Praise for Sugar Daddy
"This book devastated me in the most wonderful way. Beck and Sela are so scorching and real together that I didn't want to let them go. I can't wait to devour the rest of this series!"
--#1 New York Times bestselling author MEREDITH WILD
"A totally gripping take on romance and revenge!"
--New York Times bestselling author LAUREN BLAKELY
"Sugar Daddy is raw, gritty, and exceptionally hot. I couldn't put it down."
--New York Times bestselling author MARQUITA VALENTINE
"Wow! Sawyer Bennett steps out of her ice skates and into her Manolos. Sugar Daddy is a hot read that only gets better with every page."
--New York Times bestselling author SUSAN STOKER
"I read it in less than three hours because I am a freak reader when I like something. This book is great!"
--USA Today bestselling author MJ FIELDS
"Sawyer Bennett has talent that knows no bounds and this book proves it. From page one to the end I was captivated and enthralled. I can't wait for more!"
--USA Today bestselling author CHELSEA CAMARON
"Sawyer Bennett does dark with amazing facility, drawing me in with Sela's story, and holding me there with Beck's. Sugar Daddy is compulsively readable, deliciously dirty, and passionately written."
--USA Today bestselling author CD REISS
"Sawyer Bennett delivers a titillating novel that balances between the desire to seek revenge and the yearning to hold on to love. It's sexy and addicting, and I devoured every last word."
--MEGHAN QUINN, author of The Randy Romance Novelist
Sugar Rush is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2016 by Sawyer Bennett Excerpt from Max by Sawyer Bennett copyright (c) 2016 by Sawyer Bennett All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Max by Sawyer Bennett. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
ISBN 9780399178597
Ebook ISBN 9781101968130
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Elizabeth A. D. Eno, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Sarah Hansen Cover photograph: Piotr Marcinski/Shutterstock v4.1
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1: Sela
Chapter 2: Beck
Chapter 3: Sela
Chapter 4: Beck
Chapter 5: Sela
Chapter 6: Beck
Chapter 7: Sela
Chapter 8: Beck
Chapter 9: Sela
Chapter 10: Beck
Chapter 11: Sela
Chapter 12: Beck
Chapter 13: Sela
Chapter 14: Beck
Chapter 15: Sela
Chapter 16: Beck
Chapter 17: Sela
Chapter 18: Beck
Chapter 19: Sela
Chapter 20: Beck
Chapter 21: Sela
Chapter 22: Beck
Chapter 23: Sela
Chapter 24: Beck
Author's Note
Dedication
By Sawyer Bennett
About the Author
Excerpt from Max
I throw all caution to the wind and I bare my soul to him. "JT...he raped me."
Cold eyes.
Look of disgust.
"Yet another lie, Sela."
Then he slams the door in my face.
Pain such as I've never felt seizes my chest.
It's like a blackened claw wrapping around my heart, squeezing so hard it robs me of my breath. Squeezing and pushing out every bit of goodness and hope and light. I try to suck in oxygen but my lungs don't move. The cramping sensation in my chest gets tighter, until I think I actually may be having a heart attack.
I'm on my hands and knees, with one arm reaching out toward our door.
Correction.
Beck's door.
Not mine anymore.
I wait, and then wait some more for him to open it back up, my chest caving in on itself.
And I wait.
My head drops, hair falling in a curtain as I stare at the dark gray carpeting. My arm succumbs to gravity and my palm presses down for balance. I remember to that moment when I first saw JT on TV and vomited all over my threadbare carpet. Back then, I had been assaulted with terrifying memories that I realized were not just nightmares but waking, living, breathing events that had happened me. I was caught under an avalanche of fear and shame and self-loathing. I vomited and cried and expelled snot all over the carpet.
Not this time.
Right now, my eyes are bone-dry and I know this is because my body is shutting down, refusing to accept the magnitude of what I just lost. If I really consider everything that Beck is to me, and that I will no longer have it again, I'm not sure I'll physically survive it.
I'm sure that if I give credence to the fact that I just destroyed every bit of trust and care he had for me, my heart will end up curling in on itself. It will form into a dried-out, blackened knot of bitterness that I'll never overcome, and it will be far worse than any pain I've experienced in my life.
Yes, even more painful than that, and I don't have it in me for that type of suffering again.
So I have to push past...ignore...obliviate.
Lurching up onto my knees, I place my hands on my thighs for balance, and try once again to catch a breath. Grudgingly, my lungs expand and pull precious life into me and I let it out in a quavering sigh of defeat.
My gaze falls to the floor again, and I see that the contents of my purse have been scattered clear across the hall. I take in another deep breath, feel my heart still cramping in agony.
God, it hurts.
So much.
My heart, my chest, my head.
My lungs.
My bones. I even feel the crushing weight of defeat and loss in my bones.
