#Babymachine (Baby Crazy 1)

The way he called me “baby girl” and “sweetheart” made my heart flutter.

And the big man was tempted definitely. He looked me up and down, eyes caressing my breasts, sliding to the vee between my thighs.

Take me, I silently begged, legs spreading on their own once more, everything going hot. Please, yes.

What was he waiting for?

I was ready and willing, wasn’t that obvious?

But this wasn’t the time because with a sudden movement, he turned and quickly started to pack up my books, shoving them into my bag.

What? What was wrong? Didn’t Mason want me anymore?

I scrambled off the chair and grabbed my skirt because it was the closest thing. Hands trembling with rejection, my legs slid through the opening. But when I went to pick up my panties off the floor, Mr. Carlton beat me to it. The billionaire scooped the lace into one big hand, lifting them to his nose before licking the crotch.

Holy fuck.

Do alphas do that?

Was this a scene from some porn flick?

I gasped, eyes goggling.

But Mason wasn’t bothered at all. He grinned, shooting a sly smile my way.

“Tastes sweet, baby girl. Real sweet. I think I’ll keep these. Until next time, little girl.”

Next time? My heart thumped with a mixture of joy and shock. He wanted a next time with me? What the hell? What the hell?

Oh god, yes.

The billionaire grinned knowingly then.

“Let’s say tomorrow. Same time and place?” he quirked an eyebrow, like I had a choice. “Right now, a car is waiting downstairs to take you home. So scoot, sweet thing. Don’t make them wait.”

And like a dazed angel, I left, floating on clouds, my feet moving of their own accord.

Because what just happened?

Oh my god, was that really me?

The slutty girl?

It all took place over an hour ago, and yet I was still quivering.

But this was no dream. In a daze, I stumbled to the couch and pulled out Mr. Carlton’s check from my skirt pocket.

Three thousand dollars.

I’d never seen that much money before. The check so light in my hand, ephemeral really. How could this represent three thousand dollars? My fingers traced over the pricey, cream colored paper. Even Mason’s signature looked expensive, precise and elegant.

Was this real? I mean yes, of course, the check was real.

But more importantly, did that really happen? And was I going in for seconds tomorrow?

Because Mason Carlton can get any woman he wants. Virgin or not. All he has to do is crook a finger and smile, ladies swoon in an instant. So why me?

My hands trembled and the check fluttered between my fingers like some kind of trapped bird. Was I a whore now? Did whores like what they did? Maybe secretly, deep inside?

Thoughts swirled through my brain, a haze of colors that were beautiful, yet made no sense.

Because why would the billionaire want someone like me?

Why would he crave my curvy body, and ask me back again?

Surely, it wasn’t to learn about virginity.

That made no sense.

And yet … it hadn’t felt wrong. Not in my heart of hearts.

Yes, Mason gave me money. But with him, the contact was like electricity humming through my entire body. I felt alive and sexy with the billionaire, every cell on fire. I didn’t think it was possible. Not with the way I was raised.

Suddenly, the past crashed into my thoughts like a cannonball going through a brick wall. Oh god, my past. My body slumped into the sofa, the jolt of adrenaline gone.

Because my father would think I was crazy for doing any of this. He raised me to be chaste and pure, all a part of his evangelical upbringing.

He would hate me now, for sure, because my mom ran off with another man when I was a baby and left him broken hearted and angry. And as a result, I was supposed to know nothing about sex. Nothing. Nada. When sex ed class rolled around in junior high, I was excused per my father’s demands. George White wanted nothing of the kind for his daughter.

So everything I found out about sex, I learned from reading romance novels, as silly as that sounds. Yes, from Fabio and my imagination, maybe with a bit of porn thrown in. My father didn’t want anything to do with teaching me the facts of life. George probably figured I’d be just like mom and run off with the first big dick that could satisfy me. That’s what he said anyway on one of those drunken nights when he sobbed out mom’s name while clutching a cheap bottle of booze, slumped on our living room couch.

But there is a god. Because when I was eighteen and about to graduate from high school, my father found a woman who rocked his world. And with Lynne, George turned into a different guy overnight.

Adventurous. Happy. Understanding. Off the bottle.