I wanted to tuck her in my pocket and have her bake all the desserts she wanted. I would gladly eat anything she made and work out more to burn off the calories of her sweetness.
Licking my lips, I felt the once familiar desire bubbling up inside me. I wanted to keep her, even though I knew I couldn’t. I wanted her to be mine.
I wanted her to bemygood girl.
6
OR WHAT?
CHELSEA
Sean was nice.
He was very sweet and let me bake chocolate mousse cake from scratch while he watched from the island stool. It was even better than baking at home since he had all the expensive unused equipments. Not to mention, having an eye candy like him watch me bake made my chest feel light, my mouth babbling on about each step.
I wanted to impress him with my profound knowledge of vanilla essence and granulated sugar.
But I had a long shift at the strip club and couldn’t stop yawning or rubbing my eyes when they got teary.Of course, he noticed.
“Go to bed,” Sean said, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. He stood up from the stool, his hair falling over his brows, making him look younger.
“No, it’s fine,” I said, waving my hand.
He raised a brow. “I wasn’t asking, Princess.”
That damned word.
It was just a word. But I had imagined being a princess when I was a little girl, hoping I’d grow up into a pretty woman and marry a handsome young prince. Every woman dreamed of it until their dreams got crushed.
Because there’s no such thing as a handsome young prince.
That’s why I detested being called a princess. It made me think of young Chelsea and how happy and naïve she was before her loving parents got a messy divorce and she had to grow up quickly.
“It’s. Fine.” I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but he didn’t get angry or snap at me like I had expected.
Instead, he leaned closer, only the marble island separating us. His shoulders were so broad that his shadow fell over me, making me swallow.
“Go to bed.”
It was a warning.
But I didn’t listen. Because there was something about him that made me want to be a princess. He made me feel safe. Without once touching me.
He made me want to dream about being a princess. His Princess.
“Or what, Sugar Daddy?” I purred, batting my lashes at his handsome face and dark eyes that swirled with mirth.
“You are…” he paused, and I leaned closer, wanting to hear what he would say next.
But he never finished.
My shoulders sulked when he pulled back, running a hand down his face. “Goodnight, Chelsea.”
Sean turned around, and I heard his footsteps retreat upstairs with a door closing a few seconds later.
“What the hell?” I said to myself, staring at the empty stool he had occupied moments ago.
Did I say something wrong?No. He was the one who wanted me to call him Daddy and be his sugar baby.Then why did he just leave?
