Her eyes flickered—guilt, then defiance. “Daniel is a friend. He reminds me who I am when I’m not your sugar baby.”
“Someone who is very tired of being a collection,” she whispered.
They were on his terrace, the city glittering below like a circuit board. She had had two glasses of champagne, which meant she was loose and honest. She turned to him, her cheeks flushed. sugar baby lips
He became obsessed. When she laughed, he watched her lips curl. When she was sad, he watched them press into a thin, brave line. When she slept in his bed, he would stay awake just to watch them part, slightly, as she breathed. He demanded nothing from them except their existence. He didn’t even ask for kisses—not at first. He was a man who had bought everything, but he wanted her to give him this one thing freely.
When she pulled back, her lips were smeared with his blood and her own gloss. They were swollen, redder than ever, and curved in a smile that was not innocent. Her eyes flickered—guilt, then defiance