Hot Sugar

Suddenly, I’m overcome with nerves again, looking down into my lap, hands twisting. Oh god, oh god. In the snapshots, I had a big smile and big boobs, you could see my waist and some of my thighs. But some of it was obscured by the weird angle, and now, it’s really all here in the open. Mr. Channing can see me, no filters, no nothing, every inch squeezed into this tiny black dress.

There’s silence for a moment, the air quivering. I look down once more, almost afraid to meet his eyes. But when it happens, the oxygen whooshes out of my lungs, everything disappearing except for this man in front of me.

Because Mr. Channing’s looking at me like he’s never seen someone more gorgeous. Desirable. Sexy. All those things rolled up into one with a cherry on top.

I gasp, our gazes locked.

Is it possible?

Does the alpha male really think that I’m beautiful, me with the big curves and generous ass? Me, who’s never attracted a man in her life?

But it’s the only way to explain that look.

His gaze sizzles over my breasts, playing over my waist and making me tingle down below. Oh god, oh god, my cunt gushes wetly again, and this time I know he can smell it.

Those patrician nostrils flare subtly once more, blue eyes gleaming bright. And to my surprise, something happens then, so shocking and yet so tantalizing, that I almost leap out of my seat.

Because the big man’s hand gently touches my knee under the table, before sliding up my thigh, caressing the creamy length.

“Ohhhh,” I murmur, our gazes locked, brown melting into blue. “Ohhh.”

And Mr. Channing doesn’t stop there. Slowly, so slowly, that big hand keeps moving upwards, closer and closer to my heat until he’s there. That’s right, during our first meeting after we’ve barely just sat down, this man is already stroking my cunt, making me feel good.

“Ohhh,” I breathe again, still as a doe, breasts heaving. “Ooooh.”

Because it’s good, it’s really, really good. My insides feel like they’re liquefying, pussy so hot and swollen. And his fingers are knowing. One big digit strokes along my nether lips, toying with the soft flesh before reaching between to lightly tap my clit.

“Ahhh!” I gasp, brown eyes wide, still staring. Mr. Channing’s never looked away from me. It’s like I’m being controlled by that mesmerizing gaze. And it’s true. I am being controlled. I love this, and shamefully, my thighs inch wider on their own, pussy gushing freely now.

He growls hungrily, rubbing my nub as I mewl desperately, writhing in my seat.

“I knew you’d be responsive,” he rumbles, eyes hot. “I knew you’d be responsive as hell.”

And just as I’m about to burst, the door opens and the waiter bustles in, a heavy silver serving platter in his hand. Oh my god, oh my god! Mr. Channing’s fingers are buried in my cunt right now, right under the sharp white table cloth. Can the server tell? Can he tell that we were doing the nasty, right here in this small room?

But if the waiter can tell, he gives no notice. Instead, the man puts down the silver serving platter and begins to split the wedge salad, knife crunching audibly through crisp iceberg lettuce.

“Here you go,” he says formally, sliding small plates towards myself and the billionaire. “Enjoy,” comes his murmur as he backs out of the room.

And this entire time, Mr. Channing hasn’t stopped stroking me. Oh sure, his wrist is still, but those fingers are clever, toying with my nub, making me tremble so hard in my seat I was afraid I’d burst. I was afraid I’d explode into a million pieces, spasming furiously with his hand in my cunt, right there in front of the waiter.

But now that we’re alone once more, the billionaire pulls his hand from my pussy, lifting the fingers to those sensuous lips. And as I watch, amazed, he slowly licks each one, enjoying the nectar coating his digits.

“You taste good,” is that low murmur. “Real good. Better than any steak we’ll be having tonight.”

I gasp again, unable to believe what I’m hearing. Is a man really sampling my pussy juices right now, enjoying the ambrosia between my legs? Is this really happening?

But before I can say anything, Mr. Channing moves again. In a flash, that hand is beneath the table once more, gathering another load of honey from between my legs before reappearing. But this time, he wants me to taste, placing those fingers against my lips. What in the world? What’s going on?

But obediently, I suck. I can’t help it. Everything’s zooming by so fast, a whirlwind of new experiences and sensations. So there’s a hot alpha touching my pussy and licking my cream. And now he wants me to taste my own nectar as well? With a sigh, I open my mouth and suck, our gazes still locked, my body gushing heavily down below.