Yes, Rafe Cameron was older. Almost twice my age. But when I looked at him, all I saw was power, money, and that sharp kind of beauty that made people look twice. He wasn’t just attractive—he was dangerous. And I wanted to be the girl on his arm.

We met on Tinder. A few messages in, he was already direct. “I’m not looking for love. I want a sugar baby,” he’d said, and the honesty caught me off guard. But it excited me too. I liked the idea of someone older—someone who’d take care of me. Someone who wanted me enough to pay for the privilege.

That’s exactly what Rafe became. My sugar daddy.

And he didn’t hold back.

My rent? Paid—before I even saw the bill. Designer bags, silk sheets, dinners that cost more than my weekly budget—all mine. But in return, I gave him me. My attention, my time, my body. He wanted control, and I was okay with giving it. It wasn’t scary. It was… comforting. Predictable. Powerful in its own way.

There were rules, of course. I had to be available when he wanted me. I needed to ask before going out with anyone else. I sent photos, updated him about my day, and sometimes wore what he picked out just because it pleased him. And when I was good—when I played my part—he made me feel like the most valuable girl in the world.

Sex with Rafe was intense. Sometimes slow, almost reverent—like he was reminding himself I belonged to him. Other nights were rougher, messier. But it was never cold. Even when he used me, I felt… chosen. Desired. Important. That mattered more to me than I expected.

And honestly? I liked it. I liked the way he looked at me like I was something expensive. I liked knowing I had a place in his world, even if it wasn’t love. It was stability. Comfort in a strange, twisted way. Not perfect—but mine.

Still, sometimes, I noticed the cracks. How distant he could get. How everything was on his terms. When I crossed a line, even by accident, he didn’t yell—he just pulled away. No money. No messages. No attention. That stung more than anything. But I always earned my way back.

Because at the end of the day, I wasn’t just a girl in his bed. I was his sugar baby. And that meant something—more than I ever thought it would.