Hot Sugar

My breath comes fast. “I have school,” is my quiet murmur.

The billionaire’s eyes lift.

“School?” he quips.

“I’m in college.” My mouth is dry and I reach for my glass of water, sipping slowly.

“Of course, sweetheart. I forgot you’re different from all the rest. The other girls were professional shoppers, hell, users almost. So college. Classes. That’s fine. Send me your schedule and I’ll work around it,” he answers. “Though I admit, it’s been a long time since I worked around someone else’s timeline.”

“I appreciate it,” is my quiet reply. “But what do you expect from me?” I press once more, eyes fixed on his, soft and pleading.

Those blue eyes gaze back, calm and unperturbed.

“What do you mean honey? I just made clear the terms. You’re available to me all the time, whenever I want. Of course, with your schooling taken into account. And you’ll get the allowance we spoke of, a wardrobe, and groceries. Is there something else?” he asks wryly, eyebrow raised. “That’s a lot honey, you’ll be set up good.”

I nod helplessly, biting my lip. How do I ask this?

“Umm, but do you want ….” I pause, trying to find a way to ask him about sex even as my brain’s exploding.

“What’s up, sweetheart? Just ask,” he says smoothly again, taking another bite of salad.

“Do you want… ummm… sex?” I blurt out, and Mason looks at me, really surprised for once.

And then in a flash, it happens again. His hand is beneath the table, but this time, his fingers aren’t stroking lightly at my folds. Instead, the billionaire’s ruthless. With sharp fingers, he pinches my clit, hard, making me squeal and jolt, eyes wide, boobies heaving.

“Yes, baby. I want all of this,” comes that possessive rasp. “This belongs to me, every single part.”

At that moment, the waiter opens the door again, clearing the plates before serving big, juicy hunks of steak. Why does he always show up at the worst times? But my mouth waters from the heavenly aroma of the food, even as my cunt gushes its own liquid down below.

And finally, the waiter’s gone, leaving us on our own again. Mason cuts into his meat, like nothing strange has happened.

“So what do you think?” the man asks casually, chewing on his rare steak. “Shit, this stuff is good. Fantastic as always.”

“Think about what?” I ask, dazed and confused, lost to the seduction.

“Do you want to be my sugar baby, Carrie?” he asks, holding a triangle of beef on his fork, just inches from that commanding mouth. “Are you up to it?”

My mind trembles and shakes, struggling with the reality of the situation. Because the billionaire’s asking me to be his plaything, a girl available for sex at the drop of a hat. I have to be willing and eager, cunt juicy, boobs ripe, ready to bend over and take it whenever he calls.

This is wrong. This is an offense to feminism, and I should storm out, huffing and puffing righteously.

But instead, I feel the opposite. This man has lit a fire in my body, something that flickers with brightly burning flames deep in my pelvis. I should be offended, I know. But instead I just want it. Even the money and groceries aside, the clothes and jewelry, I want it. I want to get to know this man, this mysterious and charismatic stranger who has me tied around his finger already.

But he doesn’t know it yet. Because with a jolt, I realize that Mason looks casual, but he’s actually watching me intensely awaiting my response. The alpha’s alert, attuned to me, his breath coming fast even as outwardly, he looks relaxed.

And I smile then, warm like a springtime rain.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” come my soft words. “I’m ready.”

The big man’s still for a moment, merely looking at me. But then he smiles as well, that grin bright white against his tanned skin.

“Good,” he rumbles deep in his throat. “I would’ve been disappointed if you said no.”

I blush.

“I wasn’t going to say no, Mr. Channing,” are my words. “I promise.”

And he shoots another hot gaze my way. But then it sizzles and dies down, everything returning to a strange kind of normal.

“Enjoying your food, baby girl?” he asks, eyeing my steak. “You’ve barely touched it yet.”

“Oh I will,” I rush quickly. “I will, I love to eat.”

Mason nods approvingly.

“But I have to ask,” I say quickly again. “I know, I know, so many questions. But I have to ask … should I get on birth control? Or will – will you be using a condom?”

Oh my god. This is so embarrassing, my face going bright red, the flush spreading all the way to my toes. But I have to ask, right? This is important stuff, a key part of the deal. I can’t just ignore it.

Mason’s white smile shows itself again, his eyes hot.