Hot Sugar

And with hesitant steps, I trip outside. An old man jumps out then, bowing.

“Miss Newman?” he asks with a friendly smile, like this isn’t weird at all. “I’m Milo your driver,” he says, opening the door courteously.

When’s the last time someone opened a door for me? Like never. So I ease inside, making sure to keep my legs as together as possible. Because I didn’t wear panties tonight. The telltale lines were too obvious standing before the mirror, so it’s commando, fresh and bare.

But Milo has no idea. He closes the door behind me, easing the car away from the curb and then we’re off.

I lean back on the plush leather seats, marveling at the luxury. The limo is amazing, a small vase of fresh flowers on the side, a bottle of champagne sweating in a cooler. But I’m not touching that stuff, not now, no way. I’m already amped up so high, adding alcohol would be a terrible idea.

So instead, I talk.

“Um, Milo?” I ask, trying to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Where are we going?”

He chuckles.

“Mr. Channing asked me to take you to Rare. Have you heard of it before? Best steak joint in the city.”

I gasp. It’s more than just the best steak joint. It’s fancy, real fancy, the President dined there the last time he was in town. So I nod, trying to catch my breath, my dress uncomfortably tight.

But Milo continues cheerily, totally oblivious.

“Mr. Channing is a VIP there,” he says merrily. “They love him, and the food is real good. You see, the chauffeurs dine in back,” he confides with a wink. “So while you’re eating steak, I’m getting my fill too.”

That makes sense. I heard that fancy restaurants and hotels sometimes have a back area where the help can dine. Otherwise, drivers and the like have no way to get food while their bosses are having a three-hour dinner.

So I nod again.

“Thanks,” I murmur. “Thanks so much,” I say, clutching my purse tight.

And the city whizzes by quickly, big buildings illuminated, the sidewalks slowly morphing from the saggy bodegas of my neighborhood to Fifth Avenue designer shops. I stare, heart pounding, but the voice in my head speaks again.

Calm, it soothes. You can do this, you can do this.

And I force myself to calm down. So AlphaCEO is rich. I knew that already. Any guy on the Sugar Babiez site has to be rich. So that’s nothing new, and I shouldn’t let it get to me.

The limo finally pulls up at the curb of Rare, and Milo rushes around to help me get out.

“Here you go,” he says merrily, bowing and gesturing to the front door. “It’s been a pleasure driving you!”

I almost want him to stay, but that’d do no good. So intead, I stare up at the awning, a red and green stripe with subtle gold woven throughout. The cold city wind ruffles my hair, even blowing slightly against the bareness of my thighs.

Calm, the voice says again. You can do this.

And straightening my shoulders, I walk into the restaurant.

“Hello,” I say in a calm tone. “Here for Mr. Channing?” Thank god Milo used AlphaCEO’s name in the car, otherwise I’d have to fumble rudely, looking around for someone who fit his description. And immediately, the hostess jumps to attention.

“Certainly,” she says, bowing her sleek brown head. “Mr. Channing is already here, let me show you to the table.”

I follow her, nervous on trembling legs. But I have to go through with this. I have to make this work.

And I’m led to a room in back, something that’s set apart from the main dining area.

“I’m sorry?” I ask dumbly, staring at the closed door. “Is this …?”

The hostess smiles again, gesturing with her hand.

“Yes, Mr. Channing asked for a reserved space. It’s only available for VIPs,” she confides, leaning forwards to open the door. “Now, please enjoy.”

And I step inside, knees shaking nervously. Because the time has come. I’m here to meet a man whose picture I haven’t seen. That’s right. Although potential “babies” are required to post their photos on the website, “daddies” don’t have to post theirs. So Mr. Channing could be a disgusting troll, two feet tall with warts, and I’d have to smile. I’d have to play nice, and pretend that I was charmed, attracted even.

But as the door closes, the man who gets up from the table takes my breath away. Because he’s gorgeous. At least six four, the alpha has broad shoulders tapering to a vee, with thick thighs and long, powerful arms. All this is accentuated by the perfectly-cut suit hanging from his frame.

“Carrie, it’s nice to meet you,” comes that male drawl, and I almost melt. Because his voice is dark honey, flowing over my soul, a sensuous frisson between my legs. And to my shame, my body begins to course. Just like that, fire ignites in my veins, heat gushing to my pussy.