Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
Hot Sugar
~A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance~
© 2017
By Cassandra Dee
Want to hear about my newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join my mailing list at www.subscribepage.com/cassandradeeromance and get a FREE BOOK unavailable elsewhere!
© 2017 Cassandra Dee
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.
Kindle Edition
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ALSO BY CASSANDRA DEE
Standalones
Seven Brothers of Sin
His Captive
Buck Me Cowboy
Beg Me: Sold To My Dad’s Boss
Daddy’s Pretty Baby
Loving the Babysitter
The Billionaires Club
Sold at the Auction
Virgin for Sale
Serving Him
Buy Me
Anonymous Encounters
MFMM Ménage Romance
All the Best Men
MMF Bisexual Romance
Double Dare
Double Exposure
The Falling Series
Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend
Falling for My Boyfriend’s Dad
Falling for My Son’s Best Friend
The Virgin Series
The Naughty Virgin
The Wicked Virgin
The Dirty Virgin
The Trashy Virgin
Delivering the Virgin
The Princes Series
Double Princes
Triple Princes
DEDICATION
To all the dirty girls who dream of pure sugar.
This one’s for you!
NOTE FROM CASSIE
Hi! Thanks so much for reading Hot Sugar: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance. I hope you enjoy the steam between Carrie and Mason!
Writing is therapy for me and during the process, scenes get clipped. In this volume, I’ve included seven deleted scenes with all sorts of naughty parts!
Love,
Cassie
ABOUT THIS BOOK
HOT SUGAR: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance
Cute, innocent girl wanted. Sugar baby with all the benefits.
I shouldn’t have.
I didn’t mean to.
But times were hard. There was no money, no food. My younger sister was going hungry.
So when I saw the ad online, my finger clicked.
Cute, innocent girl wanted. Sugar baby with benefits.
What’s a sugar baby?
What kind of benefits?
My eyes only saw the five thousand a month retainer.
Because that was enough to pay my bills. To stay in school. To make sure my little sister could eat.
So I replied.
And oh god, but my sugar daddy is gorgeous.
No one said an older man could be this hot.
Because Mr. Channing makes me burn inside.
Sizzle.
Tingle.
And that ridge.
The snake in his pants makes my mouth water hungrily.
But you know what they say.
Everything tastes better with sugar …
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Hot Sugar
NOTE FROM CASSIE
ABOUT THIS BOOK
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
Carrie
“Can I have ten dollars?” Nicole asks hopefully, her big blue eyes pleading. On the one hand, Nicole is my little sister and incredibly sweet. On the other hand, she’s fourteen already, but acts about two sometimes.
“What for?” I ask sternly, hands on my hips. “Why do you need ten bucks?”
Her lip trembles, jutting a bit.
“I want to get some white-out,” she says slowly. “You know, to fix my homework.”
I blink. White-out? Really? Who still uses that stuff? I thought it was toxic, killing brain cells right and left.
But Nicole nods again.
“It’s for my book report, Carrie,” she pleads. “You know I wanted to borrow your laptop but you were using it all the time. So I had to write it by hand, and now I need white-out to fix my mistakes.”
Inside I feel myself caving. Because it’s true. We only have one computer in the household, and that’s mine. And I have been using it a lot for my creative writing class, so Nicole didn’t get a chance to hop on.
Slowly, I reach into my pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills.
“Here,” I say gently. “Take this.”
Nicole smiles brightly now, gripping the bills.
“Thanks Car!” she chirps. “You’re the best,” are her happy words before skipping off. And I sigh again. Because Nicole’s my little sister, but sometimes she’s more like my child. I know I should tell her the truth but it seems too brutal for someone this young.
Because actually, I don’t have any money to spare, not even a few bucks. Just yesterday I saw my mom hiding the yellow sheet of paper they nailed to our door. There were big red letters on the front in all caps. I couldn’t quite see what it said, but it was most likely an eviction notice.
And it’s not like Mom has any way to pay our rent. Rhonda and Jim have been gone for a few days now, which is nothing new. Probably off on another bender, getting lit and doing n
othing about our housing situation. So yeah, things are bad, much worse than a few bucks for school supplies.
