Hot Sugar
“Birth control for sure, baby,” is that smooth growl. “You’ll need it honey, because I don’t do condoms. I don’t do that latex shit, it’s disgusting. I need to feel my girl real and juicy, surrounding me on all sides. And sweetheart, now that I’ve already touched you down there, you can bet there’s not gonna be a condom.”
My body temp rockets then, straight to a million degrees. Because the thought of unprotected sex with this man? Yes. Absolutely yes. I want it, and everything goes loose and wild inside, hotly wet and running. I stare mutely at him, my brown eyes round and slightly dazed, that blue gaze controlling and totally in charge.
But then he laughs again, a deep growl that makes my toes curl.
“Eat up, sweetheart. I like to see my girls finish their meals, and hon, those curves aren’t gonna stay curvy if you don’t get your calories.”
My hands spring into motion then, knocking me out of my daze. Because of course I’m going to eat. One, food loves me and I’ve always loved food right back, it’s been an affair to remember since I was young. And second, this is the best meal I’ve ever had. Steak that’s fifty dollars a plate. Creamed spinach served in a silver saucer, and mac ‘n cheese that comes in small ramekins. With gusto, I dig in, appreciating the sustenance, letting flavors spill all over my tongue.
And when I look up, Mr. Channing’s staring at me again, eyes hot and hungry.
“What?” I whisper. “What is it?”
He’s silent for a moment, watching as my tongue circles my lips for an instant, flickering.
“Sweetheart,” comes that low rasp. “I’ve never seen someone as sexy as you. The way you devoured that …”
And a blush takes me again. What is it with my blushing? But it’s true, and when I look down, I’m a little embarrassed. Because I’ve demolished the meal, the steak gone, just juices left on my plate. And I didn’t eat one helping of creamed spinach, I devoured three, the remnants of a bit of green smeared on the china.
“Oh,” is my embarrassed gasp, fork and knife tumbling from limp fingers. “Oh.”
But Mason shakes his head slowly, eyes still feasting on my form.
“Sweetheart, you are a thing of sensuality, and if you can eat like that, I can’t wait for you to try a little sausage.”
I blink, confused. Sausage? What’s that? I mean, I know what it is, but where is this coming from? We didn’t order any, although there was some tasty Polish bratwurst on the menu. So what is he talking about?
The billionaire lets out a low chuckle again, heat flaring in those blue eyes.
“I forgot how innocent you are, only eighteen. Sweetheart, look at me. I mean sausage like this.”
And another gasp escapes me then. Because Mason pushes back from the table slightly and there’s a huge tent at his crotch. It’s not a small lump, this is a huge disturbance in the universe, a massive pole that’s barely contained by the straining material of his trousers. And to my delight, there’s a wet spot forming, right where his dick tip must be, the fabric going sodden.
“That’s right,” comes that harsh masculine rasp. “That’s what you do to me sweetheart. Just from seeing you eat. Can you imagine this monster when it’s deep inside? How good it’s gonna make you feel?”
And my nips pop out then, cunt gushing wildly. Because I need it. Money or no money, I need to be with this man, to feel his cock deep inside, stroking me where no one’s ever touched. I need to feel his hands on me, those lips on my sweetest spots, making me scream and ache, before flying over the horizon.
And suddenly, I can’t eat anymore. I need him too desperately.
“Please,” comes the strangled whisper from my throat. “Please Mason.”
The billionaire responds immediately. He’s up on his feet, pulling my arm to get me to mine.
“Let’s go,” comes that harsh growl, blue eyes blazing bright. “Let’s go sweet thing.”
And obediently, I follow him from the restaurant. Is it my imagination, or are people watching? Because Mason’s gorgeous, a huge, handsome man in a perfectly-cut black suit, enough to make every woman’s head turn, eyes hungry.
But this man is mine. For at least tonight. For a month, maybe. And even though I shouldn’t, I feel myself falling, tumbling and spinning, into the depths … and it’s already too late to stop.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mason
Aw shit, she’s beautiful. So tempting, curvy and lush. And only eighteen too. Who would have thought that Carrie would be better in person than on-line, a thousand times more magnificent?
Because I almost choked when the brunette walked into the private room at the restaurant. I dunno. With this on-line shit, you can’t put too much on anything, and I half-expected someone altogether different to waltz in. That’s right, I figured the pics on-line were a decoy to lure unsuspecting fish, and then boom! Some other girl would show up, nasty and ugly.