Sugar Daddies (31 page)

I paused, my knife halfway through buttering my roll. My stomach tensed. “Couldn’t agree more. I’m more than happy to say something, Rick. In fact, I’m dying to fucking say something. It’s you who insisted on waiting six months.”

He looked blankly for a moment, then gave me a sigh. “Not
that
something, I mean something between
us
.”

The disappointment panged. “What something between us?” I dipped the bread in my soup. Homemade a la Rick. Vegetable medley. “Things are fucking sweet, no?”

He nodded. “Yeah, they’re sweet. Sweet as fucking daisies.”

We both agreed on that. Another few days of Katie in our bed at night, another few days of Katie in my office through the day. A couple of days of Rick taking her to the stables while I finished up work.

A couple of days of fucking like fucking rabbits.

She was at home tonight, spending time with her mother. The first night in several, and it was quiet. So fucking quiet. She’d left a Katie-shaped hole in our life here, and it itched like a fucker when she was away.

I tried to convince myself it was always like this, that we always fell this hard. But it was bullshit. Total fucking bullshit.

“Spit it out, then,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

“The inevitability.” He stirred his soup. “Things are bound to happen, sooner or later.”

“Things? What
things
?”

He shrugged. “You two at the office all day, for instance. Or me on stable-boy duty with the prettiest girl of all the time while you work late… someone’s gonna break, Carl.”

I stared at him. “We come together or not at all, that’s what we decided.”

He folded his arms. “And I’m saying it needs rethinking, it’s not sustainable.”

I hated to admit he was right. It’d been bothering me for a few days now, those lingering looks in the office, the hard-on in my pants as I watched Katie at her desk. The way I was jacking off in the toilets when it got too much.

“Are you saying you’re going to fuck her, Rick? A tumble in the hay, so to speak? Literally?”

“I’m not saying that.” He held up his hands. “Katie’s more into Samson at the yard than she is me, way fucking more. I’m just saying it’s a fuse waiting to spark, all ways round. Better to address it now, I think. Save a fucking hoo-hah down the line when someone fucks up.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

He put his hands in his hair. “I’m not sure. Maybe just an option to call? Before it happens? For permission?”

“Like a courtesy call?
I’m about to plough Katie’s tight little cunt over a hay bale, is that alright?
”

“What would you say if I called you with that?”

“I was fucking joking, Rick.” I thought about it while I took another bite. “What could I say? I’d say yes, I guess. What else could I fucking say?”

He shrugged. “I’d say yes, too.” He smirked. “And then I’d want to listen.”

“It’s dangerous,” I said. “It’s always dangerous.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Always a fucking minefield, Carl. I dunno why we put ourselves through it.” But he was smiling.

“We’re strong,” I said. “We’ll cope.”

He nodded. “I hope so.”

“Hope?”

“Alright,” he said. “I know so.”

“I’ll probably have to have one of those angry fucking wanks while I think about it, then come home and take it out on your sorry little fuck hole.”

“Sounds even better.”

“You say that now.” I stared at him, and my dirty Rick was looking so fucking hot. His t-shirt was tight and stretched across his chest, his hair was messy at the back, like a bird’s nest, just asking to be grabbed and pulled as I fucked his tight little asshole.

“What?” he said, taking a swig of beer. “What’s that look for?”

I finished up my wine. “I want to fuck you.”

“I love how direct you are, Carl Brooks.”

I got to my feet. “Now,” I said. “I want to fuck you now.”

He held up his phone. “Maybe we should test out our new rules? Call Katie and ask if she minds. Maybe she could listen. Maybe she’d want to listen?” His eyes were hopeful. Sparkling. Horny.

I shook my head. “No fucking phone, Rick. Just you and me.”

I watched his breath catch. “You’re so fucking hot when you get all bossy.” He pushed himself from the table, rubbed his palm in the crotch of his jeans. “Where?” he said. “Where do you want me?”

I knew just what I wanted.

“This way,” I said.

I wanted to fuck him where she’d been, where the sheets still smelled of her. I pinned him at the bottom of the stairs, kissed him hard, until he grunted into my mouth and fumbled at my belt.

“Feels like ages since it was just us.” He snaked his fingers inside my boxers, gripped my cock. “Feels good to know you want me.”

“Of course I fucking want you,” I said, and it was more than that. I thrust against his fingers. “I fucking
need
you.” My mouth pressed to his, and my words were muffled, but he heard them well enough.

We stumbled upstairs with wet kisses. With frantic fingers and hard cocks and short breaths. I kicked the bedroom door open.

“Where she’s been,” I whispered. “I want to fuck you there. Want to fuck you where she sleeps.
Want her to sleep where I’ve taken you. Want to love you where we’ve taken her.”

He groaned into me and kissed me hard.

I took off his clothes and he took off mine, and I pulled him onto me, falling to the bed as he straddled me, his hands on my thighs
and his back arched.

