8: Tristan.
I pace the floor of the hotel suite, stopping at the window and looking out over the bright lights of the city skyline. I’ve always
been an honorable man. As decent as one can possibly be while
maintaining his success in the world of finance. I don’t gamble,
drink heavily or womanize and I keep my word. Yet here I am,
waiting for an eighteen–year–old girl to arrive so I can pay her for
sex.
Looking at my reflection in the window, I know damn well that
paying Lia is the only way I’d ever get the privilege of having her
beneath me. We’re old and young. Big and small. Coarse and
smooth. Because of that, there is something comforting about
the fact that I’ll be compensating her. When she arrives, I plan to
outline our agreement in a clear, concise manner and that will
help, too. Having a detailed understanding. A mutually beneficial
venture is something I understand. Maybe after we’ve met
privately a few times, I’ll stop feeling this sweaty, horny shame
for wanting to ride a girl twenty–seven years my junior. Wanting to get my dick into her so bad, my briefs are twisted around the
turgid flesh, my balls like two tight knots.
I’ve booked the presidential suite at the Fairbourne and the bed
waits silently in the other room, taunting me. Am I really doing
this? Am I really a sugar daddy now?
Ever since Lia came to my office and I came in my pants like a
school boy, I’ve done some research and these arrangements are not unusual. In fact, they’re common for men of my ilk. That doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse.
Lia is the furthest thing from common. She’s bright and sharp
and warm. Her laughter has always been a source of joy in my home. Her wit can match anyone. She’s always fussing over me, telling me I work too much. Bringing glasses of warm milk or herbal tea to my office when I’m working late and she’s hanging
out with Eric
Eric.
Jesus, how would I explain this to my son?
That I’m out of my mind with lust for his best friend since
middle school. He would think I’m a sick motherfucker–and
maybe I am. I barely made it twenty minutes after Lia sailed out
of my office before I started making arrangements for the
following night. I’ve been watching the clock, waiting for this. Aching. Jesus, the things she said to me. The way she tugged me off through my pants, her perky tits on unabashed display. I‘
ve never been so hard in my life, throat closing, palms sweating,
spine in a vise. She owned me.
And afterward…
I’ve never wanted to hold someone so badly.
Lia has always been the breezy one. She has a quip and a wink for everyone. But she was vulnerable sitting there on my desk.
She needed…
Christ, I can’t believe I’m even thinking this.
She needed her Big Daddy.
She needed me to rock her against my chest and kiss her
forehead. I’ve never had this kind of relationship with anyone,
nor have I wanted one. Where I’m the father figure and the lover.
With Lia…I don’t know. It feels inevitable. Feels right. Like
something we both need very badly. I’ve regretted not rocking
and soothing her since she left my office and I won’t have those
same regrets after she leaves tonight.
Our plan was to meet at nine o’clock and there is still ten
minutes to go.
I turn from the window, planning on pouring myself a drink,
when my phone rings.
Work.
I’ve never let a work call go unanswered in my life. It’s how I’ve
built an empire. And I’m not changing now, even if the board. member’s name flashing on the screen of my phone causes
B: Tristan
something acidic to flare in my chest. I take the call and
assuage the man’s concerns about the price of wheat
skyrocketing in China due to a storm destroying forty percent of
the country’s crops. I assure him that we’ve already maximized
the potential of an investment–such is the cutthroat world of
finance and end the call with him calmed down. But by that
time, there is a pounding in my temple. I toss my phone onto the closest surface and massage the throbbing spot, trying to
remember the last time I wasn’t stressed-
There’s a knock at the door.
Every ounce of blood in my body rushes south, my mouth drying
I’m moving to the entrance before I acknowledge the command.
to my feet, trying to come up with something to say that won’t make me sound desperate. Even though I am. God, I just want to spread out on her hot, little body and pump the stress away. But when I open the door and see the beautiful blonde standing there in what amounts to sheer tights, a T–shirt and high heels, I
can’t deny there is a throbbing in the center of my chest, too. A
sweeping of relief and comfort mixed in with desire.
Lia purses her lips and cocks a hip. “You’re working, aren’t you?”
I clear my throat hard. “I took one call.”
8 Tristan
And just like that, here I am answering to a teenage girl about
my work habits.
Lia shakes her head at me and saunters forward, into the room,
closing the door behind her. She tosses her purse onto the entry table, reaching up to loosen my tie and that sense of relief multiplies, the pounding in my temple slowly ebbing. “You have
to leave the office where it belongs sometimes.” I open my
mouth to speak, but she keeps going. “Yes, I know you have to
be aware of what’s happening in every corner of the globe every
second of the day, but you also have to care for yourself.” She
throws my tie over her shoulder. “We need to realign these
chakras. If you aren’t balanced in your personal life, your
professional one will eventually teeter and topple. We can’t have
that, can we?”
My lips are twitching.
Damn. When was the last time I smiled?
The power this little girl has over me.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.