You’d think that working at a cafe I’d understand the definition of the word sweet, as it turned out, I did not.
At least, not until I got a taste of the man sweeter than the sugar mixed in your afternoon tea.
All it took was a wad of cash, a fancy dress, and thirty minutes of passion.
I, Peyton Sanders, am not—and never will be—a whore. I was stupid to agree to date some random dude from the Sugar Daddy app, even with the promise of ludicrous amounts of money.
But that dating app changed my life. After meeting my first client, my bitter mornings filled with caffeine and stale treats, were about to become a little sweeter…
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When I reached her door, I took a deep breath before knocking. That’s when I was greeted with the sight of a short blonde with blue eyes and a rather foul expression on her face.
“Sorry, I thought this was—”
“Peyton’s apartment, yeah, and you’re the asshole who treated her like a slut.”
My eyes widened. I was at a loss for words. I thought correcting her on her use of the term slut versus whore would be poorly taken, so I kept my mouth shut on that point. “T-That wasn’t my intention at all—look, may I speak with her, please?”
The woman moved to slam the door in my face, but to both of our surprise, she was stopped by Peyton herself.
Peyton stepped around her friend and crossed her arms over her chest. The pointed stare she gave me would have made my blood run cold if I hadn’t thought groveling would ease her sour disposition. “I honestly don’t want to talk to you.”
I nodded, a pained grimace set firmly on my face. “I know, but I needed you to hear me out.”
“You seem to have a bad habit of needing chances to fix things, Jake.” It seemed this would be as difficult as rectifying the first mess.
I sighed and gave up the rehearsed speech I had in my head and went for whatever flowed in the moment. “I’m sorry.”
“Do those words actually mean anything to you? I mean, you’re really good at saying them, but not so great at backing them up.”
That stung. It also wasn’t true. I didn’t apologize to anyone—other than Peyton it appeared. I just wasn’t good at dating relationships. I hadn’t done much of it and certainly not with anyone I’d actually given a shit about.
I ran my hand through my hair and tried again. “Look, Peyton. I suck at this. The only relationships I’m any good at have dollar signs attached. It’s not because I don’t want to be better; I just don’t have any experience. The feelings I have for you are overwhelming—and clearly, I need to learn how to convey that in a way that computes into care rather than control. I never intended to make you feel like you were anything less than precious.”
Her roommate backed away and out of the door, but Peyton didn’t ask me inside. She did, however, arch her brows and wait for more. Her eyes softened the longer she stared at me, and I knew, if I chose my words carefully, I might get a second—or rather, third—chance.
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About Mila Hart:
It all started with two whores... MILA HART writes cheeky, erotic quickies. We have a whole year of amazingly sexy stories coming your way. STAY TUNED...
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