Page 11 of Sugar Daddy (Sugar Bowl 1)

I have got to stop thinking about her.

It's over.

Done.

She left.

No way to find her.

Except...that's not true. I fucking created The Sugar Bowl website. If she's a Sugar Baby, with a few keystrokes I can access the database and have her house pinpointed in moments.

Drumming my fingers on my desk, I stare at my computer screen and ponder the merits of doing just such a thing. I mean, what would be the purpose? Just to fuck her again?

That actually sounds like a fantastic reason.

Lurching forward in my seat, I grab my keyboard and pull it toward me. I navigate my way into the internal database of Sugar Babies, as of this month totaling over 1.6 million registered from all over the world. That's nothing compared to the almost five million registered Sugar Daddies who pay a flat thousand dollars to join, autorenewed each year. Do the math...you can figure out what that means. While our money comes from the Daddies, our current marketing efforts are aimed at trying to build up with more Babies. The bigger our pool of Babies, the more Daddies will join.

I type in Sela Halstead, and I'm surprised when actually three women come up by that name. I immediately rule out two of them, as they reside in Texas and Georgia. The third Sela Halstead has an Oakland address, so I choose that profile.

I'm immediately rewarded when a picture of her appears on my screen. Yes, that's the gorgeous woman I fucked my dick raw with the other night, but the picture doesn't do her justice.

My eyes scan her personal data, of which we don't require much.

She's twenty-six and I don't find that surprising. Her face is definitely more youthful with the freckles and wide, innocent eyes, but there's a wisdom there within their depths that tells me she's got a few more years under her belt than your average Baby. Enrolled at Golden Gate University and rents a small apartment in Oakland. It appears she works part-time at a diner to help fund her tuition. No criminal record. Not even a speeding ticket. She's the classic Sugar Baby.

I look at the Comm button and consider snooping further. The Comm button will lead me to the encrypted messages that Babies and Daddies use to communicate. I'm not doing anything illegal, as our terms of service include all members' agreement that we are allowed to monitor activity to ensure no fraudulent or criminal activities are being carried out.

But do I really want to know just how far entrenched into a potential sugarship she's delved? Or should I just close out the screen and get the fuck back to work?

Images of Sela's back arched off the bed and the muscles in her pussy clamping down hard on my fingers the first time she came flash through my brain and I click on the button without another moment's hesitation.

Scanning through the messages, I can see several potential Daddies have reached out to her. She's responded to a few, but nothing more than a polite decline that she's not interested. And then I see a long history of exchanges dating almost two weeks back with a man in Santa Clara, California.

Frank Webert.

And fuck...lame-ass name aside, he's practically a perfect catch for her. He's on the younger side at age forty-two, reasonably fit and attractive, and made his money in robotics. That means he's super-fucking filthy rich.

I read the messages and he comes on strong with Sela. While there is no overt solicitation or request for sex, there's enough innuendo in his messages to her that he expects it. Her responses are flirtatiously vague but promising, and she did agree to meet with him this upcoming weekend.

My bet is that he'll have an agreement signed with her by Sunday.

I think about how that makes me feel.

I wonder if he can make her come the way I did.

I wonder if she'll suck his cock like--

Surging up out of my chair, I grab my keys and phone off my desk. I look at her home address one more time and commit it to memory before logging off my computer.

I walk out of my office and tell Linda in passing, "I'm going to be out for the rest of the day. I'll return calls tomorrow."

"No problem," she says with an affectionate smile. "Need me to do anything while you're gone?"

I stop and look back at her, wondering if I've gone temporarily insane. "Yeah...as a matter of fact...print me out a blank sugar agreement."

Linda blinks at me in surprise, momentarily stunned to inaction. I raise my eyebrows and lift my chin toward the printer that sits on the corner of her desk. She immediately jumps to it, taps her fingers on her keyboard a few times, and then the printer starts spitting out the document.

She pulls it off, staples the two pages together, and hands it to me with wide eyes. "Are you going to sign that?"

"I have no clue what I'm fucking doing," I mutter as I walk down the hall toward the main door.

--

I check my watch for about the twentieth time and glance down Nineteenth Street. No sign of Sela yet.

