Hot Sugar: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 2

  So was this insane? Yes.

  Was my profile a little misleading? Probably.

  Was anyone gonna reply? Definitely not.

  Because they can tell, I’m sure. The men can see the innocence, the way that I smiled goofily, beaming with hope. So what am I doing? Why am I doing this? It’s supposed to be for my family, but this bad idea is just getting worse.

  It doesn’t matter. No one’s gonna be interested, so there’s no sense in worrying anymore. And with that, I turn back to my paper, banishing the thought of sugar daddies from my head. It was just a whim … and it’s time to get back to work.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mason

  “That sounds great, sir! I’ll get right on it!” My newly hired IT manager nods before walking away.

  We’ve just finished up a meeting to lay the plan for the following week. There’s a lot that needs to be updated on our website and social media accounts for the grand opening of my new hotel in Paris. It’s my eighth location in Europe, and forty-second structure overall.

  Because I’m a hotel magnate. I’ve been doing this shit since forever. At first, I was just the electrician. But slowly the ladder unfurled and I rose to foreman, then general contractor. And it kept going and going. Now I’m a developer of billion-dollar properties, high-end luxury apartments, six-star hotels, you name it.

  And this Paris site has been in the works for a decade, so the conclusion feels good. To the public, it’s a grand opening. But for me, it’s the culmination of years of hard work, not to mention swinging things this way and that with the right government agencies, city councilmen, community groups, you name it. So things better roll out smooth, given what we’ve put into this effort. Besides, if it’s got the Mason Channing name attached, people expect a certain level of luxury and class, and I always deliver.

  My assistant ordered a steak dinner, assuming I’ll be working late. Business as usual. Another week where the hours aren’t enough, the days flying by. There’s so much to get done that I might as well move right into my office. After all, I have my own private bathroom, a closet full of suits, and even a bed in the large atrium to the side.

  But it’s sad, really. I mean, shit, there’s a luxury penthouse waiting for me at home, and yet I’m rarely ever there. Instead, I’m here, poring over blueprints, looking at the numbers, making sure shit gets done right.

  Fuck.

  At least the steak tastes good.

  Meaty and rare, just the way I like it.

  Leaning back in my chair, I savor the food for a moment. It’ll be good to take a few days off once this is all done. It’s been a while since I showed my face at any social functions. It’ll be good to see some ladies, maybe use that king size bed at home for a change, test the springs a little. Or use a luxury suite at one of my hotels. It’s all the same.

  Lazily, I chew the beef again, pulling my phone out to scroll through the address list. Hmmm. Carla? Naw, she’s too dry, I like ‘em juicy down there. Amie with the “ie”? Nah, way too clingy. She actually cried when I left last time. Barbie? Skinny like a bag of bones. I want someone curvy and plump, with an ass to shake, not someone who looks like her namesake doll.

  Giving up on the ladies at hand, I scroll over to Sugar Babiez instead. It’s a website I joined a few years back for times like these. The girls are gorgeous and the boundaries are clear from the beginning. I don’t have time for the typical dating most people go through, so cutting to the chase is essential.

  And what’s wrong with a sugar baby anyways? Life is filled with transactions, tit for tat, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. This one is just more, ahem, upfront that’s all.

  But it suits me fine, and as an elite member, I have an online concierge who pre-screens this shit. Yeah, there’s actually someone who looks through the long list of girls, forwarding ones I might like. Saves me time, so it’s totally worth the money.

  Bored, I glance through the “hot picks” list. The girls all look the same. Big, puffed up lips, with eyes so wide they’re almost dazed. Plus, we’re not dumb, ladies. I can tell when you’ve used a filter to smooth your skin or take off an inch here or there.

  So I was just about to log off when the last picture catches my eye.

  The first thing I notice are her big brown eyes, like she’s looking up at me with innocence and confusion. I can sense this girl was unsure about creating a profile, her hand a little shaky. That dark hair is tousled and natural, not at all like the salon-perfect waves of the other women.

