Hot Sugar: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  But it’s true. I’m the new Carrie who loves acting out these dirty fantasies with a man I just met. After all, this is what it’s all about right? Sugar Babiez is a way for couples to do things they’d never dream of in real life. The website releases people from their real inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind. And the new me moans sensually.

  “Mr. Channing,” is all I can manage on a throaty whimper, sucking the last of the cream from his fingers. “Yes, Mr. Channing.”

  The billionaire’s eyes gleam brightly once more.

  “Call me Mason,” he says. “I think we know each other well enough for that, don’t you?”

  And I flush heavily again. I just let this man stroke my snatch, without knowing his name? But again, this is a day of firsts.

  And the billionaire turns away then, smiling before turning to the wedge salad.

  “Some greens, sweetheart? You need to eat healthy to make sure that juice stays sweet.”

  My face flushes. Because does he mean …?

  The billionaire nods.

  “That’s right, honey. The things you eat impact your nectar down below, and I plan on drinking that goodness all the time. So you’re gonna eat the best food, sweetheart, to make sure the ambrosia stays the way I like it. I’m gonna make sure you get organic everything, fresh everything, the best of the best.”

  And I gape at him.

  “But how?” comes my stammer. “How?”

  Mr. Channing grins again.

  “There are meal delivery services, honey. Meal kits that are one hundred percent organic, made by the best chefs in the world. I’ll have those sent to your apartment, plus a couple bags of groceries every week. It’s just money baby.”

  My face flames. Oh my god, this guy is buying my family groceries now? This is like a dream come true.

  But Mr. Channing has his own reasons.

  “Remember, it’s for your nectar,” he rumbles, throwing me another hot look. “This is all about keeping that honey sweet, making sure you’re fresh and tasty down below. So if I need to spend a little on groceries, it’s no problem,” he smiles again. “Just tell me what else you need.”

  I’m dumbstruck, completely awed. Because we could use a few bags of groceries. My family’s so hard-up right now that we’re eating plain white bread with government cheese.

  “Thank you,” I stammer, bowing my head. “Thank you so much.”

  And Mr. Channing just smiles once more, biting into his own salad.

  “So as I was saying, why were you on Sugar Babiez again? What brings you to the site?”

  And I start over, taking a deep breath.

  “Well, the financial part of my life is a mess,” I admit in a small voice. “So Sugar Babiez is a way for me to straighten that out.”

  “What part of your finances?” is his low rumble, eyebrow raised. “How much do you need? I’m good with money, sweetheart, I can help you.”

  No, he can’t. Because Rhonda and Jim are the root of my problems, and there’s no way Mason can turn them into decent, upstanding citizens. So I just shake my head, trying to seem chipper.

  “The five thousand a month is perfect,” are my soft words. “It’s more than enough thank you. But I wanted to know ….”

  My voice trails off.

  Mr. Channing takes another bite, waiting while watching.

  “I wanted to know,” I say, taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes, a rush going down my spine. “Exactly how this works? I mean, five thousand is a lot of money,” come my words in a rush. “And I imagine you want something in return.”

  The billionaire throws his dark head back, laughing, showing off perfect white teeth.

  “You’re right I want something,” he rumbles, eyes hot now as he takes in my form. “You’re right, I do. Can you guess what it is?”

  All of a sudden, I feel dumb. Because he definitely wants to touch and stroke. He definitely wants to sample what I have, that much is clear. But how much? When? How is this going to work?

  And nodding, our eyes lock as he speaks.

  “I want you to be mine, sweetheart. My expectations for the girls from this site are quite simple. You’re available to me any time of the day, any time of the night. I call, and you come.”

  My breath comes fast. “I have school,” is my quiet murmur.

  The billionaire’s eyes lift.

  “School?” he quips.

  “I’m in college.” My mouth is dry and I reach for my glass of water, sipping slowly.

  “Of course, sweetheart. I forgot you’re different from all the rest. The other girls were professional shoppers, hell, users almost. So college. Classes. That’s fine. Send me your schedule and I’ll work around it,” he answers. “Though I admit, it’s been a long time since I worked around someone else’s timeline.”

