#BABYMACHINE: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  God, I was being so stupid but the situation was hopeless. Just because he had the body of an Adonis and a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial, my mind was running away with what-ifs and maybes. Please. This was so wrong. These were the dreams of a princess on a cloud, not a frumpy librarian wearing a polyester blend skirt. I wiped my damp palms on the material awkwardly and glanced at the clock.

  Almost five o’ clock.

  My nerves trembled.

  God! Why had I agreed to do this? I hadn’t even gone upstairs to his office yet, and yet “hot mess” was my name. Groaning, my head dropped onto the desk, landing with an audible thunk. Probably just lost a few brain cells there. But at least it knocked some sense into me.

  Talking to myself, the words were uttered.

  “I change my mind. I don’t want to do this.”

  But it was too late. Because it wasn’t about what I wanted, or what I could choose. There were no real choices here. He was the CEO of Carlton Corp. after all. Not my boss. Or my boss’s boss. More like my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. If that was enough bosses, I wasn’t even sure.

  Groaning again, I sat up.

  Oh god. What on earth did I get myself into?

  Suddenly the alarm on my computer chimed. Five o’ clock. Time to go.

  No more excuses. No more freaking out.

  Ready with diagrams, slides, and copies of images I’d found online stuffed in my shoulder bag, my feet headed towards the main elevator up to the CEO’s office. My heart thrummed in my chest, chest going tight. The elevator was lifting up in the sky for so long, that I actually contemplated the possibility that there was less oxygen up here. Could that be true? My head was definitely woozy.

  But there was no time to figure it out. Because with a sharp “ding!” the doors swished open onto Mason Carlton’s floor. Not his office, his floor. All the people here belonged to him. His assistant. His receptionist. His meeting rooms. And now, I was going to be his librarian.

  The butterflies fluttered in my stomach all over again as a woman sitting before massive wooden doors greeted me.

  “Good evening, you must be Elizabeth White,” she spoke in a modulated, professional tone.

  “Yes, I have a five o’ clock meeting with Mr. Carlton,” came my trembling voice. I cleared my throat resolutely. Don’t sound so nervous! the internal voice scolded again. This is just the receptionist! Keep your wits about you.

  The woman smiled kindly, her blonde head gleaming under the lights, headset plugged in almost like it was a part of her.

  “Mr. Carlton is expecting you. Go right in please.”

  And nodding gratefully, I pushed open the wooden double doors. Simultaneously, the woman shut down her sleek silver computer, and carefully removed her earpiece, placing it in a locked drawer. Hmm, was she leaving? Evidently so, because the receptionist grabbed her purse out of the top drawer and stood, smiling like a professional robot.

  “If anything comes up, please reach out to night reception. Take care.”

  That answered my question.

  And with quick footsteps, the woman departed, the floor eerily still afterwards.

  Oh well.

  On to meet the King.

  I took a deep breath and stepped inside the CEO’s office, legs shaking.

  “Hi –” came my breathless greeting. But there wasn’t much more than that because oh my God, the office was bigger than my entire apartment.

  Luxurious with high ceilings and huge picture frame windows, there was a sprawling view of Manhattan below. The sunset spilled in, illuminating the simple but undeniable signs of Mr. Carlton’s wealth. The cutting edge computer on his desk. An actual diamond studded pen near his hand. A colorful painting on the wall that looked like it belonged in a museum.

  I’d never seen a place like this outside of a movie. My hands twisted together with nerves and honestly, a panic attack roiled in the pit of my stomach. This wasn’t really happening, was it? Me, Beth White, had never been to a place like this. I did some subtle deep breathing and forced myself to calm down.

  “Hi, Mr. Carlton.” I stammered out a hello while trying not to stare. My eyes flickered back and forth uncertainly before landing on the gorgeous man behind the desk.

  But that just made it worse.

  Because the billionaire was undeniably commanding. Dressed in a black suit, an ice blue tie brought out the glacier-like edge of those azure eyes. Plus, the broad shoulders were even more imposing here in this big office, with strong arms and long, powerful legs.

