#Babymachine (Baby Crazy 1)

He’d used my body, nothing more.

I was just another sleazy whore, legs spread, pussy open as other men watched.

And then the worst part came. The voice in my head whispered, devilishly insistent. But you got paid, didn’t you? it hissed. You got your money, just like you bargained for.

The sobs came harder. Yes, I got paid by Mason that first afternoon in his office. Three G’s. It was so much cash that I would have done anything back then.

But I didn’t know it’d be like this! screamed my brain in protest. This wasn’t part of the bargain!

And the tears just came harder as we resumed running. But the situation was overwhelming. Shame made me gag. And even while running, vomit rushed up in my throat, tasting like garbage. I dropped to my knees then and threw up in the dried leaves, heaving and crying, a slobbery mess.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Mason growled, expression agonized. The big man tried to pull me to my feet but I jerked back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Don’t cry. Easy for him to say when I was the one with my soul torn, life shattered into pieces.

But there was nowhere to go but Mason’s apartment for the moment. The billionaire’s penthouse was right on the edge of the park, so with heavy feet, I stumbled behind him into the lobby, hunched down into my jacket.

The doorman saw, but he didn’t ask. Highly paid professionals never inquire, and the man merely nodded, face impassive, greeting Mason with a courteous, “Good evening, sir.”

And finally, we were in the apartment, elevator doors whooshing open to reveal the luxury within. But I couldn’t see it. I didn’t care, not anymore. Neither the expensive furnishings nor extraordinary view made a difference, not when I was hurting like this.

My form dropped limply onto the couch, hunched over like a homeless person. Shivering, I pulled my bag against my stomach like it could protect me somehow.

But it was too late for that.

The damage was done.

I was a fool, an utter fool.

Mason’s deep growl interrupted my train of thought.

“Here. For the cold.”

A thick shearling jacket settled around my shoulders, the scent a mix of clean lambswool and virile male musk. I gripped it with desperate fingers, pulling the material tight. Because even now, the aroma soothed me, spicy and aromatic, filling my nostrils. Tears spurted in my eyes once more, unbidden. Why was this happening? Pain tore through my stomach like vicious claws.

It’s just a jacket! Screamed my brain. Get over it!

That’s right. The gesture didn’t mean a damn thing. Not love. Not even common decency.

Mr. Carlton just felt sorry for me after that encounter with Jonas.

Nothing more.

I sniffled and squeezed my eyes shut before looking around the room. Memories of this place flooded my mind. Memories that were all lies now. Mason and I, rolling around on the couch. Me, head over heels, letting him touch where he wanted. Screaming even, as he made me a woman.

But it was all lies.

How many girls were there, just like me?

Shrieking his name, only to be logged in the fuck book later?

I gagged again, remembering all the entries I’d seen. They probably thought they were special too. But they weren’t. Just like I wasn’t.

I was idiot to think somebody like Mason, a gorgeous billionaire with oodles of money, would be interested. Girls probably threw themselves at him every day, baring their boobies and offering their all.

I was a dunce.

A man like this would never be interested in a curvy girl. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Suddenly my reverie was interrupted.

“Drink this, babe.” Mason’s big body loomed up above, arm outstretched with a glass of water. Then he sat, but the man had the sense to keep a few feet of space between us. Good. I wanted him wary. I wanted him to suffer, after what I’d been through.

But it didn’t work because I’m not that kind of person. Staring at the glass, I only remembered the cozy, homey details. How he liked mint in his water. Preferred turkey in his ground meat at home and steak when he went out. Wanted the unscented dryer sheets instead of the flowery kind. But this was the stupid shit that got me in trouble to begin with. Because I knew all these meaningless details, but nothing real. It was just a bunch of trivia that created the impression of knowing someone.

I sobbed even harder then, keening a bit, rocking back and forth on the couch. Snot slid down the back of my throat. Tears gushed down my face. Mason stared at my form, agonized.

“Are you okay?” were his hoarse words. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Did he really just ask me…?

Are you fucking shitting me?

I was just assaulted!

He showed my naked pics to a dozen of his best buddies!