He was so fucking beautiful. That gorgeous fucking man with his cute smile and his messy hair and hungry eyes.

I lubed up my cock, and he eased himself down, exhaling one long breath as my cock filled him up.

And then he rode me, slowly. So fucking slowly it fried my fucking brain.

I watched him intently. Watched the rapture on his face as I worked his dick with my fingers. Watched the way his eyes glazed and his mouth dropped open.

And I felt it all, felt him.

“I love you,” I said, and his eyes snapped into focus.

“I fucking love you, Carl, so fucking much.”

We stared at each other, through each other, and there was so much unsaid.

The unspoken hung heavy, thick and deep. The need that never left, that never eased, that never relented.

“I love her,” he said. “She’s the one.” His voice was barely a whisper.

I nodded, and then I pulled him down onto me, his chest to mine, and I held his face and kissed him while my cock twitched deep inside.

“I love her, too,” I said.

I’m not enough of a dreamer that I could ignore the inevitable. I’d known when I took the sperm donor’s offer that my summer plans for Samson would be largely kicked to the kerb. It’s not that I didn’t care. I did care. We’d worked hard, Samson and me, months and months of training and trust to get his form up enough to compete in cross country events this season. He was in good condition, but with the reduction in hours at my disposal, my ambitions would have to drop a gear.

I was ok with that. We’d have another year. Samson wasn’t young, but he was still in his prime. We’d get our time, he and I, so I’d shoved my eventing timetable in my dressing table drawer back at home, and pushed it out of my mind.

Until Verity pinned up the Cheltenham Chase cross country leaflet on our team noticeboard that Friday.

She’d formed a little gaggle of horsey girls around the office, and there they’d stood in a thrumming little huddle before work kicked off, enthusing over who was competing and how they were going to smash it. I’d kept my distance, pretending to be busy on my phone while they gushed over their horse’s form and who was signing up and who had the edge. Verity was competing her latest acquisition, a 16.2HH warmblood competition mare called
Fleetwood Fancy
. Fancy was right, over fourteen grand’s worth of cold hard cash after negotiation by all accounts, but that was nothing for the Faverleys. Pocket change.

I should have let it go, I mean, who cares what stupid fancy horse Princess Verity is dicking about on for the summer? She’d be bored of the mare before the season was out, and I’d normally have let it go. Normally.

But right there, with my coffee in one hand and my phone in the other, watching those horsey bitches mouthing off about who’d be kicking whose ass around that course at the end of August, I found I cared quite a lot.

Fleetwood Fancy had form, but Verity wasn’t as dedicated as she liked to think she was. She was all about the image, not about the substance. She didn’t take the time for the foundation work, didn’t want to put in the hours of warm up and preparation. Why would she? She had people to do all that shit for her. As a result, she’d be riding a horse that was still new to her, and sure, that horse had the scope to carry her through almost anything, but she’d never hit peak, not in time.

And that gave me a shot. Not a big one, but enough to send a thrill up my spine.

I mean, we’d never win, Samson and I, not the whole event, but that didn’t matter, just so long as we beat that arrogant little cow. Just so long as we had a chance.

There was that cold scaly feeling in me again, and my heartrate picked up as I watched her. She thought she had it in the bag, that she’d hop up on Fleetwood Fancy and the mare would carry her to victory without even breaking a sweat. I doubt I’d even crossed her mind, not with my budget auction horse that she’d never have given a second glance. She had no idea how far we’d come, Samson and me, no idea that we’d hit that sweet spot where we worked as one, trusted each other, knew each other by heart.

She’d never had that. She’d never stuck with a horse for long enough.

I’d been keeping my money safe towards Jack’s rent, but I clicked onto
Horseclub
and checked out their cheapest horse trailers. There was one locally for just under a thousand. It would get me there. My rust bucket would tow it just fine, and sure, it wasn’t slick or special, but it would do the job. There was a niggle in me, a niggle that I should be saving and focused, not running away with some stupid quest of pride to get one up on Verity. Like kicking her ass in the office wasn’t going to be enough already.

But I never spent money, not on me, not really. And I’d never had a trailer before, not one of my own, and I’d use it, definitely, when I had the time again. It was an investment. A useful investment. A sensible investment, even.

So, I bought it.

PayPalled the cash without even viewing, and it felt good. It felt really fucking good.

And then I signed Samson and I up for the Cheltenham Chase.

It was becoming comfortable so easily with Rick and Carl. I’d fallen into a routine nothing short of heaven, travelling to the office and back with Carl every day, lunching at the bagel joint, then zipping over to Samson with Rick of an evening while Carl spent his hours on extra work shit. We’d eat and laugh, drink sometimes, then shower and fuck and suck and fuck some more until I fell asleep in my spot between two hot bodies in their kickass bed.
My
spot. Yeah, it was my spot. How fucking sweet.