The Dom's Secret: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance Page 7

  “Can I get these too?” she asks hopefully, a bit confused since we typically only go shopping twice a year – once for the start of the school year, and again before Christmas.

  “Yes,” I say confidently, taking the stack of clothes and heading to the checkout counter. “These will be great for winter.”

  But Nicole stops me with a small hand on my arm.

  “Carrie, I know what you’re doing,” she says in a quiet voice. “I appreciate it, and you don’t have to do this. Not for me,” she adds in a choked voice. “It’s wrong.”

  I turn to look her full in the eyes then, a lump in my throat.

  “Baby sis, I’m the one in charge. So don’t worry about me, okay? I want to do this for you. I want you to have a better life,” I manage through a throat that’s squeezed tight. Oh wow, when did it get so hard to talk? “I don’t want you to worry, that’s not your place. You deserve some new clothes, we don’t always have to wear hand-me-downs.”

  And right there in the middle of the department store, my sister throws her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder.

  “Thank you Carrie,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

  Eyes hot with unshed tears, I nod once more. Because I’m doing this for my sister, right? This is all for her future, her well-being, helping Nicole get off on a better foot in life.

  But am I lying to myself? Because deep inside, I want this too. I want Mason all over me, in me, making me scream with agony and pleasure. I want the billionaire … so maybe somehow, in some way, I’m doing this for myself too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mason

  “Rachel, can you come in here?” I call from my intercom.

  “Of course,” she chirps, before walking into my office seconds later.

  “There’s a plus one on my ticket tonight, right?” I ask.

  A pregnant pause.

  “Yes, but I can call down to confirm,” she offers, which is understandable given that I’ve never brought a date to an event before.

  “No, it’s fine. Just wanted to be sure.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she says, trying to appear composed. “Plus one. Definitely.”

  I roll my eyes discreetly. Because generally, these things are solo shindigs for me. But you know what? Carrie’s just the person to bring along. She’ll love the entertainment, dancing, probably even the rubber chicken dinner although it’s lukewarm and tough. I’ll bring her somewhere afterwards for a real meal, it’s no problem.

  Standing, I grab my jacket.

  “Rachel, I’m taking off. Anything else you need?” is my question, eyebrows raised.

  My secretary knows better than to bring up a new issue.

  “Of course not, Mr. Channing. Have a good evening,” she says, ducking her head as I stride to the elevator.

  And goddamn, but everything reminds me of Carrie, even the lift. Because the last time I saw her, I breathed against that beautiful clit as she twisted helplessly in my arms. Oh shit, oh shit, she’s the only thing I think of now. That innocent expression, the voluptuous curves. I’m a maniac, all my thoughts filled with the female.

  Plus, it’s been a long time since I was in pussy that tight. The thought makes me harden involuntarily. How often do you find that? A girl so sweet and innocent, yet taking dick like a pro, gripping like a vise as she creamed all over my shaft. Fuck. This isn’t gonna work. She’s not even here, and yet my fuckrod’s a piece of pure wood.

  But I’ll see her soon enough. Sliding into my Bentley, that beautiful face reappears before my eyes. The big brown eyes, wide and honest. The sweet heave and fall of those giant breasts, the hips that swayed even when she was still.

  Shit.

  I was turning into a pushover for sure.

  But there really is something different about the brunette. The innocence and sense of wonder. Most women on Sugar Babiez are overtly sexy, like they’re doing a bad impression of Jessica Rabbit. But Carrie wasn’t that. Oh she’s got the voluptuous figure sure, but she’s not one to wear down to there blouses and up to there skirts. The brunette’s modest, with a wide-eyed gaze and a sweet smile curving her lips.

  That’s why it was okay to bring her on this business event. She looks normal, first of all, so it was professionally appropriate. And second, the girl’s smart, real smart. I could tell just from our brief conversation at dinner. Carrie’s both intelligent and articulate, curious about the world while tactful too. So yeah, it’d be fine to bring her. People would be charmed.

  And arriving at my building, I took the stairs to my penthouse. Yeah, it’s thirty floors, but it keeps me in shape. Once at the top, I wasn’t even winded, my mind still drifting with images of Carrie’s luscious assets.

  Striding into the master, I look around. Yep, there it is. There’s an outfit hanging by the door sent over by my personal shopper at Saks. It’s a black Tom Ford suit, with a black button down shirt. She’s added cufflinks and shoes, as well as a discreet pocket square. Good. I hate that flowery shit, less is more is my motto. And laying everything out on my bed, a grunt comes out of my throat.