  “Glad you made it,” he rumbled, like everything was normal. Of course, I was having a panic attack while he was experiencing a walk in the park. “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

  But I couldn’t stop staring at the view to obey.

  “It’s so beautiful,” came my low murmur, half in a trance.

  I looked out to the bustling streets below, unable to imagine the kind of wealth that could afford a place like this. Finally, my eyes tore away from the cityscape to look straight into his eyes.

  The billionaire wasn’t smiling. He was eating me up with that gaze, eyes running hotly all over my body. The flush was immediate, making my nips go hard, insides gushing with warmth.

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” the billionaire drawled lazily. “So gorgeous.”

  Did he mean me? Immediately, my heart started racing at a million miles an hour then. Oh god. If I was going to have a panic attack before, then now it was even worse. I was going to have a panic attack combined with a heart attack, a double whammy for the ages. Blushing furiously, I bit my lip and looked down. Could he mean me? Was it possible?

  But there was no time to find out because the big man merely smiled enigmatically, gesturing to a giant glass table in the middle of his office.

  “Should we get started?” came that amused drawl.

  Oh god! That’s right, I was here to teach. Immediately, my curvy form bustled into motion.

  “Of course,” I said hastily, sitting down and pulling out my notes and books. “Of course, of course.”

  And as Mr. Carlton lowered that massive frame into a chair, I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. He was so big and imposing. So totally unperturbed. His blue eyes sparkled with humor and something else that scared me a little. But it excited me too. Are all powerful men like this? Making you feel nervous and turned on at once?

  I almost swallowed my tongue when he leaned forwards subtly, getting comfortable. And even though it was the end of the work day, that masculine scent drifted to my nostrils, like fresh laundry mixed with a musky male fragrance.

  Focus, came the stern voice from inside. Focus, girl. Don’t get lost in his cologne.

  Okay. Here we go.

  Opening one of the books to a page on female anatomy, I pointed to a bookmarked image and tried not to blush. Again. Taking a deep breath, the words began to flow.

  “Now about virginity. I assume you meant female virginity right? This membrane is called —”

  Mr. Carlton cut me off immediately.

  “I’m sorry, Beth,” he drawled casually, covering the photo with his hand so that the picture was obscured. “But this isn’t what I need.”

  Oh no. I screwed up already. Oh no, was I gonna be fired so soon?

  “What - what do you mean?” came my helpless stammer. “Did you mean male virginity? If so, I can do some more studying ….”

  But Mr. Carlton shook his head slowly.

  “I mean, I’m not so good with books,” he drawled, voice low and deep. The syllables alone sent chills up my thighs and down my back, like a slow and steady caress. “That’s why I asked you up here.”

  I felt like an idiot but what was he talking about? What was he saying? And why didn’t he move his hand? His wide fingers over the diagram of a hymen were doing strange things to me. There wasn’t enough moisture in my mouth, the air oddly dry.

  “You’re not so good with books? But - but you’re the CEO of Carlton
Corporation. I don’t understand.”

  He leaned back, massive male body at ease.

  “I’ve never been great with reading small print. It could be my eyes, or it could be undiagnosed dyslexia.” He shrugged like revealing something so personal to a near stranger was no big deal. “But I’m good with execution, putting a plan in place. People pay me the big bucks for that shit.” A finger tapped lazily against the table top.

  I was totally lost, and yet couldn’t stop staring at his fingers. They were powerful but elegant, with clean, neatly trimmed nails. Taking a deep breath, my voice blurted out.

  “I’m sorry, but what’s execution? Are- are you talking about corporate stuff?”

  His mouth curved sensually.

  “Could be, but not always. Execution, you know, like making it real.”

  I stammered something, I wasn’t even sure what. Was my face red? It felt like it definitely, cheeks steamy and hot.

  But Mr. Carlton leaned closer then, another tantalizing whiff of male essence drifting to my nostrils.

  “I’m looking to research virginity,” he drawled, “and I thought you might be able to put images to words.”