But I don’t want my little sister to worry. Nicole has dyslexia as well as mild anxiety, and growing up in this household hasn’t been easy. I don’t want her to get worse, she’s frail already. So I take another deep breath before seating myself at the kitchen table. Bills, bills, bills, piling up everywhere. Stacks and stacks, falling off onto the floor, pushed behind the refrigerator even.
But right now isn’t the time. I need to work on my paper right now.
Because I’m a first-year student at our local community college. And I’m lucky to be there. I want to be someone and to make something of myself. I don’t want to be like my parents, constantly flitting from one job to another, living hand to mouth, never knowing when the next paycheck is coming. I want to hold my head up high, and not be afraid to walk into a nice restaurant. I want to be safe and secure, without stressing that I was gonna lose the roof over my head.
Right. The roof. The would-be eviction notice.
But I couldn’t think about it.
So instead, I stare at the screen blankly, my computer humming. This creative writing class was driving me nuts. They were discussing something about a clef a romans and macrocosm / microcosm. What did those terms mean again?
Because the truth is, I’ve been struggling to get a sentence down on paper all evening. Usually, writing is my thing. Words are what makes me happy. But recently, with all the trouble from my family, it’s been tough to concentrate.
But I have to. A degree is important. Investing in myself is important, especially for education.
Despairingly, I stare straight ahead. Nothing comes, my mind like a blank slate. And devilishly, my fingers began to move on their own.
But not to type, oh no.
Instead, I begin to surf the web.
The world wide web has been my downfall for a long time. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve lost to endlessly reading random sites. Not even educational sites like the news or following the stock market. But really random things like BuzzFeed and Bored Panda, mind candy that sucks you in, only to spit you out three hours later, dazed and confused. I should find some blocking software to prevent my bad habits. That would help my procrastination, for sure.
But my fingers are devilish once more. Because there’s a pop up in the corner that catches my eye, the fluorescent pink lettering impossible to miss.
MAKE CA$H! it screams. EA$Y MONEY!
I snort. Yeah, right. Just another get-rich-quick scheme where they pump you full of hope, only to rob you dry. But would it hurt to look? Would it be so terrible? And before I know it, my fingers click on the ad.
A new site pops up immediately.
There are no pictures. But the lettering sings like a siren calling to drowning sailors. I can’t help but stare, breath coming fast.
$$$ Cute, Innocent Girls Wanted. Be a $ugar Baby Today! $$$
My face flushes.
Is this …?
Could it be …?
It has to be. I’m inexperienced when it comes to dating and relationships, but not dumb. I know what a sugar baby is. It means that you date guys for money right?
But what does “dating” mean?
What kind of guys?
And how much money?
It’s the last question that firms my resolve. Because if there’s anything my family needs right now, it’s money. We need cold hard cash to put food on the table so that my little sister doesn’t go hungry. It’s not just about white-out and school supplies. It’s about calories and rent at this point.
So lips pressed into a line, I click. The screen flashes with a site called Sugar Babiez, a sexy-looking woman smiling while sitting on a couch. Oh god, oh god, is this really happening?
But it is.
This is the only way out right now. I could try and get a job tutoring, or maybe working as a barista somewhere. But what would it pay? Minimum wage? That’s nowhere near enough, not when our circumstances are so dire.
Maybe I could make more as a sugar baby.
A lot more.
Maybe even four figures.
Hope makes my heart pound. We need it so badly, even a thousand dollars would make a huge difference. I could pay some of the overdue bills, especially the electricity and gas ones marked “final notice.” I could go to the grocery and buy some nuts and real cheese, not the government-issued cheese product we usually eat.
So maybe this is a possibility.
The rush to my head is overwhelming, my vision literally going blurry for an instant. But first things first. If I want to explore, then I have to create a profile.
What should my user name be?
A bunch of things jump into my head.
Honeybunz.
Jewelz.
SweetThing314, for my birthday March 14.
But those sound idiotic, like I’m a teen who spends all her time on the phone. So instead, I enter my real name, Carrie, and the site accepts it alarmingly fast. No “User Name Taken.” No suggestions of “Carrie314” or “Carrie12345.” Just Carrie.
Oh god, oh god.
Maybe I’ve screwed up already.
