Hot Sugar

“Hello,” I stammer, barely able to meet those penetrating blue eyes. “Hello, Mr. Channing.”

And he grins then, nostrils flaring. Oh god, can he smell the musky cunt aroma that’s rising between us? My flow is heavy, I know, and I curse myself for not wearing underwear. But the big man merely grins again, gesturing to me to take a seat.

“Make yourself comfortable,” comes that deep rumble. “Let’s get to know each other.”

And with that, I give in. Within two minutes of meeting this man, I already know the answer.

Yes, I want to be your sugar baby.

Yes, I want to know you.

Yes, take me, Mr. Channing, I’m yours.

Because this alpha male is the most commanding, charismatic and compelling man I’ve ever met … and I can’t wait for more.

CHAPTER FOUR

Carrie

I’m nervous, but try not to show it. Lowering myself into a chair, I sit across from the devastating billionaire, taking short, shallow breaths.

Calm down, soothes the voice in my head again. Calm down.

But how? The restaurant’s overwhelming, literally the nicest one I’ve ever been to. A private limo drove me here. And now, I’m alone with a gorgeous, dominating man in an elegantly appointed room, the restaurant staff waiting to do our bidding. How can I not be nervous?

But Mr. Channing is cool as a cucumber. Picking up a red, leather-bound menu, he glances at it perfunctorily.

“Pick whatever you like,” comes his smooth growl. “Anything at all.”

I can barely see the menu in my hands, the words blurring like ants marching in the distance. But I nod. There must be steak, right? This is a steak place, so there’s gotta be steak.

And when the waiter comes around, I nod.

“Just a small side of beef please,” I say in a small voice. “Not too much.”

Mason takes over then.

“What the lady’s saying is that she’ll have the petite prime rib,” he orders, smooth and firm. “Plus a side of creamed spinach, an iceberg wedge salad, and let’s get some mac n’ cheese to share. The mac n’ cheese is always good at steak joints,” he smiles.

I flush because in fact, I have no idea. I’ve never been to a place this fancy, nor would I have guessed that they served mac ‘n cheese. Who knew? You can get the best prime rib, but also a children’s classic if you want.

The waiter’s bowing and taking our menus.

“Certainly. Anything to drink for you and the lady?”

Mason contemplates the wine list before shooting me a sharp look.

“Naw, not now,” he says casually. “Maybe later.”

I nod, breathless. There’s something he wants to say.

And as soon as the waiter exits, door closed firmly, those penetrating blue eyes swing my way.

“Are you legal?” the CEO asks sharply. “Are you twenty-one yet?”

I bite my lip.

“I’m legal because I’m eighteen,” are my soft words. “But no, I’m not drinking age yet. I suppose I could imbibe with you here, they wouldn’t say anything,” I flush. “But no, I’m not twenty-one.”

Something flares in the man’s eyes then, hot and aroused, before disappearing. Mr. Channing cool as a cucumber once again.

“No worries,” comes that smooth rumble. “Maybe I’ll just get something for myself later.”

I nod, helplessly. What can I do? Lie about my age? But it was already on the website.

“So tell me,” Mr. Channing begins. “How did you find Sugar Babiez, sweetheart? There aren’t a lot of girls like you on-line.”

I blush.

“By accident,” I stammer. “Totally by accident. I was surfing when I was supposed to be doing homework,” I say helplessly, “and decided to join on a whim.”

That sounds lame even to my ears, and Mr. Channing’s eyebrows shoot up.

“So just like that, you decided to join?”

Oh god, oh god. How to explain this? But being truthful is the best way out. So slowly, I lay out my situation, trying to downplay the gory details.

“I need to help my family,” come the slow words. “They need my help financially at least, and this seemed like a way to do it.”

The dark man nods thoughtfully.

“True. But why Sugar Babiez in particular? Why didn’t you get a more traditional job?” His eyebrow quirks my way, blue eyes penetrating.

I swallow thickly.

“Because it wouldn’t be enough,” is my soft whisper. “I need more than eight fifty an hour. My family needs more.”

And the billionaire seems satisfied, at least for now. He nods.

“Well, there certainly aren’t a lot of girls like you on the site. Most of them are hooches, if you haven’t noticed,” he says with a quirk to his lips. And I laugh then, really laugh for the first time since arriving.

“I know,” I admit shyly. “I wasn’t thinking. There was no plan, I just took some photos and uploaded them. I hope you’re satisfied,” comes my voice with a worried note. “I know sometimes people look different from their pics, and my pics were so bad.”