  “I appreciate it,” is my quiet reply. “But what do you expect from me?” I press once more, eyes fixed on his, soft and pleading.

  Those blue eyes gaze back, calm and unperturbed.

  “What do you mean honey? I just made clear the terms. You’re available to me all the time, whenever I want. Of course, with your schooling taken into account. And you’ll get the allowance we spoke of, a wardrobe, and groceries. Is there something else?” he asks wryly, eyebrow raised. “That’s a lot honey, you’ll be set up good.”

  I nod helplessly, biting my lip. How do I ask this?

  “Umm, but do you want ….” I pause, trying to find a way to ask him about sex even as my brain’s exploding.

  “What’s up, sweetheart? Just ask,” he says smoothly again, taking another bite of salad.

  “Do you want… ummm… sex?” I blurt out, and Mason looks at me, really surprised for once.

  And then in a flash, it happens again. His hand is beneath the table, but this time, his fingers aren’t stroking lightly at my folds. Instead, the billionaire’s ruthless. With sharp fingers, he pinches my clit, hard, making me squeal and jolt, eyes wide, boobies heaving.

  “Yes, baby. I want all of this,” comes that possessive rasp. “This belongs to me, every single part.”

  At that moment, the waiter opens the door again, clearing the plates before serving big, juicy hunks of steak. Why does he always show up at the worst times? But my mouth waters from the heavenly aroma of the food, even as my cunt gushes its own liquid down below.

  And finally, the waiter’s gone, leaving us on our own again. Mason cuts into his meat, like nothing strange has happened.

  “So what do you think?” the man asks casually, chewing on his rare steak. “Shit, this stuff is good. Fantastic as always.”

  “Think about what?” I ask, dazed and confused, lost to the seduction.

  “Do you want to be my sugar baby, Carrie?” he asks, holding a triangle of beef on his fork, just inches from that commanding mouth. “Are you up to it?”

  My mind trembles and shakes, struggling with the reality of the situation. Because the billionaire’s asking me to be his plaything, a girl available for sex at the drop of a hat. I have to be willing and eager, cunt juicy, boobs ripe, ready to bend over and take it whenever he calls.

  This is wrong. This is an offense to feminism, and I should storm out, huffing and puffing righteously.

  But instead, I feel the opposite. This man has lit a fire in my body, something that flickers with brightly burning flames deep in my pelvis. I should be offended, I know. But instead I just want it. Even the money and groceries aside, the clothes and jewelry, I want it. I want to get to know this man, this mysterious and charismatic stranger who has me tied around his finger already.

  But he doesn’t know it yet. Because with a jolt, I realize that Mason looks casual, but he’s actually watching me intensely awaiting my response. The alpha’s alert, attuned to me, his breath coming fast even as outwardly, he looks relaxed.

  And I smile then, warm like a springtime rain.

  “Yes, I’ll do it,” come my soft words. “I’m ready.”

  The big man’s sti
ll for a moment, merely looking at me. But then he smiles as well, that grin bright white against his tanned skin.

  “Good,” he rumbles deep in his throat. “I would’ve been disappointed if you said no.”

  I blush.

  “I wasn’t going to say no, Mr. Channing,” are my words. “I promise.”

  And he shoots another hot gaze my way. But then it sizzles and dies down, everything returning to a strange kind of normal.

  “Enjoying your food, baby girl?” he asks, eyeing my steak. “You’ve barely touched it yet.”

  “Oh I will,” I rush quickly. “I will, I love to eat.”

  Mason nods approvingly.

  “But I have to ask,” I say quickly again. “I know, I know, so many questions. But I have to ask … should I get on birth control? Or will – will you be using a condom?”

  Oh my god. This is so embarrassing, my face going bright red, the flush spreading all the way to my toes. But I have to ask, right? This is important stuff, a key part of the deal. I can’t just ignore it.

  Mason’s white smile shows itself again, his eyes hot.

