So far I've known he's very easy to get along with, has a sense of humor, and definitely gives me this cool-guy vibes.
"I don't think I should waste your time," I begin my little speech about not taking the position that's being offered when he suddenly cuts me off, "You're gorgeous, you're hilarious, if anything it's definitely not wasting my time. I'm honoured you'd spend your time with me this long in fact."
I grin at his seems-to-be-sincere compliment, and decide to scratch my itch before going further with my no, "You're good looking, and funny, obviously have tons of money, so why would you need a sugar baby? I seriously don't get it."
He smiles as he sips his drink, "Perhaps you should say yes to know the reason, hmm?"
"You know I'm gonna say no since the beginning?"
"Miss Collins did tell me about your rejection." I know how things go in Cupcake. He'd be presented with a few profiles, he'd select one, then he'd have a meeting with her. If she says yes, sign the contract, and the relationship is sealed for three months.
But in this case, I'm saying no, even before the meeting. So he should go with his next choice, not pressing Miss Collins or Helen for a meeting with the girl which in this case, is me.
"I'm starting my internship in two weeks, I don't think I'll be able to juggle between a full time internship and this. I can't commit, and I don't do things halfway so yeah, that's why I said no."
"But you don't work on weekends."
"Well last time I check I'm a human, not a robot."
He chuckles at my answer but I'm still not done, "I'm gonna be frying my brain for five days straight then I'm expected to fry my ehem, excuse my language, pussy for the next two days? Nope. I don't think so, Mr H."
He looks at me as if he's thinking which starts to make me uncomfortable so I sip on my Rose to ease this weird feelings.
"You're not starting until the next two weeks right?" Don't tell me he wants to be with me for just two weeks.
Because I don't do fuckboys.
Yeah I know, whatever my principle is, I'm still gonna be labelled as a prostitute. High class prostitute; an escort if I'm gonna call myself one. But I don't care, people can say whatever they want but I'm the only one who matters. And I say no to fuckboys.
If I want one, I would've indulged into the university life. Sleeping with guys my age, getting dumped after a few weeks, or worse stuck with the same guy when you know you can get better, urgh. No. Just no.
"I don't do two weeks." I say it before he managed to propose it.
"What?" He's somehow offended by that.
"You look like you're thinking. Hard. So what else can it be besides that?"
"I'm 33, I'm done with the whole one week-two weeks fucking thing. I want a real deal."
I scoff at the irony of that, "A real deal? From a sugar baby agency? Are you sure you're at the right platform? Shouldn't it be a match-making agency or something?" But damn, 33? He's too young to be a sugar daddy. Why won't he do things the conventional way? I'm pretty sure the girls will be lining up from here to the next country if he advertises the offer.
He shakes his head as he laughs, "I know I'm at the right place, but I can't tell you more until you sign an NDA."
"Uuu so mysterious." Just like your eyes. Which I still can't decide what color are they, though I've narrowed it down to light green and baby blue. Or is it turquoise too?
"How about I add another clause? You can pull out anytime you want?"
"I thought you're the one who'll be doing the pull-out?" I can't believe that came out of my mouth but he sure laughs at that.
"I would, if you give me the honor of signing the contract first." He adds just when I thought we can shake it off once the laughter is dead.
"I need to score this internship for my CGPA. I don't think I can commit." I can always find more money later but I can't repeat my internship, this opportunity of being an intern at one of the most prestigious oil and gas company in the world is one in a million.
If I can score this, I can get brilliant references which will aid me tremendously for my job hunting later. Cue luxurious life with my own hard work and the possibility of meeting rich guys during networking with the higher management.
"Okay hear me out." Why is he so persuasive?
"You haven't signed the lease right?" My lease? What about my lease? I was merely sharing about meeting the real estate agent tomorrow to sign the contract for my new place.
"Why don't you come live with me? That way, you don't have to focus being with me the whole weekend. Spread it out throughout the week."
"You mean... be like a real couple?" Work during the day, sex at night, and bonding time during the weekend? Sounds boring. So. Not. Me.