I've been parked outside her Oakland apartment at the corner of Twelfth and Nineteenth, not sure what direction she'd be coming from. I'm taking a guess she's using BART to get to and from school, so I expect to see her walking down Nineteenth from the train station. It's all supposition, and for all I know she's got a car that gets her back and forth, but I doubt it. That's a chunk of change to pay for gas and parking over at Golden Gate, and if she's in the market for a Sugar Daddy I'm guessing she's a BART girl.

It's nearing five p.m., starting to get dark, and I'm about ready to give up for the day. I've been sitting in my car nearly two hours and my ass is numb. I'm also starving, as I haven't eaten since breakfast. I can always try again tomorrow. Or hell, maybe I should just call her. I have her phone number from the database.

Just as my hand reaches for the ignition, I see Sela heading straight toward me. The sidewalk isn't overly crowded, although there are several people walking in both directions, but regardless...I recognize her immediately. I spent so much time touching and licking that body, I'd recognize it anywhere.

She's dressed a far cry from her sexy dress of last night. Today she's got on faded jeans that are ripped in one knee, black Converse tennis shoes, and a faded Raiders sweatshirt to ward off the chill. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she has a heavy-looking backpack slung over her right shoulder as she trudges toward her apartment building.

I hop out of my car and lock it, hoping it will remain safe enough in this neighborhood. While it's not the worst, it's certainly not the best, and I've heard Audis are popular cars to boost.

Heading toward the front door of the building, I lengthen my stride and make it there about a second before she does. I grab the door, open it, and her head raises up as she says, "Thanks."

Her eyes flare large with worried surprise and she takes a step back from me. "What are you doing here?"

My hand shoots out and pulls the backpack from her shoulder, and fuck...that's heavy. "Came to see you. You left without saying goodbye."

"Wasn't any need," she says smoothly. "It was a one-night stand, right?"

"That's right," I say with an agreeable smile. "But I have to say, you had me worried when you left without even both

ering to get your shoes. That tells me you were running, and I want to know why."

For a moment, I think she might tell me to go to hell, but her shoulders sag. With a small sigh, she steps past me into her building and says over her shoulder, "Might as well come up and we can talk about it."

Now that surprises me. I figured I'd have a bit more of a fight on my hands, but I graciously take the offer and follow her inside.

Chapter 9

Sela

Yes. Without a doubt...the red phoenix on the back of Beck's shoulder freaked me out when I first saw it. It was almost a slap in the face after what we'd shared just hours before.

After what he commanded my body to do.

So I ran without my panties or shoes, luckily caught a cab waiting right outside the hotel lobby, and didn't have a nosy cab driver asking me where my shoes were.

I tossed and turned all night, but by the time the sun rose, I think I had reasoned out some acceptance in my head.

First, I have no clue what that fucking tattoo means. As sinister as my rapists were, at first I thought it could be a cultlike symbol among sick fucks that like to rape together. I Googled it relentlessly six months ago when I first saw JT on the TV and realized that tattoo was very real and not just a nightmarish figment of my imagination. I researched it thoroughly and didn't come up with a damn thing. Whatever the reason behind that tattoo, it's not been publicized in any way.

Second, I have to consider that the tattoo could be something as innocuous as a fraternity thing. In fact, that's the most obvious answer, and since Beck and JT went to the same college and were friends even prior to that, it stands to reason that perhaps they were in a fraternity together. Or shit...maybe they were on some type of coed sports team that had matching tattoos. Who knows why guys do stupid shit like that?

Third, and probably most important, what I reasoned out was that just because Beck had a tattoo that matched my rapist didn't mean that he was by association a rapist. I have absolutely no recollection of him being there that night, although I'm the first to admit the Rohypnol I was given has fucked with my memories. I'm relying on nothing more than a deep, internal gut instinct about that. I just don't get that vibe from Beck. Sure, I could be very wrong about this. I could have piss-poor judgment, and perhaps I'm still riding high on the never-ending orgasms of last night, but I just don't think he has that in him. He seems like a decent guy, although I do question his choice of business partner who is evil incarnate.

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