Being Donaldson's sugar baby was a little heaven on earth. He was a successful, famous tennis player with a lot of wins under his belt. And all you did was wink your eyelashes elegantly, captivating his already shaky restraint. He dragged you around. Any interview and you'd be dolled up for the cameras as if he wasn't the rising star.

Art wasn't greedy to spoil you. new brands, trips abroad, just give him a damn kiss..

Art stretched out on the couch in the hotel room he'd rented because of a tournament being held here. It was Italy, sunshine, tons of different sights and of course an endless waste of his capital. The man chuckled, bowing his head as you appeared in the doorway, flaunting a several thousand dollar dress in front of him. Of course, anyone else would have been horrified, but Art just chuckled, seeing how well it fit you.

"Now I see where all my money goes." With a slight flick of his fingers, he beckoned you closer, smirking. "You're good. Gorgeous." Donaldson sat you on his lap, lightly placing his fingers on your waist, holding you in place. He let out a satisfied hum and buried his face in your chest, practically begging you to run your fingers through his hair. "Is that the perfume from France I ordered for our anniversary?" Squinting slightly he lifted his head, looking up at you from the bottom of his head.