He was hard, rearing against me. Into me once he’d covered his length in a condom with such shaky hands he broke the first one.
    The pain of his entry made me gasp. “Who else have you been with?”
    “Shay.” Holding still, he’d eased me with kisses and strokes of his fingertips. “It don’t matter.”
    I wouldn’t let him go further. “Who? Was it that Arden-Lee?”
    His arms trembling, he moaned, “Shoulda been you.”
    “It was her, wasn’t it?” Arden-Lee was his girlfriend before me, in his year, blond, willowy, gracious, and a cheerleader to boot.
    Miserably, he’d nodded.
    I’d decided right then he would be mine for life and no one else’s. Pulling on his hips, I cried out with his first full thrust.
    My bottom in his hands, he withdrew, throwing his head back in blissful agony.
    There was the suction of our lips, our hips, our kisses making the windows of his pickup steam with condensation.
    Palmer was my first, my only. Palmer used to do me right.
    Rat Bastard was another first, first class pain in the ass so far. He’d requested I bring a complete Curriculum Vitaefor his files when I returned to go over the contract. This he’d asked as he stood next to me outside the elevator, seeing me off.
    I’d wanted to get off, with him. An instinct so strong it took root inside my body, leaving me luxuriously aroused.
    “But you already have my application.” Come to think of it, the questions on the four-pager should’ve tipped me off in the first place. Chock full of Myers Briggs type one-liners, it’d read like a probing getting-to-know-you more than a test of professional know-how.
    “Designed to provide insight into your personality and the likelihood of accepting my proposition. I also need your professional details.”
    He straddled a fine line between boudoir and business. “You’re not gonna demand a trial run, are you?”
    Turning me to him, he’d swept his fingers along my cheek, “No need, Shay . ” My heart walloped, my lips opened in anticipation of his next stroke, but he’d only hummed against my ear. “I’ve no doubt you’ll live up to my very high expectations.”
    “Dammit!” Into the muddy slop of the garden plot, I knelt once more, squaring away the plants I desperately wanted to nurture.
    A looming shadow provided sudden relief from the harsh sun. Augie . He was about to become the other, other man in my life, not that I was going to tell him any such thing. I’d hardly admitted it to myself.
    Dapper as hell, he glared at me, his silver foppish coif jutting over his brow. He didn’t deign to speak, merely lifting an eyebrow in his very remonstrative way while he tapped the face of his enormous gold watch.
    I smiled and patted the ground next to me.
    He heaved a grave sigh. “Angry gardenin’ again?” Careful of the soil I flung left and right, he pinched the creases of his seersucker trousers to take his turn-ups off the ground, simpering, “Hmm, you might be onto somethin’, honey. Maybe we could get you a show along the lines of Hell’s Kitchen ? What about The Gardening Angel ?”
    I