  Plus, she’s curvy, real curvy. Even wearing a t-shirt and shorts, it’s obvious her boobs are huge, with a giant ass to boot. My cock hardens contemplating that ass. What would it look like spread over my hardness? The girl doing some acrobatics as those white cheeks part? Man, just my type.

  Gorgeous.

  Curvy.

  I want her so bad I can already fucking taste it.

  Plus, what’s up with her handle? The other girls have names like Lusty69 and JenBomb6969, but this girl’s name is Carrie. Simple as that. No way. She didn’t use her real name, did she? Who does that on a site like Sugar Babiez? My mind races. Could she be that innocent, that naïve?

  But it’s probably true. Carrie’s not in some crazy “come hither” pose, pursing her lips and blowing kisses. She doesn’t have a face full of make-up, caked on like the Joker. The brunette looks real. Someone who saves money and likes going to the movies, maybe even spending quiet nights at home.

  Am I an idiot?

  Am I reading too much into one picture?

  There’s only one way to find out.

  Within seconds, I’ve messaged her. She’ll respond, I’m sure of it. Because let’s get real. Sugar Babiez is about hooking up with rich guys. That’s what these girls want. They don’t want a relationship, and I’m not offering one. The boundaries are clear from the get-go, and that’s what I’m looking for.

  So yeah, Carrie seems innocent, but I’m not putting it past her. She wants my money, and that’s fine with me. So long as the little girl delivers, there’s more than enough cash to pay rent for a year.

  Lifting my silverware once more, I down a forkful of string beans. Hey, I eat healthy and work out like a madman. With my impacted schedule, you gotta do everything to stay on top of the game, and that means taking care of yourself. So veggies? On it. Lifting weights? Please, the gym is my second home.

  But then my cell buzzes insistently, its face lighting. Hmm, that quick? Sure enough, there’s a message from Carrie, and I unlock the phone, curious.

  Her reply knocks me to my ass.

  Hi AlphaCEO, I’m Carrie. Are you there?

  My head literally rolls back as I read her response. Can she really be that innocent? She’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever met on this website. The girl’s obviously a novice, asking something like, “Are you there?”

  Shit, what do I do now?

  Do I make some small talk, like this is a date?

  Or should I go for the kill immediately?

  The answer’s obvious. This is a sugar baby website. We’re here for only one reason. So I decide to stick it to her, right here, right now.

  Hey sweet thing –

  I’m here. Wanna grab dinner tomorrow night? We’ll work out the details then, but here’s a teaser. $5K every month for your services. Interested?

  AlphaCEO

  The corners of my lips curl up as I press send. Because what girl is gonna say no? No female can resist the temptation of five thousand a month. Shit, that’s a nice salary, even if she works for it on her back. My erection’s painful, pressing tightly against my crotch. Fuck.

  Forcing myself to focus on something else, I grab the silverware again, this time taking a huge bite of mashed potatoes. Oh yeah, the good shit made with real butter, not that fake Fabio stuff. And after a long day at the office, I’m starving, so this is the perfect distraction as I wait for Carrie’s response, knowing she could take hours.

  Because the women on this
type of site are used to dealing with big players, so they have their own list of requirements and “suggested perks.” It’s lame. I hate this shit. Just take the jewelry and cash, it’s no big deal. I don’t care.

  But still, a lot of ladies want to negotiate, and why would this one be any different? So I bite into the food again, putting it out of my mind.

  A knock sounds on my door and I swallow before calling out, “Come.”

  It’s pretty late, and in walks my assistant Rachel, her carrot-colored hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as she stutters.

  “Mr. Channing,” says the woman. “Just wanted to give a summary of what happened today.”

  I only recently hired Rachel and it’s turning out to be a mistake. Because you want someone who knows their place, sure, but not someone who looks like a frightened rabbit all the time. And unfortunately, Rachel was the frightened rabbit type.

  So I cut the woman off.

  “Thanks,” I grunt. “No need to get into the details. Is there anything else?”

  She fiddles nervously with her notebook.

