Hot Sugar

“Mason!” comes her helpless cry. “Mason!”

But oh shit. I’ve already pushed things too far. So popping my fingers out, I lean down to lap quickly between her legs, cleaning up the extra spill. And then with firm hands, I drag that velvet material down, covering her rump before giving it a friendly smack.

“That’s right sweet thing. That’s how I roll. Now you ready? You ready to make an entrance?”

Because we’ve pulled up in front of the venue, and a bellhop’s already approaching, one white-gloved hand outstretched for the door.

The brunette bolts upright, smoothing her hair down futilely.

“Oh god,” she whispers, caramel eyes still swooning a little. “Oh god, I’m not ready.”

But I still her frantic hands with my own, leaning in for a kiss on those pouty lips.

“You’re ready,” I growl, looking her deep in the eyes. “You’re perfect sweetheart, now let’s go.”

And with that, the door opens, a shaft of light illuminating the depths within.

I help her out, the curvy girl leaning unsteadily against my arm, teetering a bit in those high heels. But I like it. It makes me feel protective, like the defender of a tiny baby doe. And together, we walk into the banquet hall, the porcelain white expanse of her neck, throat and legs contrasting with the lush black velvet.

As we enter, the crowd literally goes silent. Oh yeah, people turn to look, every eye on that beautiful figure. Because she’s gorgeous hands down, and it ain’t often there’s someone like this at a professional function. Carrie’s a fresh breath of air compared to the scheming, aging cougars in the ballroom.

Suddenly a voice booms across the room.

“Mason!”

I turn. Aw shit. Because it’s not a man, it’s not my buddy Jason or Tucker. It’s Kathy Cargrove, the head of our marketing department. Like a tank, she trundles over, square form large and in charge, hair scraped back into a painful bun. Shit. Shit shit shit. There are two assistants trailing in her wake, scribbling into notebooks.

But this isn’t the time to be rude.

“Hello Kathy,” comes my deep rumble. “How’s it goin’?”

The bulldog skids to a stop in front of us, her brow beetling. But her words are professional.

“Mr. Channing, it’s great you could make it. You know, your busy schedule and all that.”

I nod silently, covering Carrie’s hand with my own.

“That’s right, but tonight’s special. I think we’ll be honoring John Langlow for his contribution to the profession,” I say smoothly. “Can’t miss that.”

And Carrie covers my hand with her free one, stroking me gently. A shiver runs through my spine and my head jerks in her direction. But no one can see. Our hands are hidden by the angle of our bodies, and she smiles at Kathy then.

“Hi, I’m Carrie Newman,” comes that dulcet voice. “Nice to meet you.”

Immediately, I step in.

“This is my girlfriend, Kathy,” I say in a deep voice. “Kathy, Carrie. Carrie, Kathy.” Oh shit, oh shit! I hadn’t meant to introduce the beautiful brunette that way, but what’s done is done. And besides, it sounds right. Carrie turns shocked eyes to me for a moment before turning back to Kathy and smiling sweetly.

“So nice to meet you Kathy,” she murmurs once more. “Did you do the marketing for this event? It’s fabulous,” she compliments.

And to my surprise, the conversation goes off without a hitch. Kathy and her minions are perfectly courteous, and Carrie answers each question with grace and elegance.

“Thank you,” she murmurs when the ladies compliment her dress. “I know Mason likes it,” the brunette laughs slightly, shooting a naughty look my way.

And I’m thunderstruck. Never have I been immobilized by one sweet thing, the look in her brown eyes, the way she teases and flirts openly with me. Usually, I can’t stand to be around women I date. They want to own me, constantly running long fingernails up and down my sleeve, one female even pinching my butt in public. Yeah, that didn’t go down so well.

But with Carrie, it’s different. It feels good being at her side, announcing to the world that we’re together. It feels incredibly right, and after Kathy leaves, I pull the brunette close.

“You were amazing,” is my whisper in her ear, tongue snaking out for a quick stroke along a soft earlobe. “Absolutely amazing.”

Carrie giggles and swipes at my arm, which had been crawling towards her round rump of its own accord.

“Stop that Mason,” she whispers. “We’re with your co-workers. Let’s talk later,” she promises, a sparkle in those eyes. And then we’re accosted by another group of people, eager to make our acquaintance.

Because the girl is entrancing. Every eye follows that curvy figure as she smiles and chitchats. Carrie is friendly and open, not at all intimidated by industry regulars three decades her senior. And me? I’m like a fucking lap dog, following in the girl’s wake, trailing while staring worshipfully at that beautiful figure. It’s like I’m an appendage, nothing more.