  “Birth control for sure, baby,” is that smooth growl. “You’ll need it honey, because I don’t do condoms. I don’t do that latex shit, it’s disgusting. I need to feel my girl real and juicy, surrounding me on all sides. And sweetheart, now that I’ve already touched you down there, you can bet there’s not gonna be a condom.”

  My body temp rockets then, straight to a million degrees. Because the thought of unprotected sex with this man? Yes. Absolutely yes. I want it, and everything goes loose and wild inside, hotly wet and running. I stare mutely at him, my brown eyes round and slightly dazed, that blue gaze controlling and totally in charge.

  But then he laughs again, a deep growl that makes my toes curl.

  “Eat up, sweetheart. I like to see my girls finish their meals, and hon, those curves aren’t gonna stay curvy if you don’t get your calories.”

  My hands spring into motion then, knocking me out of my daze. Because of course I’m going to eat. One, food loves me and I’ve always loved food right back, it’s been an affair to remember since I was young. And second, this is the best meal I’ve ever had. Steak that’s fifty dollars a plate. Creamed spinach served in a silver saucer, and mac ‘n cheese that comes in small ramekins. With gusto, I dig in, appreciating the sustenance, letting flavors spill all over my tongue.

  And when I look up, Mr. Channing’s staring at me again, eyes hot and hungry.

  “What?” I whisper. “What is it?”

  He’s silent for a moment, watching as my tongue circles my lips for an instant, flickering.

  “Sweetheart,” comes that low rasp. “I’ve never seen someone as sexy as you. The way you devoured that …”

  And a blush takes me again. What is it with my blushing? But it’s true, and when I look down, I’m a little embarrassed. Because I’ve demolished the meal, the steak gone, just juices left on my plate. And I didn’t eat one helping of creamed spinach, I devoured three, the remnants of a bit of green smeared on the china.

  “Oh,” is my embarrassed gasp, fork and knife tumbling from limp fingers. “Oh.”

  But Mason shakes his head slowly, eyes still feasting on my form.

  “Sweetheart, you are a thing of sensuality, and if you can eat like that, I can’t wait for you to try a little sausage.”

  I blink, confused. Sausage? What’s that? I mean, I know what it is, but where is this coming from? We didn’t order any, although there was some tasty Polish bratwurst on the menu. So what is he talking about?

  The billionaire lets out a low chuckle again, heat flaring in those blue eyes.

  “I forgot how innocent you are, only eighteen. Sweetheart, look at me. I mean sausage like this.”

  And another gasp escapes me then. Because Mason pushes back from the table slightly and there’s a huge tent at his crotch. It’s not a small lump, this is a huge disturbance in the universe, a massive pole that’s barely contained by the straining material of his trousers. And to my delight, there’s a wet spot forming, right where his dick tip must be, the fabric going sodden.

  “That’s right,” comes that harsh masculine rasp. “That’s what you do to me sweetheart. Just from seeing you eat. Can you imagine this monster when it’s deep inside? How good it’s gonna make you feel?”

  And my nips pop out then, cunt gushing wildly. Because I need it. Money or no money, I need to be with this man, to feel his cock deep inside, stroking me where no one’s ever touched. I need to feel his hands on me, those lips on my sweetest spots, making me scream and ache, before flying over the horizon.

  And suddenly, I can’t eat anymore. I need him too desperately.

  “Please,” comes the strangled whisper from my throat. “Please Mason.”

  The billionaire responds immediately. He’s up on his feet, pulling my arm to get me to mine.

  “Let’s go,” comes that harsh growl, blue eyes blazing bright. “Let’s go sweet thing.”

  And obediently, I follow him from the restaurant. Is it my imagination, or are people watching? Because Mason’s gorgeous, a huge, handsome man in a perfectly-cut black suit, enough to make every woman’s head turn, eyes hungry.

  But this man is mine. For at least tonight. For a month, maybe. And even though I shouldn’t, I feel myself falling, tumbling and spinning, into the depths … and it’s already too late to stop.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mason

  Aw shit, she’s beautiful. So tempting, curvy and lush. And only eighteen too. Who would have thought that Carrie would be better in person than on-line, a thousand times more magnificent?

