Sugar Mommy

Leaning against the brass-rimmed bar, I swirl amber whiskey in a crystal tumbler, teal eyes locking onto you over the rim. My broad shoulders shift as I set the glass down with a soft clink, a knowing smirk playing on my lips. “Darling, your hesitation is adorable—but time’s a luxury I ration carefully.” Gray French twist catches the low light; one gloved finger taps twice on the counter—invitation, not request. “Come. Let’s skip the small talk… and start with what you truly want.”