#Babymachine (Baby Crazy 1)

And Mason was desperate as well. His ball sack bounced against the back of my thighs as the big man crouched over my small form, breathing against my neck.

“Shit,” he rasped. “Shit, I need you so bad, Beth. Fuck fuck fuck.”

We burst almost immediately. I don’t know what was going on, but the hunger was so deep and urgent that within a few seconds, my pussy was pulsing madly, milking that fuckrod within.

“Unnnh!” I cried, spasming beneath him, body going wild. “Unnh, unnh!”

And Mason just shoved further until that dick practically knocked out my teeth.

“FUCK!” he roared, man milk spurting hotly into my pussy cavern. “Fuck, what you do to me Beth!”

But that’s the question. Because what we do to each other is incredible. The billionaire and I can’t get enough of one another, and tasting each other non-stop only makes the fire burn brighter. So whatever he wants, I give. And wherever he’d been to make him horny as hell was fine by me. Because I loved it all, savoring the deep drill, bumping my hips back and forth, begging for more.

So yeah, here I am now in the laundry room, shivering deliciously from the memory of last night. Like a sap, I pulled out a couple of his t-shirts from the dryer, holding the soft fabric to my nose. They smelled so clean and fresh, yet there was the strong tang of man. That unmistakable woodsy scent made shivers run down my spine, body going soft all over again.

Was I a lunatic? Absolutely.

A dreamer lost in the clouds? Right on.

But the thing is I felt like a real girlfriend now. Although we’ve never had “the talk,” I was here practically every night, letting myself in with a key, punching in the building’s confidential access codes. And it was sweet, really. Dinner was ready on the table when he came home. And when Mason wasn’t here, I made myself comfortable doing homework, experimenting in the kitchen, or sometimes just daydreaming about the alpha male. It’s the good life for sure, living in the lap of luxury.

What did I do to deserve this?

I’ve never been so happy before, ready to float off into Heaven.

Should I pinch myself to make sure it’s real?

But the thing is, I think he really cares about me too. Although Mason never says anything about “love” or “relationships,” the way he touches me makes me think it’s real. His hands and his looks make my heart beat fast, almost pounding right out of my chest sometimes. And it’s been going on for a while now. This isn’t just some flash in the pan, it’s gotta be the genuine thing.

Yes, he loves me. I’m pretty sure of it at least.

After all, why would Mason let me hang out all day and all night if he wasn’t in love?

He could get anyone, but I’m the lucky girl.

And the thought made me flush happily. Because somehow I’ve struck a vein of gold, and the ecstasy is overwhelming, making me light up from within. I love him, and he loves me. I know it.

Really, I’m the luckiest girl in New York. Maybe even the world.

Smiling like a crazy person, I grabbed Mason’s folded shirts and underwear and hugged them, nearly undoing all my careful work from five minutes ago. And then dancing, I waltzed into the bedroom and into the ginormous walk-in closet.

Yes, a walk-in closet here in NYC, where apartments go for three thousand per square foot. It’s carpeted with three full-length mirrors, tons of storage space and even a small divan, in case you want to take a seat.

And the most amazing thing is that it’s filled. When I started dating the billionaire, I didn’t have much, and the things I did have were shabby and raggedy-looking, hanging limply on the rail. But the CEO took one look at that stuff and ordered me to the shops. To the finest boutiques to buy an entire wardrobe.

Initially, I couldn’t.

“No,” I protested feebly. “It’s too much. I don’t need an evening gown, much less two.”

But the billionaire looked up sharply from the report he was reading.

“You need it,” came that deep growl, blue eyes running up and down my frame hotly. “You need it, even if it’s so I can rip it off that sweet bod later.”

And I had to laugh at that one, even as my pussy gushed hotly. Because Mason bought me a closet full of designer clothes, enough to last a lifetime. What man would do that if he wasn’t in love? What man would spend thousands of dollars on women’s lingerie, women’s evening wear, day clothes, swimsuits, you name it, if he wasn’t thinking long-term?

Sashaying to the dresser, I pulled open the top drawer, placing his underwear inside. Lightly giggling, a smile ran over my face. Those boxers were loose for a reason, and it was my man’s dong. Imagining him in tighty-whities was crazy, he probably couldn’t even get that massive firehose to fit.