Sugar Mummy Read Online Free PDF

gigolo Bernardo, but
he has no money, not serious money, anyway, so last month or something she launched
her own range of cosmetics. You know, the kind of things office girls wear. Staten
Island secretaries. What do you have here? Girls from Reading or something? Anyway,
it's called "Irena". And now her public relations people want her to call
herself just Irena, not Irena Trountz, you know, to push the perfume. So every time
she signs a visitor's book or a credit card slip she has to put a little TM after
her name.'
    'Really?'
    'Oh God, kidding!'
    As we walk up to the front door it is opened by the South American
girl who is now in a dark green uniform. I wonder   if she has a different one for each time of the
day, or seasons of the year or just Marion's moods.
    'Any messages, Anna Maria?' Marion asks her, throwing her Chanel
bag down on the settee. Anna Maria hands her some little cards which Marion flicks
through and hands back to her then she disappears.
    'I'm going to have a brandy,' says Marion, walking over to the
drinks cabinet.
    'Great,' I say. My heart is suddenly racing. This is it. She
is on for it after all. I've been watching her more closely since we came back.
She does have a pretty good figure and the food and wine have made me feel relaxed.
I realise that I'm entering the hinterland of horniness. She might be older but
she is gorgeous. She clatters around in the drinks cabinet and then comes back with
one glass and an envelope the same colour as the cards with the disregarded telephone
messages. 'Here you are,' she says giving me the signed credit card slip. 'I really
enjoyed it.' Enjoyed it? I haven't given it to you yet. 'I'll call you again,' she
says, kissing me on the cheek. 'Make sure the door's closed properly when you leave,'
she adds, looking down at a magazine, before picking it up and walking towards the
stairs.
     

 
 
    Chapter
Four

 
    Vinny yanks my arm to one side and tries to get his foot between
my legs.
    'Piss ...off,' I hiss, sweat gathering on my forehead but he
just laughs and elbows his way in front of me. I fall across the work units and
he lands on top of me, sending an empty wine bottle and a pile of magazines slithering
onto the floor. We both pause in anguished silence for a moment but the wine bottle
doesn't break on the lino so I grab the back of Vinny's neck and then yank him away
by his arm. He gasps but doesn't let go. Instead he finally manages to get in between
my legs, lifts his foot and gives a good kick. There is a satisfying splat as the
ball hits the far wall of the kitchen.
    'Y-e-e-e-e-s. Two one, two one, two one,' he sings above the
roar of the imaginary crowd and performs a mini lap of victory round the room. I
wait a moment before kicking it back into play. There is more banging from downstairs
and this time a shout of protest. Vinny pulls down the corners of his mouth and
winces. Then we both laugh.
    'Sorry,' I shout half-heartedly. Seeing Vinny still listening
intently, I take my chance and boot the ball down the other end of the room. My
aim is perfect - it hits the window frame. A couple of inches either way and it
would have crashed straight through - again. That's the key to Indoor One Aside
Footy: precise ball control.
    'Bastard. I wasn't ready,' says Vinny.
    'Well you should have been, mate.' He looks despondently at me
and begins to walk away. But I know this one, so I move up field and get ready in
defence. Sure enough, he has turned the ball round with his toe and is lining it
up to score again. Except that I'm in the way. He smashes into me and tries to barge
past.
    'Since when did this turn into rugby?' I ask.
    'Since I got bored of football,' he says, picking up the ball.
    We both have an equal grip on it and so I push my shoulder into
his chest. We struggle for a moment and suddenly Vinny stops moving and gives a
faint cry. The colour has drained from his face. His body goes limp. He swallows
with difficulty and then lets out a breath. I