  “Yes, of course,” I piped up quickly. Was he trying to confuse me on purpose? With the big male so close, I could barely focus on breathing, much less the sentences coming out of his mouth. “I’m here, and I thought these books and diagrams could help. But what do you mean by putting images to words?”

  “I need your help in a different way, Beth.”

  The way he said my name almost made me pass out. This man was criminally sexy.

  But business is business, and I needed this job. So staring at him, I bit my lip. A different way? What did that mean? But did it really matter?

  “Yes, Mr. Carlton, I’m happy to do whatever you ask,” came my dulcet reply. “Just let me know.”

  And with that, the billionaire grinned wolfishly.

  “I need to see things live,” he rumbled. “I need to live in the present, and what would help is if you showed me your virginity.”

  My brain went into freeze mode, completely shutting down before firing back up with a jolt

  “What?” came my stammer. “What are you talking about?”

  But his eyes bored into mine, bright blue and hypnotic. That masculine scent washed over me once more.

  “Beth sweetheart, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Virginity means that you’ve got a thin piece of tissue in your pretty pussy that’s unbroken. You have that, correct?”

  What? What what what? That was none of his business! My mind whirled madly, the floor literally tilting up towards my face. I was an employee, not some kind of doll to be played with.

  But that’s the thing. Workplaces are so confusing now, the lines between personal and professional blurred. What was okay and what wasn’t? What should I be aware of, and what was crossing the line?

  But unfortunately, hard truths are often starkly clear. Because I needed this job. I needed the money and flexibility of being a librarian, and my dreams would be dashed to smithereens if I was fired now, everything swirling down the drain if the paychecks stopped.

  So nodding, I confirmed his question.

  “Yes,” was my whispered reply. “Yes, I still have my hymen.”

  Mr. Carlton shifted in his chair, growling deep in his throat. “Then I’d appreciate it very much if you’d show it to me.”

  For a long time, I couldn’t move. Not a muscle in my body stirred, shock freezing my muscles. But under the table, my thighs squeezed together, a jolt of energy racing through my most private parts.

  This wasn’t right. This was absolutely a no-no. I shouldn’t feel excited or turned-on. There were no workplace rules that said I had to do this. So summoning my courage, I spoke then.

  “No, I can’t,” came my desperate plea. “I’m just a librarian, I can’t be doing this. Definitely not.” But the last of my words fizzled out because inside, my body was telling a different story. Deep within, my pussy loosened and softened, clit growing hard and stiff.

  And Mr. Carlton knew. He could tell. That devilish smile was wicked and self-assured as he spoke once more.

  “What would make you change your mind?”

  But before I could tell him “nothing,” the billionaire pulled out his wallet like this was an everyday transaction. “How about a thousand dollars?” With his voice confident and cocksure, the man fanned ten crisp hundred dollar bills across the table. “Is that enough?”

  This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Do billionaires keep that much cash in their pockets? Evidently so from the green paper staring me in the face.

  I shook my head, dumbstruck.

  “I can’t,” I whispered again, voice scraping at the back of my throat. “I can’t.”

  But my eyes stared desperately at the cash. What a huge difference it would make. That could be my rent. My phone bill, or the electricity they kept threatening to cut off. All that money could literally save my life if I had a medical emergency, given that I had nothing in the bank. Even with just a little extra, those envelopes stamped “LAST NOTICE” in red on the front could be laid to rest.

  And Mr. Carlton was so casual about it. Like the Benjamins were nothing, dropping bill after bill on the table, each one fluttering down to rest gracefully on the glass table top. I curled my fingernails into my thighs to stop myself from grabbing the cash. I couldn’t do it. I shouldn’t. It was wrong and I wasn’t that girl.

  But Mr. Carlton played me like a master puppeteer. He reached into his wallet again.

  “Make it two thousand,” he drawled smoothly. “What do you think about that?”