Am I being dumb?
Am I being hopelessly naïve?
Oh god.
But there’s no way I’ll actually meet someone on here, I tell myself. This is just to see who’s on the site. So taking another deep breath, I fill out the basics. I’m five five. Curly brown hair. Brown eyes. Average build. Well, that’s not actually true. Because I’m a curvy girl, with a big butt and huge, soft tits, along with hips that swing like a pendulum. So slowly, my finger unclicks “average” and instead presses down on “A little to spare.” “A lot to spare” would be more accurate, but that’s not a choice.
Oh god.
Moving on.
But it gets worse because the next screen prompts me to upload a pic of myself. What? I don’t have anything!
But it makes sense. Pictures tell a thousand words right?
So I surf around my laptop hard drive, trying to find something suitable. Definitely not my school ID, I have huge glasses and my hair’s a mess, it’d been windy that day. Definitely not a shot from my recent trip to Six Flags with Nicole, I look about fifteen years old with a giant ball of cotton candy and a silly smile.
But there’s nothing else. There really isn’t. I don’t have any suitable pictures, not something that I could upload here.
For a moment, I consider using someone else’s pic off the web. It’d be so easy, and no one would ever know. I’m not going to really “join” this site, anyways.
Or am I?
Because what if something comes along?
Or more realistically, what if we need the cash so bad that this is the only way?
That’s the real answer, hard and cold.
So trembling, I get up and grab my cell. Making my way to our tiny shared bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Huge, round eyes with masses of curly brown hair. A chin that’s shaking somewhat, but at least they won’t be able to see that in a photo.
And holding my cell towards the mirror, I snap a pic. It’s terrible. Really, really bad. The flash obscures my face, making my head look like an exploding lightbulb. All you can see is my scoopneck tee with big boobies pressing forwards.
So I take another one, turning off the flash this time. This version’s better, at least you can see my face. But the expression is all wrong. I look like a haunted deer, eyes wide and staring, poised and ready to run.
Get with it! scolds the voice in my mind. Guys want someone cute and approachable, if not downright sexy. You think this is sexy? You think you’re gonna attract bees when you don’t put out the honey?
So trying again, I go for it this time. Cocking my hip to the right, I perch one hand on my waist and slap a winning smile on my face. It feels weird for sure. This isn’t me. I’m not a girl who takes sexy selfies, and my t-shirt and shorts are testament
to that. Truly sexy ladies probably wear all sorts of lace and fripperies, making sure key body parts are highlighted.
But I am what I am. So smiling, I snap a photo, and it turns out okay. It’s me for sure. The same big brown eyes that look back each morning. The same voluptuous body, even if I’m wearing casual clothes. The same innocent look that’s always there, day in and day out.
Because hoochiness isn’t my thing. Nothing against the hoochy girls, I love ladies who own it. But me? I’m a big nerd, and it’s impossible to hide. This pic is the best I can do, even if it’s me posing in the bathroom with a big, silly grin on my face.
So sighing, I upload it to the site. That should be enough right? They’ve got my vital stats plus a pic. I’m real, not a robot. But when I click “finish,” the laptop stutters because there’s an essay to write. What in the world? Why would Sugar Babiez require an essay?
I decide to scribble just a few sentences.
Cute girl, looking for a man who knows himself. Contact me now!
There’s a long box that I could fill in with ramblings about this and that, but no way. I’m not writing anymore, and I’m certainly not going to add heart emojis and pictures of kissing lips. I’m eighteen. It’s time to move on. And resolutely clicking submit, the profile disappears, a thank you confirmation popping on screen. It’s done now.
Besides, this was just a joke. My photo won’t get anyone’s attention, that’s foolish thinking. There are so many pretty girls out there, and I’m just plain old me. Carrie with the wild brown curls, the one with a kind smile for everyone. The older sister who takes care of her younger sibling. The one who struggles at school because there aren’t enough hours in a day between managing my studies, my sister and my parents.
And even if you gave me lessons on how to seduce a man, I still wouldn’t know. Because the crazy part is that I’m a virgin. I’m on a site for sugar babies, and yet I’ve never been touched by a man. I’ve never felt a male deep inside, or even really kissed someone for that matter.
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