Reaching out, I grab the strap of my purse and pull it in to me. I look into the gaping opening and see my wallet and key chain still inside. I pull the keys out and work off Beck's condo key. It takes me a moment and I realize I'm clumsily fumbling with it because I feel dizzy.
I consciously pull in another lungful of oxygen, realizing that the pain just on the other side of my breastbone is so all consuming it's taken away my body's natural ability to want to live. To even pull in the basic necessity of the air I need to survive.
Deep breath in.
Let it out.
In.
Out.
Breathe, Sela. Just fucking breathe.
An agonized sob pops out of my mouth as images of Beck's face flash before me. His look so angry and condemning. His unwillingness to give me five precious minutes to explain myself. I jerk the key from the ring and fling it at the door, a sudden burst of anger filling me up and giving me strength.
Just as fast it gushes out of me.
And for a brief, glorious moment, my chest relaxes...the cramping fades. I take in a tentative breath and find my lungs expand easily. A swirling sensation of relief, and I use the opportunity to stand.
I keep still, afraid some other nasty or wretched emotion will take me hostage. I wait for it to come, to make my knees buckle, but...nothing.
I feel absolutely nothing.
<
br /> "Beck," I begged with a sob. "JT...he raped me."
He hesitated, eyes wide with shock and face draining of blood. I even reached out to him, not once doubting that he'd want to help me.
But then my world crashed again when he looked down upon me with disgust and said, "Yet another lie, Sela," before slamming the door on me.
I think about Beck just moments ago, pushing me out his door, looking at me with disgust and calling me--the rape victim--a liar.
And nothing.
Absolute emptiness within me, but it's actually a blissful feeling, because it doesn't hurt.
My gaze falls back down to the carpet. Lip gloss, loose change, tampons, chewing gum, and a matchbook I took from a jazz club that Beck and I went to. A keepsake, so to speak.
Tiny cramp in my chest. I push it away and face the elevator, ignoring all of the scattered items.
I turn my back and leave it all behind.
All of it.
Behind.
The minute the door slams shut, blocking Sela and her treacherous, lying eyes, I fall back against it. I immediately slump down to the floor, my legs splayed out in front of me, toes tilted outward, and my hands sit like useless lumps on my thighs.
When I first saw Sela sitting in my office, I was filled with rage such as I've never known. It was blistering hot and my ears were buzzing with static as adrenaline pumped like acid in my veins.
I knew.
Immediately knew she had lied to me about needing to take a walk that day after Thanksgiving because she was overwhelmed. I quickly figured out that she had taken my key chain and had a copy made so she could get into my office. It tied together nicely.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I not have seen the duplicity?
How in the fuck did I get played so well?
My body went on autopilot, my brain refusing to accept a single word she said, because she's a proven liar, and I hate liars more than anything. Hate fucking secrets and gray areas and deception and cover-ups. My parents taught me well to hate it, creating such a vile environment for what masqueraded as a family that they unwittingly made a man with no tolerance.
I'm sure lies continued to drip from her mouth even after I caught her. Hell, I'm not even sure what she was saying as I pulled her through the condo; my only concern was getting her out of my life. Rage, fury, bitterness...it was all the fuel I needed to push her right out, as I realized that Sela was not only playing with my life, she was playing with my heart.
As I sit here, feeling as if I don't have a single ounce of strength within me, I realize that as the mania subsides, I'm left with a desolate emptiness. Just minutes ago, I was full of Sela, and now there's a hollowness surrounded by a bitter husk.
I hear a sound on the other side of the door, and of course I know it's Sela.
A hoarse bark of a sound...a pained sob perhaps? An attempt to get me to feel bad about what I've done?
My fingers curl inward, press into my palms, and I have to push hard against the overwhelming need to open that door to comfort her.
I push up off the floor and stalk through the living room, trying to get as far away from the door and the sound of Sela crying. I cross my arms over my stomach, hugging myself almost protectively, and pace back and forth along the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the bay.
Something hits the door. A tinny sound, barely noticeable, and my head jerks that way. I take a step in that direction and halt myself.
Turn back around, face the window.
My body tenses, waiting to hear something else. Maybe Sela isn't done and will start trying to call out to me through the door. Maybe she'll try to throw more fiction at me, and in fact, maybe that's why she's silent right now. Her brain is working up a new web of deceit in which she'll try to capture me.
I wait and I wait, yet I don't hear anything else.
Please, Sela...say something and make a liar out of my feelings right now.
Dropping my arms, I walk hesitantly to the door and lean so my ear is placed against it. I don't hear a sound. I put my eye to the peephole, bracing myself to see Sela curled into some pitiful fetal position.
There's no one in the hallway, although I can't see all the way down to the elevator. For all I know, Sela's waiting there, ready to spring out at me.
I think about her last words. Those I do remember.
"JT raped me."
My teeth gnash over the ludicrousness of that statement. While I haven't spent every waking minute with Sela, I've spent enough time with her to know that couldn't have occurred. Not only was there very little opportunity, but I think I'd fucking well know if something horrific like that had happened to my girlfriend.