The whole three years with my six sugar daddies, I always stay at my own place. I'd spend my weekends with my sugar daddy, and the way I arrange my schedule, I make sure I'll have plenty of time for myself. So to move in with him? When do I get to fart loudly then when he's in front of my face all the time?
He shrugs, "We can be roommates."
"Roommates that fuck?" I don't think I can do that with this full time job. What if they need me to stay late? Or work during the weekends? Suddenly came up with a ridiculous deadline? Swamped with projects that I'm stressed even on the days I'm not working?
When will I have the time to entertain my sugar daddy then? Nobody wants a grumpy sugar baby, not when you pay a thousand bucks a week only to be left dry and abandoned.
They might even sue me.
"I have plenty of bedrooms, you can take one and stay in it if you don't feel like socialising. Like a true definition of roommates," he sounds genuine, "But work is stressful, you'd want to let go of those frustrations. So if you want to use me as a punching bag, you're obviously welcomed."
"Oh wow," I chuckle at his offer, "Provide me a place to stay, giving me allowance money, and to be my punching bag? You sure lay out everything as if I'm the only one who benefits from this arrangement."
He grins boyishly as some of his hair falls sideway like a curtain bang, looking so cute yet sexy.
"On top of those benefits, you can cancel the arrangement anytime you want, with no money-back guarantee." He sure sounds like a salesman now, which makes me laugh thinking how adorable this guy is.
"Why do you want me so much?"
"Because I think you're perfect for me." The way he looks at me right in the eyes, and mouths those words with that husky voice, gosh I'm melting. Definitely heart-clutching, panty-wetting moment.
"Perfect for what, exactly?"
"Sorry, need the NDA signed first." He shakes his head playfully as I smile, you sure got me hooked with this secretive reasons.
"Is that a yes?" He asks with a huge grin on his face.
"Only if you add that clause." Because I can just bail out after finding out the reason right? It's not like I'd lose anything.
"Deal."
As usual, once I steer clear of the client, I take out my phone and type his name for a G****e search to know more about who's I'm gonna be dealing with for the next three months. Or one day. Depending on the top secret requiring-NDA-signed reason. Though yeah, I'm very curious to know his dating history, what he owns or to be specific, how did he gain his wealth. Most importantly, what juicy gossips I can gather from the internet; the ones their PR team decided to be known to the world. 'Owen Harris is an English former professional footballer-' I choke on my saliva reading that last word. Footballer? Professional footballer? Okay. Explains the muscles. 'Born, height, spouse, number, children', okay boring. Because the only part that's filled is the born, number, and height. But good, he's not cheating then. No wife, no kids. Nothing against my principles. Because there's no way I'm gonna be with a cheating douchebag, not even for a m
"Here's your room," he opens the door on our left as I can't help but to ask, "And whose door is this?" when I see another one on the opposite of my new bedroom door. "That would be mine, there's only two rooms on this floor so here, come in," and he pushes the door to reveal my new chamber for the next three months. My jaw totally drops seeing how huge the space is. It's like having a separate apartment. A mini living area with a cream colored couch, a super duper large bed at the end of the room, with a door that I believe is the ensuite bathroom. Don't tell me he also has a walk in closet for me? Cause that would be sick! I've always wanted one, and pretend that I indeed have it every time I stay at those luxurious suites with my sugar daddies, even for a short few-days vacation. But to have one here, on a long stay, dedicated specially for me, "Oh wow." "Do you like it?" He asks as he stands in front of the shelves in the walk-in c
Setting the temperature of the oven after sliding the tray with the giant chicken on it, I admire his back in awe. Mhmmm yummy. "Do you know how to cook?" He asks once he turns around, now standing in front of the kitchen counter, facing me. Only this giant marble thing is separating the two of us. "Not a pro but yeah, a bit." I'm from a middle class family, of course I know how to feed myself. It's not like we're blessed with a helper. But to answer with a confident yes doesn't seem like an option if we were to compare our skill level. The pots and pans picture? The pose in his chef outfit while holding a knife? Well turns out he sells them and is the ambassador of his own brand. That definitely killed my laugh yesterday when I read about that fact. That company alone must have worth millions. Besides having his own business producing all sorts of cookware, he also has five restaurants all over the world. But surprisingly, none in England. Weird, bec
"So we'll bond these two weeks at full speed," I summarise the lengthy discussion we've had while cooking and over dinner just now, "Then perhaps take a snail pace when I start my internship, and go at a comfortable speed once I've adjusted to my new life." He agrees as he tops up my Rose, "Sounds like a perfect plan." Treating me with good food and prepares my choice of champagne beforehand, he really is trying his best to keep me here for his mission of sexual exploration. Honestly, he's so easy going I don't think it will be a bumpy ride. We've spent hours talking and being in each other's space but I haven't even once find myself to have any negative feelings towards him. "So on the full speed part, besides getting to know each other, should we start having sex too?" I ask in the most nonchalant tone I can muster when deep down I'm wondering if I'm stepping on the boundary. I mean, this is only our first day. No, tomorrow is our first day.