  Will Carrie like it?

  Will she think I’m the master of the fucking universe?

  Damn well she should.

  I’ve just poured a short glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling, when a chime rings. Choosing to be lazy, I hit the button on the intercom at the back of the kitchen to unlock the door remotely, and in walks my hair stylist.

  “Drink?” I grunt, raising the glass.

  “Would you really let me cut your hair drunk?” Connie teases, and we both laugh as I take a sip before leading her into my bathroom.

  Because yeah, I get my hair styled by a pro. Feminine? Maybe. But who gives a shit? I’ve got the moolah and the service providers come to me, helping me look my best. Besides, I want to put in the extra effort. Carrie’s gonna be there tonight, and she means more than all the other guests combined.

  So after twenty minutes and another glass of whiskey, my hair is perfect. Connie leaves and I hop in the shower.

  But it’s a bad idea because running the loofah over my muscles makes me think of Carrie again. The way her fingers scratched and clawed, pulling me towards her with every stroke. The brunette was an animal, but still so innocent and naïve. It was obvious she didn’t know what she was doing, gasping and panting while entrancing the fuck out of my senses.

  My cock’s hard and heavy, and I stroke myself once before deciding to wait. Because shit, it’ll be unstoppable once I get her alone. It’s strange because I’m a horny dude, typically jerking off during every shower session. But now I want to save it. It’ll be incredible once my fuckpole’s up in that tiny cunt, walls squeezing me tight.

  So yeah, my body’s already on high, pulling my clothes on with shaking fingers. The suit fits me perfectly and I stare in the mirror. An animal stares back. Fuck yeah, that little girl has it coming.

  And grabbing my cell, I’m out the door to her place. It’s a little weird. Normally, sugar babies meet in hotels, they don’t tell you where they really live. But Carrie gave me her address, and the limo hums steadily on the road, bumping a little on the pitted pavement.

  Because Carrie lives in the styx, and we don’t usually come to these parts. The Bronx is like a wasteland compared to Manhattan with dilapidated buildings and gritty street corners everywhere. There are men hanging out with nothing to do, staring at every car that passes with hooded eyes. Fuck. I shouldn’t have taken the limo. It flies by silently, purring like a woman too good for this place.

  And that describes Carrie as well. She’s too good for this neighborhood. Despite the fact that we only just met, I want to move her out of here. It’s my right as a patron. After all, why not? I can afford it, and shit, but this ride is long. I want access, total access, to that sweet body. I want to spoil her with luxury, because unlike most people, she’ll appreciate it from the bottom of her heart. Not any fake smiles and simpers, eyes already scheming for more. But the genuine
thing, a sense of graciousness and elegance.

  We roll to a stop in front of her building, and the door opens before we’re even parked. Oh shit, the female looks amazing. Seriously, drop dead gorgeous. Carrie’s got on a black dress that hugs her curves, keeping them snug and tight. Her nails and toe nails are painted a pale pink, and those pretty feet are arched in a high pair of black stiletto sandals.

  “You look amazing, sweetheart,” the words fall out of my mouth before I can catch myself. I rarely use terms of endearment but there’s something about the sweet teen that just makes me throw all of my rules by the wayside.

  “Thank you,” she hums, standing on the curb, swaying a little before my eyes. Or maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe I’m so fucking hungry that she’s literally shimmering a little, like a vision from the gods.

  But I’m no god. I’m a man. And immediately, my palms go to her neck, pulling that beautiful face to mine to taste those sweet lips. It’s been too long, and the second our lips meet, I know she was worth the wait. The brunette melts into my touch, mewling a bit. My hands curve around that big ass, squeezing the heft.

  “Stop Mason!” she squeals, backing up one step. “Everyone can see.”

  But do I stop when girls ask? Hell no. In an instant, I’m on her again, teasing that juicy body with my own.

  “You like it sweetheart,” I rasp into her ear, gyrating my hips against hers. “You feel that honey?”

  And the girl can’t resist. Because with a sigh and moan, she melts completely then, right there on the sidewalk.

  “Yes, Mason,” is her breathless gasp. “Yes, yes.”

  But this isn’t the time. I don’t want to have public sex with the beautiful brunette, not now at least. So instead, I push once more into her softness, those caramel eyes going wide, before opening the door.

