Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
There will be no calling her.
No wondering how we would keep the secret.
I’m an honorable man. Not some middle-aged pervert who needs a barely-legal girlfriend to feel younger. Josie has a rich future ahead. An education, a career.
Other men.
I slam my fist down so hard on the table, my wireless keyboard flips over.
It’s ridiculous to be jealous. Absolutely ridiculous. I’ve let the flirting get to me. I’ve allowed myself to start wondering if I’m different in some way. Special to her.
How pathetic.
Look at yourself.
My reflection in the screen of my computer draws my attention. Maybe once upon a time I could have been considered handsome in a non-traditional way, but I’m forty-five now and I’ve traded my health for wealth. What would I even look like on top of Josie’s supple young body? It would be like that grainy homemade porn between a high-class escort and her john.
With an impatient curse, I swipe the panties off my desk and shove them back into my pocket, giving in to the urge to smell my hand, roughly inhaling the lingering perfume of her pussy before determinedly turning my mind back to work. I open my email, ready to respond to an important inquiry, when a subject line—about five emails from the top—catches my eye.
YOU HAVE TO TRY THIS SERVICE. HIGHLY RECOMMEND.
Is it an advertisement? Seems like it. But why didn’t my filtering service pick it up? I don’t recognize the email address, but the name of the sender sounds vaguely familiar. Richard Thomas Holden. That sounds like one of my rich asshole golfing buddies for sure. And if so, I don’t want to outright ignore them, especially if this is something ALL CAPS important.
I tap my finger on my mouse for a moment, then click on the email, finding a link in the body—and that’s all. Just a blue link.
Embedded among the URL are the words sugar babies.
What the hell is that?
I’m about to close the email, to forget about it, but something makes me tap it out of curiosity. I’m not a man who can walk away from a mystery and I’ve never heard the words sugar babies put together like that. If this is some illegal shit that has somehow been sent to me by mistake, I’ll make sure to alert the proper authorities. And when the website splashes open across my screen, that is my first thought. This is illegal. It’s prostitution.
There are girls, young enough to be my daughter, if I had one, smiling in photographs. They’re lying in beds and showing peeks of skin beneath their college sweatshirts. I make a sound of disgust, purely because these poor girls must have reasons to exchange their bodies for money. Reasons like debt, I’m assuming. And I don’t like knowing this is an avenue for men my age to take advantage with their bottomless bank accounts. Who the hell sent me this—?
Wait. No. It can’t be.
Josie?
No, she can’t be on this website.
And yet…there she is. In a bathing-suit top and miniscule frayed jean shorts, giving the camera that flirtatious smile I know so well. She’s listed in the FEATURED section. Of course she is. She is outrageously beautiful with her bedroom eyes that speak of a higher intelligence. Those lithe thighs and glossed-up lips. Who else has access to this website? Thousands of men? Millions? Every single one of them would click on her…including me. I have no choice. And I tell myself I’m exploring her profile because I need more information before putting a stop to this bullshit. But hell, if the pictures of Josie frolicking on the beach in a thong bikini don’t give me the hard on of my fucking life.
Somehow I drag my gaze off the shot of her wet buns and read the actual bio.
Hey there. I’m Josie. I’m a college student looking for financial support in exchange for private time with you…
Financial support?
What the fuck?
Her father is the COO of a lucrative hedge fund. We came up through the ranks together. I’ve been to dinner at his home. Josie’s family is financially stable—and that’s an understatement. It makes no sense that she would be in need of money. None at all.
Well this ends now.
Right now.
The thought of some lecherous old man putting his hands on Josie’s body is making me sick to my stomach. And yes, isn’t that exactly what I am for wanting to touch her?
With an inward growl of self-loathing, I snatch up my phone and scroll through to Josie’s phone number. I’ve had her contact info for as long as I can remember, wanting to have a backup way of reaching my son when they venture out of the house. But I’ve never had to use it until now. Even the act of calling her on the phone and knowing I’m about to hear her voice is making my cock throb relentlessly in my pants.