Tristan has an armed guard meet me downstairs in the lobby this time.
I'm escorted upstairs and no one is allowed into the elevator with me.
I know he's just ensuring my safety, but I wonder if he's aware of how hot it makes me all over, how coveted his protectiveness makes me feel. I'm all but melted against the wall of the elevator, fanning my fevered skin. For someone who claims he wants to see me for more than just sex, he is really trying to get attacked.
We arrive on the top floor and I follow the guard through a sea of curiosity, the traders and market analysts looking up from their desks to watch me walk to their boss's office. Remembering Tristan's directive from last time, I don't make eye contact with any of them, wanting him to be pleased with me.
Wanting to be a good girl from the man who is so good to me.
The guard opens the door for me and I step into the crisp, dark interior of Tristan's space, the fire crackling straight ahead, his desk to the left. And looking at him, I can tell immediately the eleven o'clock meeting didn't go like he wanted. His shoulders are all bunched up and he's frowning at the computer screen, hands balled in fists on the surface of his desk.
But all of that stress visibly melts away when he sees me.
"Lia," he mouths, pushing back from his desk and standing. "Jesus. Come here."
I don't hesitate. I set down my oversized bag containing his lunch and my course paperwork, crossing the floor and walking straight into his arms. Moaning when his hard mouth stamps down over mine, his tongue invading the hollow of my mouth and stroking in, out, in deeper. Our bodies mold together as if magnetized, his hands groping for my ass, lifting me roughly against his growing erection. So good. So perfect, but if we keep this up, I'm going to be bent over the desk within a minute—and I would love every single second. Both of us would. But my heart came here hoping for more. I think Tristan needs more than our physical connection, too, so when the kiss is finished and we break for air, I give him a solemn look and start to loosen his tie.
"I don't like seeing you so stressed, Big Daddy," I pout, taking his big hand and guiding him to the desk, pushing him back into his chair. I remove his tie completely, dropping it into a silk pile beside his keyboard, flicking open his top button. With a serious sniff, I collect my bag from the other side of the room and turn, laying out what I brought. "This sandwich has all the vitamin C and magnesium vegetables to help you de-stress."
He looks dubious. "A vegetarian sandwich?"
"Don't knock it until you try it. And before you assume I'm putting you on a diet—I am certainty not, I love every sexy inch of you—there is a giant dark chocolate bar in here, too. Also good for destressing." I trail a finger across his shoulder while circling around the back of him, digging my thumbs into his muscles in a slow, relaxing massage. "Get started. I'll just be back here making sure my favorite man is taken care of."
His head drops forward. "Christ, that feels so good, baby."
My pulse pumps madly, pleasure passing through me in a wave, all the way down to my toes. This is what I want. What I love. Taking care of him in these small but significant ways. He likes to buy me expensive material items and I'm the one who soothes him. Makes him better from behind the scenes. It's what I've longed for since the first time I walked past Tristan's office and saw him pinching the bridge of his nose, poring over endless paperwork.
After absorbing my touch for several minutes in silence, he takes a bite of the sandwich. "Damn," he rumbles, examining it. "This isn't half bad."
I wiggle my hips triumphantly. "I'm going to have you meditating in no time."
He glances back at me over his shoulder. "It really bothers you, doesn't it? Having me so stressed out and overworked?"
Smile fading, I nod, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I worry. A lot," I whisper. Wetting my lips, I search for an explanation. "For you, mostly. You work harder than anyone. I was little, my father's business partner would come to the house for dinner once a week. Bunton was in his fifties, a sweet man. Old-school finance, where my father was the young upstart. And one day, Bunton didn't come to dinner anymore because the stress gave him a heart attack." My chest starts to get crowded. "If something like that h-happened to you—"
Tristan turns in his chair and pulls me into his lap. "It won't, Lia." He kisses my mouth softly, followed by my forehead. "I won't let it. I'm…" Pulling back, he seems like he wants to say something important, his complexion reddening slightly. "Let's just say, my priorities are beginning to…change." Our eyes meet and the gravity in his pulls me under. "There is more to life than working and making money, isn't there?"
"Yes," I whisper, holding my breath.
"I've made my fortune. I…have a girl I want to spend it on." He picks up a strand of my hair and rubs it between his fingers. "A girl I want to spend my time with."
My heart is poised to rejoice, until I realize…Tristan is already spending his time and money on me. He can have both of those things while I'm his sugar baby. He isn't saying anything about going public with our relationship or seriously committing. But I refuse to be disappointed. We've only had a week since our arrangement started. I'm being greedy by wanting more already. It's my heart's fault—it has loved him so long.
"Are you talking about me, by any chance?" I murmur, kissing his jaw flirtatiously.
In lieu of response, Tristan slides something across his desk. A black American Express card. "Does that answer your question, little girl?"
My body has an odd response to Tristan's newest gift.
At first, my heart sinks, because I thought he was on the verge of confessing real, lasting feelings for me. Instead, he's giving me a bottomless credit card. But oh…there is something about being spoiled rotten that makes my flesh clench needily. There is something about being the naughty little secret, paid for pleasure, that turns me wet and pliant. My heart and my body are not communicating properly—and unfortunately, right now in this dark office, sitting on the lap of this gorgeous hunk of man, my lady business is winning the battle. Later, I might feel differently, but right now all I can think about is pleasing my overworked sugar daddy. Being his relief, his port in the storm of this cutthroat business.
"Thank you," I twist my bottom on his erection. "You're so good to me."
He exhales in a rush, shaking his head. "You're much, much better to me."
I bite my lip and giggle. "Big Daddy, you sound funny."
Tristan's gaze flies to mine. My pulse dances dizzyingly, waiting with bated breath for his response. He calls me little girl and I call him Big Daddy. But we've never played a game like this. Does he want to? It came so naturally to me, I didn't have to think about it. What if he thinks I'm weird? Twisted? "Well…" he swallows hard. "You're getting a little old to sit in Big Daddy's lap."
I almost gasp at the inundation of lust that blares through me. What is this? Why does it feel like we've been heading here all along? "Why?" I pout. "I like sitting in your lap."
Tristan tugs on his collar, breathing hard. "Do you feel that…hard bulge underneath you, baby?"
Frowning thoughtfully, I wiggle around, making him hiss a curse. "Uh-huh. What is it?"
"That's my cock." His index finger traces a circle on my knee. "It's getting harder and harder the longer you sit in my lap."
I giggle again. "Why?"
"It knows you can make it feel good." Very slowly, he drags my skirt up to mid-thigh, roughly kneading the sensitive inner portion. "All kinds of different ways."