Hot Sugar

“No, it’s fine. Just wanted to be sure.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she says, trying to appear composed. “Plus one. Definitely.”

I roll my eyes discreetly. Because generally, these things are solo shindigs for me. But you know what? Carrie’s just the person to bring along. She’ll love the entertainment, dancing, probably even the rubber chicken dinner although it’s lukewarm and tough. I’ll bring her somewhere afterwards for a real meal, it’s no problem.

Standing, I grab my jacket.

“Rachel, I’m taking off. Anything else you need?” is my question, eyebrows raised.

My secretary knows better than to bring up a new issue.

“Of course not, Mr. Channing. Have a good evening,” she says, ducking her head as I stride to the elevator.

And goddamn, but everything reminds me of Carrie, even the lift. Because the last time I saw her, I breathed against that beautiful clit as she twisted helplessly in my arms. Oh shit, oh shit, she’s the only thing I think of now. That innocent expression, the voluptuous curves. I’m a maniac, all my thoughts filled with the female.

Plus, it’s been a long time since I was in pussy that tight. The thought makes me harden involuntarily. How often do you find that? A girl so sweet and innocent, yet taking dick like a pro, gripping like a vise as she creamed all over my shaft. Fuck. This isn’t gonna work. She’s not even here, and yet my fuckrod’s a piece of pure wood.

But I’ll see her soon enough. Sliding into my Bentley, that beautiful face reappears before my eyes. The big brown eyes, wide and honest. The sweet heave and fall of those giant breasts, the hips that swayed even when she was still.

Shit.

I was turning into a pushover for sure.

But there really is something different about the brunette. The innocence and sense of wonder. Most women on Sugar Babiez are overtly sexy, like they’re doing a bad impression of Jessica Rabbit. But Carrie wasn’t that. Oh she’s got the voluptuous figure sure, but she’s not one to wear down to there blouses and up to there skirts. The brunette’s modest, with a wide-eyed gaze and a sweet smile curving her lips.

That’s why it was okay to bring her on this business event. She looks normal, first of all, so it was professionally appropriate. And second, the girl’s smart, real smart. I could tell just from our brief conversation at dinner. Carrie’s both intelligent and articulate, curious about the world while tactful too. So yeah, it’d be fine to bring her. People would be charmed.

And arriving at my building, I took the stairs to my penthouse. Yeah, it’s thirty floors, but it keeps me in shape. Once at the top, I wasn’t even winded, my mind still drifting with images of Carrie’s luscious assets.

Striding into the master, I look around. Yep, there it is. There’s an outfit hanging by the door sent over by my personal shopper at Saks. It’s a black Tom Ford suit, with a black button down shirt. She’s added cufflinks and shoes, as well as a discreet pocket square. Good. I hate that flowery shit, less is more is my motto. And laying everything out on my bed, a grunt comes out of my throat.

Will Carrie like it?

Will she think I’m the master of the fucking universe?

Damn well she should.

I’ve just poured a short glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling, when a chime rings. Choosing to be lazy, I hit the button on the intercom at the back of the kitchen to unlock the door remotely, and in walks my hair stylist.

“Drink?” I grunt, raising the glass.

“Would you really let me cut your hair drunk?” Connie teases, and we both laugh as I take a sip before leading her into my bathroom.

Because yeah, I get my hair styled by a pro. Feminine? Maybe. But who gives a shit? I’ve got the moolah and the service providers come to me, helping me look my best. Besides, I want to put in the extra effort. Carrie’s gonna be there tonight, and she means more than all the other guests combined.

So after twenty minutes and another glass of whiskey, my hair is perfect. Connie leaves and I hop in the shower.

But it’s a bad idea because running the loofah over my muscles makes me think of Carrie again. The way her fingers scratched and clawed, pulling me towards her with every stroke. The brunette was an animal, but still so innocent and naïve. It was obvious she didn’t know what she was doing, gasping and panting while entrancing the fuck out of my senses.

My cock’s hard and heavy, and I stroke myself once before deciding to wait. Because shit, it’ll be unstoppable once I get her alone. It’s strange because I’m a horny dude, typically jerking off during every shower session. But now I want to save it. It’ll be incredible once my fuckpole’s up in that tiny cunt, walls squeezing me tight.