Hot Sugar

So yeah, my body’s already on high, pulling my clothes on with shaking fingers. The suit fits me perfectly and I stare in the mirror. An animal stares back. Fuck yeah, that little girl has it coming.

And grabbing my cell, I’m out the door to her place. It’s a little weird. Normally, sugar babies meet in hotels, they don’t tell you where they really live. But Carrie gave me her address, and the Bentley hums steadily on the road, bumping a little on the pitted pavement.

Because Carrie lives way the hell out here, and my car doesn’t usually come to these parts. The Bronx is like a wasteland compared to Manhattan with dilapidated buildings and gritty street corners everywhere. There are men hanging out with nothing to do, staring at every car that passes by with hooded eyes. Fuck. I shouldn’t have taken this car. It flies by silently, purring like a woman too good for this place.

And that describes Carrie as well. She’s too good for this neighborhood. Despite the fact that we only just met, I want to move her out of here. It’s my right as a patron. After all, why not? I can afford it, and shit, but this ride is long. I want access, total access, to that sweet body. I want to spoil her with luxury, because unlike most people, she’ll appreciate it from the bottom of her heart. Not any fake smiles and simpers, eyes already scheming for more. But the genuine thing, a sense of graciousness and elegance.

We roll to a stop in front of her building, and the door opens before we’re even parked. Oh shit, the female looks amazing. Seriously, drop dead gorgeous. Carrie’s got on a black dress that hugs her curves, keeping them snug and tight. Her nails and toe nails are painted a pale pink, and those pretty feet are arched in a high pair of black stiletto sandals.

“You look amazing, sweetheart,” the words fall out of my mouth before I can catch myself. I rarely use terms of endearment but there’s something about the sweet teen that just makes me throw all of my rules by the wayside.

“Thank you,” she hums, standing on the curb, swaying a little before my eyes. Or maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe I’m so fucking hungry that she’s literally shimmering a little, like a vision from the gods.

But I’m no god. I’m a man. And immediately, my palms go to her neck, pulling that beautiful face to mine to taste those sweet lips. It’s been too long, and the second our lips meet, I know she was worth the wait. The brunette melts into my touch, mewling a bit. My hands curve around that big ass, squeezing the heft.

“Stop Mason!” she squeals, backing up one step. “Everyone can see.”

But do I stop when girls ask? Hell no. In an instant, I’m on her again, teasing that juicy body with my own.

“You like it sweetheart,” I rasp into her ear, gyrating my hips against hers. “You feel that honey?”

And the girl can’t resist. Because with a sigh and moan, she melts completely then, right there on the sidewalk.

“Yes, Mason,” is her breathless gasp. “Yes, yes.”

But this isn’t the time. I don’t want to have public sex with the beautiful brunette, not now at least. So instead, I push once more into her softness, those caramel eyes going wide, before opening the door.

“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

And swooning a little, Carrie folds that luscious body into the backseat. Of course, as soon as I make an entrance, the partition goes up, providing us with perfect privacy.

“Sweetheart,” I rumble, taking her hand and stroking the palm with my thumb. Even that caress makes her gasp a bit, pupils going wide. “You know Alberto can’t hear us. No one can see us either, these windows are tinted.”

Those perfect lips open slightly.

“Not at all?” she whispers.

“Not at all,” I confirm. And I’m tempted to whip out my dick. I’m tempted to let the stiffie out into the open, to see how that lipstick looks smeared on my pole. But no. This isn’t the right time. We’ve gotta show up to a business function, and there’s no telling what I’ll do if she gets naked. We might never arrive, period.

Instead, I lean back into the luxurious beige leather.

“So what’s been going on?” comes my drawl. “How’s it going?”

I expect the girl to prattle off about something or other, the details of her life. All women are like this, going off on mani-pedis, the stupid spats they get into with their friends. But instead, she raises big brown eyes to me, open and trusting.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you,” she whispers.

My heart starts thudding. Really? Oh shit, she’s got me by the short and hairies, every nerve attuned to this girl. But I don’t let on. Instead, leaning back, my big frame exudes ease.