  “Oh, well. I just wanted to see if you needed anything else. I… umm … I needed to get uptown, but of course if you need… ummm. If you need me for anything,” she trails off nervously.

  “Do you need to leave, Rachel?” I ask with raised eyebrows. “Hot date tonight?

  Of course, that makes the woman blush furiously.

  “No, no! I just wanted to get to bowling, I mean … um, I don’t want to leave early or anything, but it is after eight,” she stammers.

  My attention is elsewhere, though, because my phone screen illuminates with an alert from Sugar Babiez. Rachel is still rambling as I unlock the keyboard, eyes scanning. And sure enough, there’s a message:

  Yes.

  Where should I meet you?

  Carrie

  Good girl. The female knows that I don’t want to get into some huge negotiation. There’s enough to go around, more than enough really. You’re dealing with a billionaire honey, one who will open the gates so long as you do what I want.

  So I type another message.

  My driver will pick you up at 8 p.m. tomorrow. Just let me know the location.

  AlphaCEO

  And immediately, the phone dings again, so fast it’s unreal.

  256 Mulberry Lane, Apt. 17

  Do you know where it is? Let me know if you need directions.

  Carrie

  Holy shit, holy shit. If I’m not mistaken, the girl just sent me her home address. Not, “pick me up at Starbucks on Second and Main,” or “I’ll meet you at the mall.” But her home address, complete with an apartment number.

  Grunting, I glance up at Rachel.

  “We’re done here, thanks,” and subserviently, the woman leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her. The privacy throws me into motion and in a second, I’m on my laptop, furiously typing the address. Good ole Google Maps spits out an answer. The image blurs, then comes into focus, and like I suspected, 256 Mulberry Lane is a ramshackle apartment building tucked into a bad part of town. This place is about twenty years out-of-date. The railing sags, and the roof looks like it needs to be ripped off completely, not just patched.

  To my surprise, I can even see number seventeen, the stencil faded on an apartment in the far left corner of the screen. Man, it’s shabby for sure. The front door paint is peeling, and there’s a sad wooden sign that proclaims, “Home is Where the Heart Is,” with a faded heart motif.

  Hmmm.

  This is where my baby lives?

  Because that’s saying a lot.

  The rent on this place couldn’t possibly be five thousand a month. Probably three hundred more like it.

  But fine. I type into the phone:

  I know the location. Driver will be there at 8 p.m. sharp tomorrow night. Be ready.

  AlphaCEO.

  And with that, it’s sent. I lean back, exhaling heavily. Holy shit. This girl is incredible. Most ladies are superficial, but this girl lives somewhere that proclaims “Home is Where the Heart Is.” Really? Who is this Carrie person?

  And to my surprise, one more message comes through. I glance, my eyes searching.

  Can’t wait.

  See you then,

  Carrie.

  And to my surprise, the brunette’s attached a new pic. It’s still her, in that same t-shirt and shorts combo, but she’s smiling now with her lips slightly parted. The pink pout is full and luscious, just a hint of her cleavage showing below.

  But it sends me into a frenzy. Like a madman, I dash over to my private restroom, the one connected to my office. This isn’t some half-bath with just a pot and sink. This is a full-on five piece restroom, complete with sauna. That’s right, nothing’s too good for the CEO and I had a sauna put in to help me relax on hard days.

  So tearing my suit off, I blast the heat, getting the place nice and steamy. And then something so nasty and disgusting happens that I’m sure Carrie would run screaming if she knew. Hell, any woman would run screaming, no one deserves this.

  Because I prop my phone up on the wooden bench, the photo of that beautiful girl looking straight at me.

  And I begin to stroke.

  It’s wrong, absolutely. Carrie didn’t ask for this. The photos she sent aren’t the type to make a man jizz.

  But the brunette’s just my type. The big brown eyes. The sweet, innocent smile, combined with the huge tits and giant rump. I want it bad, and images start running through my mind like a movie reel on repeat.

  Her, draped over my bed, legs spread.

  Her, bending over a couch, sweet pout parted as I take her from the back.

