“What makes you think I’ll be tasting raspberry on you?” I tease as she walks away. “I just want to talk and hang out. I don’t plan on kissing you or anything.”

She doesn’t even look at me as she saunters down the hall, her ass swaying and those black panties exposing the bottom cheeks that’s fucking sexy as hell. “Oh, you’re going to kiss me all right. You’re not going to be able to help yourself.”

I laugh to myself as I turn to scrape the remainder of her cake into the garbage, because fuck if she isn’t right about that.

—
“Okay, are you ready?” I ask Sela as I reach into the box. I pull a card out and wait for her to choose.

She sits on the opposite end of the couch from me, still wearing her black tank top and panties, which are obviously distracting. Her back is pressed up against the armrest and her long legs are stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other. They press up against my jean-clad legs as I sit at the opposite end of the couch, with my back flush against the armrest as well.

Sela nibbles on her fingernail and says, “Sports and Leisure.”

We were too lazy to play a full game of Trivial Pursuit, so we’re just taking turns reading trivia questions to each other. If we get the answer wrong, we owe sexual favors to the other. Or at least that was the original premise when we started, but both of us kind of suck at this, the favors mounting up. But it’s really moot anyway, since we never seem to have a problem bestowing favors on each other.

My eyes scan down the card to the orange circle with “SL” in the middle and I read out loud to her, “What do Las Vegas blackjack dealers stand on?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she nibbles harder on her nail. With a shrug of her shoulders she says with a great deal of uncertainty, “A stool?”

I bust a gut laughing the minute those words come out of her beautiful mouth. The card falls to my lap and my hands go to my stomach because I’m laughing so hard it hurts. Sela gives me an exasperated look, leans forward, grabs the card from where it rests on my right thigh, and reads the answer out loud. “Seventeen?”

I snap my mouth shut, choke down a snicker, and stare at her.

“I don’t get it,” she says in a confused voice, and I almost fall off the couch laughing again. She uncrosses her legs, raises her knees, and kicks out at me with a mock snarl of outrage. “What’s so funny?”

Straightening up, I get myself under control and tell her, “Seventeen is the number at which a blackjack dealer must stop taking hits.”

“I still don’t get it,” she says more forcefully. “And I think the way the question was worded that ‘stool’ was a logical answer.”

A snort pops out, and I tamp it down so I don’t lose it again. “Have you ever played blackjack before?”

She shakes her head.

“Poker? Spades? Rummy?” I ask, throwing out popular card games.

She shakes her head again but adds on with a mischievous grin, “I’ve played Monopoly before. I’m actually quite good at that.”

Chuckling, I grab her by the ankles and pull her legs back down so she relaxes. I smooth my palm up and down her calf, actually petting her in a casual way that denotes we’re still relaxing. If it was something more than relaxing, my hand would be moving higher up in between her thighs, but I’m content for now.

Very content, actually.

“Have you ever been to Vegas?” I ask her, my hand now moving to her foot. I glance down at her toes, coated in a light purple color. I pick her foot up and start to massage it.

She groans and her head tilts back when she says, “Never been. Any fun?”

“For some people,” I tell her. “If you like gambling, cheesy shows, and all-you-can-eat buffets, none of which I really like.”

“I think it’s a given I wouldn’t be much of a gambler,” she says as she brings her eyes to me.

“We should go,” I say suddenly. “This weekend. I’ll show you all you need to know and then you can say you’ve experienced Vegas.”

Sela does nothing but stare at me a moment with a blank face. Then she very carefully, very neutrally says, “This is getting a little off track, don’t you think?”

My hand goes still against her arch. “What do you mean?”

She pulls her foot away and raises both knees again, sitting up straighter on the couch. She wraps her arms around her shins and stares at me with worry in her blue eyes. “It’s just…as your Sugar Baby, I’m sort of here to serve you. We both know that means sex, but it also means if you want me to go somewhere with you as your date, I’ll do that too.”

“Okay,” I say, because that’s pretty accurate, although I hate the fucking title of Sugar Baby, and I sure as shit don’t want to be thought of as a Sugar Daddy. I don’t need to fucking pay for a woman to want to be with me. “So what’s the problem?”

“You don’t want to go to Vegas. You want me to go and experience it because I haven’t yet.”

“Pretty much,” I agree with her, still befuddled as to what point she might be trying to make.

Sela drops her chin to the top of one knee and I swear I see guilt-filled eyes staring back at me. “You don’t have to do nice things for me, Beck. You already gave me all I could ever hope for when you paid for my education. I don’t need anything else.”

An intense sensation of sadness fills me now that Sela has made her point. And I’m sad because she’s exactly right. I don’t owe her anything more than what I’ve given. I certainly shouldn’t be concerned with whether or not she’s been to Vegas.

But fuck it.

I can’t help myself.

“You gave me a birthday celebration,” I throw out to her. “That is totally outside of a normal Sugar Baby’s duties.”

Sela rolls her eyes. “That was sex.”

“No,” I say firmly as I lean forward, grab her wrists, and pull on her. She comes up to her knees and falls forward onto me when I keep pulling. “You did that because you were horrified my parents sent a generic, stamped card two days late.”

“Well, that’s not really—”

“And you wanted to do something nice for me. You went shopping, cooked dinner, got me a cake and a present, and the present, I have to say, was really, really good. Probably my favorite ever.”