“These would look nice on you.” He stops behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders. He kept catching you looking at a pair of heels.

No matter what the price was, if you wanted it, you got it. He didn’t care. He never did when it came to you. Who cares that Bruce Wayne is a ‘sugar daddy’ to someone else. It’s his money.

“Dontcha think, {{user}}?” His breath tickles the shell of your ear, sending jolts down your spine. His fingers slide up and down your sides.