Hot Sugar

She sighs again.

“Trust me, Mason. It’s fine. Queens is a really nice borough. There are a lot of bungalows, and Forest Hills is really diverse too. I think Nicole would like it. There’s lots of low-rises, plenty of sunshine, and plenty of friendly folks. My sister needs the stability after all this chaos.”

“Plus,” the girl adds in a small voice. “I can’t afford too much more.”

I can’t even believe she’s thinking about money after what happened last night. The woman should just relax and reflect, but instead, Carrie’s in survival mode still. And I have to admire her for it. My girl is alert with a can-do attitude, she’s going to take things into her own hands. Most females would be crying until I agreed to fix everything, whining and wailing to the heavens.

But still.

Queens?

There’s a fucking river between me and Queens.

No way in hell.

I need the girl with me.

So I growl.

“I get it, baby, I really do. But you’re not moving to Queens,” is my flat statement.

The brunette gets sassy then.

“Mason, Queens is nice,” she protests. “There’s air and light and …”

I cut her off.

“Let me have my realtor show you some places,” is my growl. “Trust me, I have a really great broker.”

Carrie laughs breathlessly for a moment.

“Mason, I don’t think your realtor can find any places in my budget.”

My head shakes. Does the girl still not know me? Does she still think that I’m going to let her stay in some shithole forty minutes away because of money?

“You’re not paying for your place,” is my definitive statement. “I am.”

And there’s a long pause on the other end of the phone. I can hear her breathing deeply, collecting her thoughts.

“Mason, that’s very generous,” she says before pausing again.

“But?” I anticipate the second half of her statement.

“But this isn’t in the contract,” she says firmly. “You don’t have to do this. We decided it was going to be a social contract, that I’d go out with you, spend time with you, even sleep in your bed. You don’t have to pay for my housing.”

That’s where she has it wrong.

“No baby, I do,” are my silky words. “I need you in my bed, and the sooner the better. If you’re coming in through the Midtown Tunnel, that’s too long. I need easy access to that pussy, sweetheart. 24/7. So we’ll be meeting with my broker,” are my flat words.

“But Mason,” she whispers again, slightly breathless. That’s right, sweetheart. I need that pussy and ass bad, and ain’t nothing gonna stand in my way.

“No,” is my flat statement. “Don’t argue.”

And for once, Carrie gives up. I can see it already. That little chin stuck out, lips trembling. But final is final.

“Okay,” she says softly. “And thank you.”

I grunt.

“You know exactly how to thank me, honey. Later. But for now, let’s look at some apartments.”

I can imagine the blush in her cheeks, how that pussy’s already starting to cream.

“I will thank you,” she almost purrs into the phone. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Aw shit. Those words have my dick standing on end, desperate to be in her again. But shit, shit, shit! I’m at work. The urge to rub one out, right here in my office is strong. I want to get her on a Skype call and do some serious video sex, my stiffie needs it that bad.

But she purrs again.

“Later tonight, big guy,” is her dulcet promise. “You’ll like it.”

And fuck, but it only makes things worse. Because my dick jerks, a wet spot appearing at my crotch, growing larger with every second. Fuck fuck fuck! I’m gonna have to change, this is so fucking obscene.

And I’m just about to tell her to strip down and show me that pussy over the computer when suddenly a loud bang sounds from her side.

“Don’t slam the door, Nicole,” is Carrie’s exasperated sigh. Again, my girl’s ability to go from innocent to whore is amazing. Because right now, she sounds like a bossy mom, complete with annoyed scowl. My erection fades like some, but that’s the least of my worries.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, eyebrow arched.

The brunette sighs again.

“Nicole wanted to go back and get some clothes, although I told her not to,” she says the last part louder, obviously wanting her sister to hear.

Oh shit. Oh shit shit.

“Did they hurt her?” I spit the words through my clenched teeth, my hand balling into a fist.

“No,” says Carrie flatly. “Rhonda and Jim are sober now, lucid once more. But they sold Nicole’s new clothes for money,” she says in a frigid voice. “They’re heartless, selling their little girl’s things. Nicole, I’ll buy it for you again, it’s not that big of a deal.” She speaks softly to her sister as a mother would.

And suddenly, resolve fills my big frame. I stand, looming tall in the office.