Sleet Sugar by S.J. Tilly
CHAPTER FIFTY
ZACH
I can feel my Sugar’s resistance waning.
The closer I get to having her, to really having her, the more I crave her. I don’t like to think that I’m wearing her down. I like to think that I’m convincing her to give me a chance. I know I’m right for her. I know she’s right for me. I’m certain. And because of that, I won’t stop pursuing her. I won’t stop crashing her dates.
I’m not sure what I’d do if she ever goes out with someone that actually looks right for her.
Who am I kidding? I know exactly what I’ll do. I’ll keep doing the same thing I’ve been doing, because there’s no one better for her than me. And that’s not me pretending I’m perfect. I’m a bastard half the time and full of anger more often than that. But I know she’s good for my soul. And I know that no one will ever care about her more than I can. I’m the best man for her because I’ll always put her first. I want to make her smile. I want to make her happy. I want to make her pant my name each and every night.
My mind wanders back to the photo booth and I have to adjust myself. The way she let go, the way she trusted me, was the biggest turn on. Well, that and having her sweet warm body riding mine.
Fuck, I can’t be thinking about this right now. I have to get my head in the game.
Meghan usually tells me more details, but all she gave me for tonight was a time and an address. That’s it. So I have to assume it’s yet another date with some fool that I need to intercept.
Pulling up to my destination I read the name of the business. Twice. The Suggestive Sister. Interesting.
Since I had no real information, I played it safe with dark jeans and a black button up. I take a moment to smooth out the front of my shirt before I push open the front door.
This is a… I have no fucking clue. It’s a store? There are displays holding books, shot glasses, mugs and other gift looking items. Stepping closer, I see there is a definite female theme. There’s a table covered with dish towels sporting phrases like, a woman’s place is in the garden… burying the bodies of men.
Okay then.
Looking at the art on the wall, I see a collection of pieces depicting a beautiful dominatrix standing with her foot on the back of a man’s head while he’s tied up on the floor. The images make me think of the outfit Izzy wore to the painting place. Damn, that look was hot.
“Come on in, sugar.” A woman’s voice says.
I grin at the use of my pet name for Izz.
Turning, I look for the speaker. Beyond the merchandise, the space opens up and I see a full sized bar with a scattering of tables.
The woman behind the bar is looking me up and down. “I don’t swing for team dick, but if I did…” she trails off.
Suggestive Sister indeed.
This woman looks like she might be able to take me in a fight, and I like it. Her hair is dyed a bright blue, shaved on one side, long on the other. She’s wearing a leather vest that barely contains her large chest, and she’s covered in tattoos and piercings, making her look like a badass. But the humor in her eyes is undeniable.
“Good evening,” I reply, walking closer.
“What can I do for you, darlin? You look a bit lost, but you’re welcome to stay.”
My gaze travels around the bar area.
Looking over the patrons, I don’t see Sugar. There are a couple of guys, but the crowd is majority women.
“I’m meeting some people, but maybe they aren’t here yet.” I try to sound more confident than I feel.
The bartender smirks at me as she motions towards the far wall. “Check the back room.”
“Appreciate it.”
Making my way over, I pass more sale displays. The selection of lingerie grabs my attention, as I imagine Sugar wearing the black lace number. I may have to make a few purchases before I leave here tonight.
Centered in the back wall is a wide doorway covered by a velvet curtain. It’s not pulled all the way shut, and as I near, I can hear voices coming from within. Several voices. Several female voices. I’m beginning to get the feeling that I’ve been set up.
When I hear Meghan’s laugh, I step through the opening into the room. And freeze.
The room is small. There are large colorful couches along each wall, under large paintings of naked women dancing, and a big square coffee table in the middle of the little room. It’s not the décor that takes me aback. It’s not the group of women that halts me. It’s the table full of dildos.
