Sugar Daddy Chronicles

31. Smothering Old Flames

AN: I love my guys but I don't think I can write Mr. M's POV again, that ish was hard. Like the new cover?! I do too! Which is why I'm dedicating this chapter to the artist- @burningbrightishly
P.S. Big shot out to PiesandThighs because honestly, she's an awesome supporter of SDC. I also recommend her book 'His 90 Day PA.' Hot. Steamy. Interracial?

Phoebe's POV:

I snuggle deeper into the covers but the warmth I'm looking for isn't where it's supposed to be. I stick my hand out and pat down the area in my immediate vicinity.

Nothing but pillows and extra cover material.

In surprise I pry my eyes open and look around. Since my head's on the pillow still, I can't see much, therefore my head pops up and I rest my weight onto my elbows. I don't even want to think about what my hair looks like.

The room is crazy quiet except for the ventilation system so I know that I'm the only one here.
'Where did Mr. M go?'

I plop back onto the bed and weigh my options.

One, I could go back to sleep. It's by far the easiest one and my body immediately votes for it. But my eyes are curious to look around Mr. M's space.

Two, I could go take a bath assuming that the door across the room does indeed lead to his bathroom. Then maybe go searching for Mr. M depending on how refreshed I feel. My body is iffy on that one so it's not a definite no, plus it'll curve some of my curiosity at seeing more of the place.

My third and final option is to go all Adventure Time in a search for Mr. M. No baths. No going back to sleep. Just me throwing on some clothes and peeping into random rooms, maybe even yelling his name if I feel bold enough. Every cell in my body revolts but then I hypothesize that Mr. M will either come back to bed or get in the tub with me.

Or both. I want both.

Since my decision was already made, all that needed to happen was the executing of said plan with military precision.

I actively bury my head deeper into the pillow not wanting to move a muscle, the other options were good to theorize but option one had the advantage of my already being here. It's the unknown law of physics; A Phoebe at rest will stay at rest until annoyed enough to get her ass up, no matter the occasion. I smile contentedly because my blanket to body ratio is perfect so that I don't feel too hot or too cold.

A pinging noise reaches my ears and my head pops up again. My eyes search the room for the noise until they land on a bundle of fabrics in a chair way too far from me on the other side of the room, near the door.

In true lazy fashion, I reach my arm out to grab the phone knowing that it's too far but trying to stretch out to get it anyway. Seeing as though I didn't turn into Mr. Fantastic overnight, my arm doesn't extend over a couple of yards to grab the pinging device. I then try to squint at it like I've seen done in the movies, mainly Matilda and X-Men, but I decide to stop seeing as though I've already tried to copy one super hero today. The pinging continues so I steel myself to ignore it since I'm not mystical or genetically enhanced enough for us to connect without the physical act of getting up, but then it makes another noise that has my curiosity peaked.

Before I know what's happening, I'm out of the bed and crossing the room. It's funny how the brain over dramatizes the simplest things. Now that I'm on two legs, I don't understand why I was so reluctant in the first place.

I walk up to the chair and see that the pile of fabrics are my and Mr. M's clothes from the bathroom down the hall. Also, the noise maker is my phone. Mr. M must've switched on my ringer.