I know what rape does to a woman. I've seen it.
Fuck, I've felt it. I've felt a woman sobbing and shuddering in my arms, sunk in despair and pain after she was brutalized. JT is a shit, an abuser of women, and I'm not sure to what lengths he'd go anymore. But there's no fucking way JT raped Sela in the past several weeks we've been together. I would have absolutely known something was wrong. You can't hide something like that.
You can't.
I know the only fix is time, and that's not even a complete fix. A rape victim needs time and support and assurance. She needs love and the ability to work through the shame and humiliation. That shit doesn't happen in days. It doesn't happen in months.
It fucking happens in years.
And all of a sudden, something strikes out at me with such force and detailed clarity that I actually stagger back from the door a bit.
It's a memory of Sela on the first night we met.
Sitting on a barstool and staring across the room at JT.
With anger.
I remember seeing it clearly on her face, and thinking it was odd that she'd be staring at him that way. I had assumed that night was the first time Sela had met JT, and that's why it was so weird that she'd be looking at him that way.
Unless that wasn't the first time they met.
"JT raped me."
She didn't say when, did she?
My mind races as I try to recall the last ten minutes of my life and I can't pull forth anything. I can only remember her looking up at me, arm outstretched, as she said, JT raped me.
I assumed she meant since she and I had started up together. I assumed she was lying and inferring JT had done something nefarious, knowing my relationship with him has been strained and hoping I'd take her side over his. I immediately discounted her proclamation because I know what rape is, and there's no way in hell that could have happened since we met.
But what if he fucking raped her long before she and I ever met? What if she was at that Sugar Bowl Mixer that night with the intent to confront her attacker?
That first night we were together. Sela's juices on my mouth and her neck and chest flushed red from orgasm.
"That was the first time a man has made me have an orgasm."
Sela had not been able to orgasm with a man before.
It had seemed impossible to me then, knowing a beautiful, sexy, and vibrant woman like Sela couldn't attract a man who would bend over backward to make her come. No one could take one look at Sela lying on a bed, legs spread and eyes full of uncertainty but with a tinge of hope, and not do everything in his fucking power to make her come until she's screaming his name out to the heavens.
A woman not achieving climax with a man.
That's a serious sexual hang-up.
One that could be caused by being raped.
Everything hits me at once. I'm practically blinded by images and memories of the last few weeks, all little details that I can now piece together.
Sela's not your typical Sugar Baby. It's a ruse to get close to JT.
Sela's naive when it comes to sex.
The aloof nature with which she held herself away from me.
The moments of uncertainty I saw on her face when we were intimate.
That absolute antipathy she had for JT the few times t
hey've been in the same room together.
The fact I've come to see that JT has the potential to really harm a woman.
"I swear to God, Beck...this is about JT," she had cried out to me as I dragged her out of my condo.
Sela was raped by JT before we even met.
The absolute truth of that hits me square in the center of my chest with the force of a wrecking ball.
"F-u-u-u-u-u-ck," I groan painfully as I lunge for the door, absolutely sickened by what I've just done.
I jerk it open, my eyes immediately going to the array of items that I vaguely remember flying out of Sela's purse when I kicked it through the door. My head jerks to the right, toward the elevators, but she's gone. Her purse is gone, and she's gone, but she left behind all that shit that spilled out. My gaze drops down farther and I see the condo key with the blue rubber cover on the head of it.
It's like a kick to my nuts seeing it lying at my feet.
"No, no, no, no," I chant in agony as I squat to pick up the key. "Not you, Sela. This could not have happened to you. Not to my Sela."
I don't want to believe it because I literally don't think I can stand to know Sela suffered that way. I don't want to believe it because it makes me a monster for what I just did to her.
I stand up and pull my phone out of my pocket, quickly choosing Sela's number at the top of my favorites list. On the second ring, I note that I can faintly hear a corresponding sound coming from the bedroom.
"Shit," I mutter, and run back to our bedroom, where I see her phone lying on the nightstand beside the bed. I disconnect and look wildly about the room, trying to figure out what to do.
A quick glance down at my watch and I note that Sela couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes, ten at the most. She could still be down at the next BART stop, waiting for public transit to whisk her away from me.
I snatch Sela's phone from the nightstand and sprint for the front door. I pat my front pocket, relieved to feel my car key in there should I need it, and practically careen off the doorjamb as I try to cut into the hallway. I grab the knob and pull it shut hard behind me, not even stopping to lock up.
I have to catch Sela before she can get away.
Someone above is looking out for me because the elevator shows up within seconds. I jump in, jab the lobby button, and urge it to go faster. I start throwing up prayers to whoever may be listening to let me make this right with her. I'm so ashamed of the way I threw her out of my life, and how easily I discounted her claim of rape. It may be the worst mistake I've ever made, and I hope to God I can fix it.