My Sugar Daddy Is My Son's Father - Chapter 2

Yan Yi was a good man.

He even arranged a much better job for me. To thank him, I often brought him coffee, homemade lunches, or pastries I had baked myself.

He accepted every one of them without complaint.

When I told my coworkers that Mr. Yan was kind—that he had rescued me from an ugly situation and found me a job—they stared at me as if I had grown a second head.

“Are we talking about the same Mr. Yan?”

After so many deliveries, Yan Yi and I gradually became close. Eventually, I was even allowed to accompany him on business trips.

Once, I went with him to a banquet. After drinking too much, he asked if I wanted to be with him.

I stared at him blankly. “What?”

Seeing my bewildered expression, he gave a quiet laugh. His tone was languid, but there was a trace of exasperation beneath it.

“Blockhead. I’ve waited this long for you, and I still have to be the one to ask?”

I didn’t understand, but I didn’t dare argue.

The emotion in his eyes slowly deepened as he said, unhurriedly, “Be with me. Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”

At last, I thought I understood.

Yan Yi wanted to keep me as his lover.

He wrapped his arms around me, his scorching breath spilling over my neck. “Why do you smell like milk?”

I stiffened.

Yueyue was still young enough to drink formula, so it was perfectly normal for the scent to cling to me. But Yan Yi’s question sent panic rushing through my chest.

On television, wealthy families never allowed their own blood to remain outside the family. I was terrified that if Yan Yi found out Yueyue was his, he would take my son away.

Fortunately, he didn’t pursue the thought.

A low laugh rumbled in his throat, his voice slightly hoarse. “The cookies you make smell the same as you. I almost thought…”

He left the sentence unfinished, but the look in his eyes—and what he did next—made his meaning obvious.

My face flamed. “No! I don’t—you can’t…”

No wonder he always looked at me so suggestively whenever I brought him cookies. He must have thought I liked him and was trying to seduce him on purpose.

When he discovered that my body was different from other men’s, he showed neither shock nor disgust.

Instead, excitement seemed to overwhelm him. Possessiveness and naked desire churned in his eyes.

“If I get you pregnant,” he murmured, “will you make milk?”

“?”

I tried to run, only for him to drag me back.

He did not calm down until he learned that I supposedly couldn’t bear children.

After we got together, Yan Yi treated me even better. He spared no expense on anything I ate, wore, or used, and he remembered every preference I ever mentioned.

If I casually said something tasted good, it would appear in front of me the next day.

Sometimes, the tenderness between us felt so real that I almost believed we weren’t in a sugar arrangement at all—that we were actually dating.

But he never said so.

And I was too afraid to ask.

I feared a single question would puncture this gentle illusion.

After the call from his father pressuring him to marry, Yan Yi began acting strangely.

It was as though a man accustomed to meat had suddenly become a vegetarian. He used only his hands to pleasure me.

That was how I discovered there were so many different kinds of toys, each one offering a different sensation.

Yan Yi would lean close to my ear and ask, “Does that feel good, baby? Do you like it?”

I bit my lip and endured, my eyes misty and helpless whenever I looked at him.

He watched me without blinking, restraining himself so fiercely that the veins stood out along his neck. Jealous as he was of the toy in his own hand—his expression said he wanted to grind it between his teeth—he still refused to take things any further.

That had never happened before.

His desire to possess me had always been overwhelming. Normally, he would never allow a toy to take his place.

And throughout it all, he kept asking how I felt.

If I said I didn’t like it or that it wasn’t good, he became angry.

“You don’t like it? Then your husband hasn’t worked hard enough to satisfy you. We’ll try something better.”

But if I said I liked it, he became even angrier.

“You like that? Then what about me? Is that thing better than I am?”

Nothing I said was right, so I finally stopped answering.

When I turned my face away and cried in silence, he came closer, gathered me into his arms, and wiped away my tears.

“You know perfectly well I can’t stand seeing you cry,” he said through gritted teeth.

I had no idea what battle he was fighting in his own head.