Free Sugar Daddy by Rie Warren

you, darlin’.” His lazy look over my legs and suggestive words reeled me in. “I’m not a man who has to take matters into his own hands.”
    My heel hit the side view mirror, tilting it to the pavement.
    Reardon had masturbated, over me .
    Takes one to know one, my MIA conscience supplied.
    In his office? Yeah . Under the mirror in his ceiling?Hell yes . His slacks open and arms bulging as his erection ran between his fist, picking up the pace…
    I shifted in my seat. He winked and shifted gear, the sleek knob held between his fingers. I spent the next hour regaling raunchy fantasies inside my head, more and more turned on.
    We cruised through Georgetown. A ghost town of mill workers, steel, and poverty, the streets a ragtag vision of closed-down factories obscuring pretty tucked-away cornerstones of history.
    From boomtown to bust.
    A few miles further on, we idled at a gabled gate.
    “Shay?”
    “Yeah?”
    “We’re here.”
    Winding through swamp and cypress and deer crossing the narrow boulevard, I glimpsed giant houses camouflaged by dense woods.
    DeBordieu.
    People whispered about this place like it was some kind of Promised Land, the Holy Grail to the old rich.
    The scenery unfolded from the Francis Marion Forest to the Atlantic seaside. I breathed the brine of ocean, the earthiness of woods. “ The land is so beautiful, it must be the borderland of God!”
    Reardon parlayed, “Lafayette on d’abord Dieu .”
    “I ain’t just a pretty face, Mr. Boone.”
    “And I know it full well, Miss Greer.”
    It was only a mile or so back, where leggy pine trees relinquished their turf to showy palms. We crunched along a shelled driveway to a rustic manse bordering the ocean. The weekend cottage stood tall on stilts with an untidy seaside appearance, extending its embrace toward the ocean. The boom of surf mingled with chirpings from colonies of colorful birds soaring this way and that.
    Getting out of the car, I slapped my hand over my heart. “Oh my.”
    “I knew you’d like it.” Reardon kissed my palm and tugged me along the white shale up three flights of steps into the house.
    “It’s, it’s–” I stuttered and stopped right inside the door, inhaling the scent of cedar rising from fragrant paneling. Turning in a circle, I ingested everything. “It’s–”
    “My home.” He leaned against a crazy end table made of a lamp with a yellowed waxy shade on legs fashioned from...were those antlers?
    Skipping across the hall into the kitchen where the appliances were dated and the fridge buzzed in time with the flickering overhead light, I dashed beyond the bar, discovering every nook and cranny.
    A cathedral ceiling arched over a huge walnut slab table sided by sturdy timber benches in the dining area. Into the lounge, I jumped on the couches, leapfrogging the cushions, loving the scratchy feel of old wool against my bare feet. Under a TV too ancient to call itself anything but Stone Age, I opened the cabinet doors and found a mishmash of board games, Life, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit. On top, shells of all shapes and sizes mounded against rows of ships-in-bottles.
    As I danced, the dust cavorted. Perhaps Temperance wasn’t all that after all.
    Hugging myself, I saw the beachside porch.
    I walked outside, into heaven on Earth, shaking my head. This man always had a view.
    He stepped behind me, encircling me in his arms, watching the endless ocean and the unpeopled sand below our perch.
    Except for that one dot, over there.
    Coming closer and closer.
    Reardon untied my breezy scarf, replacing it with his mouth on my neck. His hands touched my collarbone and rained across my breasts. Sensual whispers mirroring the sea’s tidal tease. Calloused palms splayed over my nipples, tufting them to aching points.
    I turned my mouth to his. “Reardon.”
    His kiss was deep and long, indecent.
    “Ahh…” I dragged my lips away. “Reardon!”
    The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he ran a hand through his