  Because I almost choked when the brunette walked into the private room at the restaurant. I dunno. With this on-line shit, you can’t put too much on anything, and I half-expected someone altogether different to waltz in. That’s right, I figured the pics on-line were a decoy to lure unsuspecting fish, and then boom! Some other girl would show up, nasty and ugly.

  But no, it was Carrie for sure. You can’t fake this kind of innocence and goodness, the sweet purity and giving nature. There was a confused look on that pretty face, to be sure. But I’d straighten it out. Stick with me, sweetheart, all your problems will be solved.

  Because money can’t buy love. But money buys a helluva lot. It buys a place to stay, food to eat, and a boatload of comfort. And it sounded like this girl needed moolah bad. She needed cold, hard cash to solve whatever family problems were going on.

  Mentally, I flipped through the dossier on my desk again. Because like an asshole, I had a PI on the brunette as soon as our meeting was on, investigating everything about the girl. That’s right, it’s a precaution for billionaires, standard practice. We aim to know everything about everyone, so yeah, a little sleuthing was the answer.

  And the results were pretty sad, to be honest. Carrie’s the older daughter of a deadbeat couple. Mom and Dad arrested multiple times for brawling, public indecency, loitering, all sorts of stupid shit. They’d even spent some time in the slammer, what with all the nuisance complaints.

  So yeah, the brunette seems to be holding the family together on her own. Taking care of a younger sister, who’s a dependent. Going to school part-time, trying to get a college degree. Hell, it was incredible that she’d even finished high school, given the cesspool of her home life.

  So I know exactly what she needs, what buttons to press to get my way. I just didn’t expect the teen to be so innocent. So goddamn trusting and giving, her heart on her sleeve.

  Because what the fuck am I gonna do with that? I’m a hardened asshole of forty-five, a dude who takes what he wants. Girls who offer their souls on a platter? No thanks, next.

  So yeah, I’m torn. Because the brunette doesn’t deserve this. I get it, it’s a transaction, she supposedly understands the deal. But in some respect, she doesn’t get it. I can tell. Carrie has no idea what’s going on, and if I were a better man, I’d push her away for her own good.
>
  But I’m not that upstanding, moral man.

  Not by a long shot.

  Not when the brunette’s so delicious and curvy, that sweet pussy filled with cream.

  Because I felt her folds under the table, and fuck, but it was delicious. Puffy and swollen already, the sweltering heat like a tropical jungle between her thighs.

  Fuck me.

  I should kick her out of my apartment.

  But instead, I’m doing the opposite.

  Because we’re at my place now, a penthouse in the sky, and Carrie’s looking around, eyes wide and astonished, lips slightly parted in wonder.

  “You live here?” are her whispered words. “Really?”

  I can see why she’s awed. The place is huge with gleaming white walls and polished marble floors. The ivory furniture is immaculate, low-slung and comfortable so that it doesn’t obscure the view.

  Because it’s the view that makes this place. I have the biggest, best apartment on the highest floor of the ritziest apartment building in NYC. That’s a lot of –ists, but hey, I’m a guy who takes it to the max, and this apartment fit my tastes. Below, you can see Central Park in all its sprawling grandeur. There’s the reservoir, there’s Sheep’s Meadow, the glimmering twilight making the green lawns sparkle invitingly.

  “This is beautiful,” the brunette breathes, eyes captivated by the view. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  “I agree,” comes my rough growl. “Gorgeous.”

  And the girl turns then, flushing. Because I’m not looking at the view. Or I am, but it’s not about the park. I’m looking at her.

  What a sight. What a magnificent portrait. Those huge tits, pushing against the vee of her dress. That giant ass, jutting out in back, round and luscious. And the swinging hips, making my mouth water.

  “Oh,” she murmurs, melting before my eyes. “Oh Mason.”

  I can’t wait anymore. The snake in my pants is too powerful and hungry, and in an instant I’m on her. Right there in the living room, I’m on the sweet girl, seizing her mouth in a kiss, my hands all over those soft curves.