Page 836 of One More Kiss

10mm Sugar Daddy

A Short MM Romance

Neya Wara

Oak

I squintout at the couples dancing, my fingers tapping against the polished surface of the club’s table. Is this dancing, or a precursor to sex? In public? My eyes jump from couple to couple, their bodies pressing close as they gyrate. Dry hump, really. I shake my head. Have I really gotten so… dull, so… staid that I can’t recognize fun anymore?

I need to be out there, dry humping with the best of them. I need to get laid.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen bodies move like this, grinding against each other, groping, bucking their hips.

A server arrives and serves our drinks.

I take a sip of my wine, savoring it in my mouth before swallowing it.

Calder tips back his head and swallows his shot, then slams his glass on the table. “Tonight is the night. Tonight, I’m gonna get my tires rotated, get a full service, you know. Oil my motor and all. I need a sturdy camshaft slamming my doors after the dry spell I’ve had.” That’s Calder Roth—zero filter and a million automotive sexual innuendos—my friend and colleague. More like my executive assistant, one who’s nosy and overflowing with a third brain.

What I mean is, his brain doesn’t stop working.

I have difficulty handling my one brain that doesn’t work after a twelve-hour shift, whereas his never shuts down. I don’t know what he’s doing here, wasting his education, becoming an executive assistant.

We both work for a car manufacturing company, McKing Motors, in Hope Valley, near Sacramento, California. The company is new and focuses on high-end luxury cars. They are in league with Tesla, Mercedes, and the other cars at that level.

“You know what else I want to do?” He wiggles his eyebrows and takes a drink from his glass.

“What?”

“Pump my piston in someone’s cylinder.”

Lord, I don’t know where he finds these pick-up lines and innuendos. Every word that comes out of his mouth is getting old, and I have to force myself not to cringe and roll my eyes.

“Dude, you are not drinking!” Calder shouts over the music.

“I am.” I tip the glass up and take a sip of my beverage. I’m not drinking anything fancy, just a glass of red wine.

Something to show I’m having a decent time, or else Calder will get it into his brains to fix me. His words, that he often uses.

Today, I begrudgingly came with him when he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Clubbing is not my thing—at least not this kind of clubbing where bodies jump and hump, music blaring loud enough to shatter my eardrums.

I prefer sitting in a quiet bar and watching some sport related stuff on the tv, or just talking to people.

I miss being in big cities. Miss the opportunities it presented.

Unlimited.

Unbounded.

God knows what I’d been thinking when I took this job, away from my family and friends. Away from everything.

However, we are in Los Angeles to attend a two-day conference, and have a mini vacation. I’m going to carpe diem the hell out of my stay safely.

Rarely do we get to leave Sacramento, but when we do, it’s a treat.Not that Hope Valley is bad; it’s just too quiet and slow for my liking.

I squeak and slosh some of the wine onto my hand, staining the sleeves of my button-down shirt when Calder’s palm connects with my ass. “Dude, did you hear me?”

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