  Her, eyes wide as she sucks my cock deep into her mouth, cheeks hollowing with 5 Gs of vacuum power.

  “You want this,” I groan, staring at her picture on my phone. “You want this, sweetheart.” The caramel pools gaze back at me and I can imagine how she’ll moan and squeal when I slide inside. Oh yeah, I’m going to fuck her silly asap, making that sweet pussy cream. She better be on birth control, because it’s gettin’ nasty.

  My hand strokes my length slow and smooth as I pull one out. Fuck, Carrie’s sexy but still innocent. I can see her curves, and my fist grips harder imagining that juicy ass.

  Would she do it?

  Would she go for it?

  Naw, the girl’s too innocent.

  But there won’t be a choice if she’s with me.

  Because I’m gonna own that ass. That’s right, brownies are my specialty, and there ain’t no way this girl is gonna say no.

  “You want me everywhere, don’t you, sweetheart?” I rasp in the sauna, hand like a piston on my dick now. “Don’t you baby girl? You like it, say you like it.”

  Of course there’s no sound but my harsh rasps in the small room, the slight hiss of steam escaping. But I can hear her voice already.

  “Yes,” she begs, mewling a bit. “Yes, I like it, I want it.”

  Going with the flow, I continue the imagined conversation.

  “You want to taste it?” I groan, closing my eyes.

  And of course, my dream girl responds.

  “Yes, yes,” she pleads, pink lips parting, that small tongue snaking out. “Give it to me, I want it.”

  And it’s too much. Just like that, I crash and burn, roaring like a mountain lion gone wild. Hot semen jets from my dick, spraying the wooden walls of the sauna, droplets splattering the bench.

  “Fuck! Give it to me, baby!” comes my harsh command. “Give it to me!”

  And shit but the orgasm is amazing. Colors appear before my eyes in the hazy mist, fuckpole jerking this way and that as I blast like a firehose on max. My hips twist up and down, body pumping in an uncontrollable current. The Hoover Dam is bursting, Niagara Falls spilling from my dicktip.

  Because this is what the girl does to me. Innocently, her eyes stare at me from the phone, that pink pout wet and glistening. Yeah, from nothing but a photo, I come like a hurricane, jizzing mightily right h
ere in the confines of a private bathroom.

  Shit!

  This hasn’t happened in a long time.

  Not since I was fifteen in fact, squeezing one out under the sheets.

  Because I’m an alpha male, a billionaire who gets whatever he wants. Ladies throw themselves at me all the time. Non-stop. When I go get coffee in the mornings, the MILFs are batting their lashes, the baristas giggling beneath their hands.

  So I could get anyone. But instead, I’ve just spurted a load using my hand, looking at nothing but a picture of a girl. A clothed one at that, with a sweet smile, who has no idea what’s coming her way.

  Fuck.

  I’m an asshole for sure.

  A dirty as hell motherfucker with his mind in the gutter.

  So Carrie better be ready.

  Because I’m coming …

  And that creamy female’s getting it now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Carrie

  My eyes grow wide re-reading the message from AlphaCEO. Well, that’s his screen name. I’ve already agreed to dinner tonight, but now I’m scared out of my mind, questioning the decision.

  Because his profile says he’s forty-five. He’ll probably think I’m an idiot 18-year old, just a college student. Not to mention how turned off he’ll be when he sees me face to face.

  Because I tried to be honest in my profile, checking off the “Curvy and round” option. But it was hard to get a full body picture of myself. The camera angle was awkward and my arm wasn’t long enough to get all of me in the picture. So yeah, you can see that I have big tits, but you can’t really see how I’m big all over. And I mean big, big. More than “curvy.” More than “round.” I’m generous everywhere, nothing left to the imagination.

  Scrolling through the other profiles on the site didn’t help because all the other girls were so thin and beautiful. What was I thinking, taking a picture with no make-up? My hair was messy and natural, and I had on a raggedy t-shirt and shorts. By contrast, some of these ladies looked like professional models, rail thin with perfect lighting and perfect clothes.