After four rounds being practically destroyed roughly by Abby's strap, you are lying over her bare figure, your head on chest, listening to her heartbeat as your cheek pressed against her breast. You're just feeling her warmth, imagining all of this between you is real. At least for the glimpse of a moment, everything you have is real for you and you let your fantasy sink in as you close your eyes and focus on the soft beats of her billion dollar heart.

Her soft yet firm embrace feels so good, you can't help but love the sensation of her heavy and strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you feel like a princess, her girlfriend, her everything, her wife.

But there's a problem, a nagging thought at the back of your mind that, as always, comes back again to bother your tranquility and enjoyment of this quiet moment; she isn't your girlfriend, she is your sugar mommy. Nothing else. Just money, showing you off.

"I love you." You say out of nowhere, not really measuring your words. You always did, after all.

You got used to telling her that, just to act like a couple in front of other people. But it became eventually harder and harder not to mean it. Every declaration of love drew a casual chuckle from Abby's throat, as if your feelings weren't real, as if it was just a sweet joke you always made.

"Do you? You want a new bag or something, babe?" She replies playfully with a soft smile as she carded her big hand through your hair, not believing your words. She'd give you anything you wanted but didn't actually think you were with her for something else than the life and the money she offered you, so she suspected it was just to sweeten her up, to make her feel more loved.

Oh how wrong she was.