It's crazy how we just met last Saturday, then become roomies the next day, and by Monday we're officially sugar baby and sugar daddy. Six days with him, and today is exactly one week since we first met, but I think I've known him for years already. Tonight, as agreed, I'm gonna go to his room for the first time ever; we agreed to share the bed once the weekend is here. Knocking on his door, I wait patiently in my champagne satin negligee, with my hair and make up done. But he doesn't respond to my knocks, making me confused if I should try again in a few minutes or just barge in uninvited. After all, we did agree, didn't we? So I've actually got an invitation. I walk back to my room because I can't bring myself to go against my own principle; I don't do stuffs without consent. So I play with my phone as I hang out at the balcony. Realising twenty minutes has passed, I force myself to go back to his room. I check my hair and make up, m
Every morning once I open my eyes I'd immediately go out to my balcony to watch him pick the vegetables and herbs for our first meal of the day. So sexy yet adorable, he'd squat in his sweatpants, shirtless of course, as he talks to his plants. "Awwww my baby has grown!" to the tomatoes. "Come to papa!" to his first victim when he visits the garden. "I'm sorry I have to eat you today," that apologetic voice towards the unlucky veggies that's gonna fill our tummy. Sometimes I fantasise it's me he's talking to. Hopeless, I know. Anyway, this morning when I open my eyes, instead of rushing to the balcony I realise I'm still lying on the bed at his terrace. The transparent roof is hidden again as I take a breath of the fresh air. It's amazing how he can get a place like this when twenty minutes away from here, it's already the busy city that's too polluted compared to this neighbourhood. I'm lying alone on the bed eventhough I thin
"Do you like it?""Mhmm." "Can I do more?""I don't think-" "But you said you liked it! Come on, one more. Just one more," I'm already grabbing his index finger with evil grin on my face. He sighs, "Fine. One more." I put his hand on my lap then reach for the small bottle in front of us. The moment I've finished uncap the bottle, he suddenly takes his hand back. "I change my mind." He brings his hand to his back, hiding the one thing I want the most right now. I narrow my eyes at him, "Give me." It's a stern order, along with my hand in the air, waiting for him to surrender his precious hand on my palm. "Either you give me your finger or I finger your asshole right.now." Instead of being intimidated by my threat, he chuckles and gets up, ready to leave the long couch we're sharing. "Getting another drink. Want one?" He asks with the empty glass in his hand. "Sit down, mister. We're not done yet."
"Did you imagine I was a guy just now?" I ask when we're already lying on the bed.Though instead of sleeping outside, we agreed it's better to be inside tonight, after the whole incident two hours ago. The floor is still covered with his cum that I coughed out. He decided to leave it for his housekeeper to clean it tomorrow. Sorry, Margo."Would you be mad if I say yes?""Figured," I shrug. And when I turn to him I realise he's already looking at me."Are you mad?""Do I look mad?" I flash him the sweetest smile, because honestly, I'm not. Not even the slightest. I totally understand it's not his fault. He's incapable of choosing who he's attracted to.