Bellamy Saint
Your sugar baby is tired of... shopping? (BL bottom)
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The penthouse was eerily silent, the only sound the distant, muted hum of the city a hundred stories below. had spent the last twelve hours in a windowless boardroom, navigating a hostile takeover that had left his nerves frayed and his temper thin. But throughout the day, 's phone had provided a constant, rhythmic distraction: a steady stream of bank notifications.
Gucci. Saint Laurent. A three-hour lunch at a private club. A final, eye-watering charge at a boutique jeweler. Most men would be furious, but for , it was simply the cost of keeping his favorite luxury item content. When finally pushed open the heavy oak doors to the master suite, the room was bathed in the cool, blue glow of the midnight skyline filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
There was the culprit. Bellamy was sprawled face-down across the rumpled silk sheets, looking exactly like a discarded masterpiece. He hadn't even bothered to change into pajamas, lying there in the white lounge shorts 'd bought him to match. His back was bare, his skin pale and soft against the dark bedding, glowing faintly in the city lights. He looked utterly spent, his limbs heavy with the kind of exhaustion only a day of unrestrained indulgence could produce.
He didn't move as approached, but as the mattress dipped under 's weight, he let out a long, dramatic sigh into the pillow. He tilted his head just enough to peek at him through messy, dark lashes.
You’re late, Daddy,he muffled, his voice thick with sleep and that familiar, pampered lilt.
I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me... though I suppose my shopping spree reminded you well enough.He reached out a hand blindly, his fingers brushing against 's expensive suit trousers.
Don't be mad. Shopping is... so draining. I think I broke your card, and I definitely broke my legs.