  I shook my head so hard this time that hair flew into my face, audibly smacking against my neck. But when the big man stood up, unfolding that giant frame, a sense of disappointment washed through me. Mr. Carlton wasn’t going to go through with this. It was just a dream—

  My reverie was cut off.

  “I’ll give you three thousand dollars,” he rasped this time, reaching for something in his desk drawer. A fancy, leather-covered checkbook appeared, embossed with the letters MCC.

  My eyes flew to his face. Was he serious? I couldn’t…

  But as if in a dream, my voice spoke then.

  “Yes, I’ll do it.”

  The whisper fell from my lips without my permission, I swear. It was me, but it wasn’t. After all, what choice did I have? None, that’s what. I had my pride. But that pride wasn’t going to put food in my fridge or pay my rent on time. The thick lump in my throat just wouldn’t disappear.

  And the sound of Mr. Carlton tearing out the check ripped through the room, making my eardrums tremble. With a knowing smile, he put it in front of me. Three thousand dollars made out to Elizabeth White. Oh god, oh god.

  “Alright, Beth. Your turn to deliver.”

  My turn?

  So soon?

  But the name “Elizabeth White” and “Three thousand dollars” stared me in the face.

  This was real.

  All too real.

  Okay. I could do this.

  I had to do this.

  With a deep breath, I stood up then, face on fire like never before, and started to unbutton my skirt. My fingers were damp with nervous sweat and slid over the buttons before finishing the job. I stopped and pressed cold hand to my hot cheeks.

  Oh god, this was so embarrassing.

  But there was no stopping.

  It was go time.

  So I wiggled out of the skirt, avoiding Mr. Carlton’s eyes while taking off the garment and draping it over a nearby chair.

  But his voice jolted me from my trance.

  “Gorgeous,” came that deep rasp. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  Another involuntarily flash of heat seared my abdomen, making my pussy tingle. Because he meant me, for sure. Those blue eyes were fixed on the tiny lace panties slung over my hips, sweet yet coy at once. Lingerie’s a secret pleasure of mine, the one thing I spend
money on when there was even a little to spare. The thong was tiny and pale pink, showing off my ass cheeks in the back and just big enough to cover the landing strip in front. My pussy lips pressed against the fabric, swollen and obvious.

  And the billionaire growled approvingly, blue eyes searing my thighs.

  “I love how you’re demure on the outside, but inside, you’re all woman,” he rasped, shifting in his seat. “One hundred percent woman.”

  And oh god, oh god, but was that his cock in those trousers? As he shifted once more, my eyes flew to his pants, body almost exploding at the sight. Because he was so enormous, so rigid and hard, that a giant length wrapped around his waist like a python, ready to do damage.

  Oh god! Was I doing that to him?

  Was it the sight of my lacy panties?

  My swollen pussy underneath, the lips visible?

  Oh god, oh god.

  My face was on fire, body too. Under my blouse and bra, nipples stood alert like rock candy, visible even under the two layers of cloth. And Mr. Carlton could tell. He licked his lips, taking in all of me, but his eyes lingered the most on my panties and the print of my fleshy pussy lips underneath. I blushed even harder.

  “Should I do it here?” came my voice, fingers hooked in the waistband of the undergarment. I felt timid and shy, but somehow the words came out husky and raspy, seductive even.

  The billionaire’s eyes flared before he nodded and growled.

  “Yes. Right here. Right now.”

  Oh god, oh god.

  I was really doing this.

  This was really happening.

  This was no dream.

  So with a quick exhale, I tugged off the lingerie, but a deep groan interrupted my movements. What was that primal sound? Oh yeah, Mr. Carlton was literally rumbling in his chest, hot eyes glued to my curves. If I hadn’t been wet before, that sound, so masculine and possessive, threw everything into high gear.

  Because I should have been humiliated. I should have felt used, like nothing but a piece of meat. But it wasn’t like that at all. In fact, the opposite. I loved the feel of his eyes on me. I loved the feel of that hot blue gaze eating my curves. My pussy was so wet. I wanted to touch myself like I did at night, to twist and turn while crying out his name.