  “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

  And swooning a little, Carrie folds that luscious body into the backseat. Of course, as soon as I make an entrance, the partition goes up, providing us with absolute privacy.

  “Sweetheart,” I rumble, taking her hand and stroking the palm with my thumb. Even that caress makes her gasp a bit, pupils going wide. “You know Alberto can’t hear us. No one can see us either, these windows are tinted.”

  Those perfect lips open slightly.

  “Not at all?” she whispers.

  “Not at all,” I confirm. And I’m tempted to whip out my dick. I’m tempted to let the stiffie out into the open, to see how that lipstick looks smeared on my pole. But no. This isn’t the right time. We’ve gotta show up to a business function, and there’s no telling what I’ll do if she gets naked. We might never arrive, period.

  Instead, I lean back into the luxurious beige leather.

  “So what’s been going on?” comes my drawl. “How’s it going?”

  I expect the girl to prattle off about something or other, the details of her life. All women are like this, going off on mani-pedis, the stupid spats they have with their friends. But instead, she raises big brown eyes to me, open and trusting.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you,” she whispers.

  My heart starts thudding. Really? Oh shit, she’s got me by the short and hairies, every nerve attuned to this girl. But I don’t let on. Instead, leaning back, my big frame exudes ease.

  “Oh yeah? What have you been thinking about?”

  The brunette bites her lip for a moment. I expect her to say something about roses and unicorns, maybe how beautiful the sun looks when it sets behind my head. But instead, she takes me by surprise. Biting her lip once more, she meets my gaze squarely.

  “I’ve been thinking about that hard cock pounding my little pussy,” she whispers. “Stuffing me full again and again.”

  And oh shit, but it’s on. My resolve to keep things kosher until after the event flies out the window. Because damn, but I need to feel her. I need to see that sweet little cunt again, to see her steaming slit, the juice dripping in rivulets.

  And slowly, I toy with the hem of her skirt.

  “Pull this up, baby,” comes my rasp. “Pull it up for me to see. Come on, on your hands and knees.”

  Fortunately, we’re in a stretch limo, the backseat almost like a bed. So Carrie struggles around until she’s faced away from me, perched on all fours. And then slowly, she reaches a small hand back to inch up that velvet fabric.

  And fuck me, but the sight’s beautiful. She’s wearing garters with stockings but no panties. No wonder there was the distinct smell of steamy cunt when she got into the car, the enclosed space hot and humid with the scent of an aroused female.

  And without any hesitation whatsoever, I dive in. I have to. I need to taste that sweet pussy, to burrow and lick and savor, and Carrie loves it.

  “Unnnnh!” she cries out, head falling back as I slide my tongue up her left labia. “Oh god Mason!”

  But I’m not done yet, naw, nowhere near done. With short, swift strokes I begin fucking that hole with my mouth. That’s right, wielding my tongue like a mini-dick, the muscle goes in and out of that crevice, tasting her insides, cream slipping down my throat.

  “Unnnh!” she screams again, eyes closed now, boobies dropping out of her dress. “Unnh, unnh!”

  And with a small niggle to that clit, it happens. Carrie bursts into a million pieces, her twat juicing and spasming all over my face, chin and jaw covered with female nectar.

  “Mason!” she screams helplessly this time, tremors running through that curvy frame. “Mason, oh god!”

  And hell, but sex never felt this good. Hearing my name on her lips punches me in the gut, forcing me to drive my tongue even deeper, determined to own those sweet folds.

  “That’s it,” I rasp hotly. “Ride my face, sweetheart, I want you to ride it.”

  And Carrie’s moaning and gasping, big boobs smashed against the leather seat as her pussy shakes with ecstasy. I pull my tongue back and thrust a finger in, wanting to feel her hole clamp and clench on my digit.

  Aw fuck. She’s so wet. It goes in with no resistance at all, the flesh swollen and hot, shaking around my finger. Aw shit, shit, her cunt juices pour into my palm, covering me with the distinctive tang of female.

  “Oh sweetheart,” I growl, throat tight. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  But Carrie’s a mess. The girl’s now collapsed on her stomach in the backseat, arms and legs splayed, my finger still in her twat. But things aren’t over yet. Naw, the ride back to Manhattan is long, and using a digit from my other hand, I begin teasing her anus.

  “Ma-Mason?” she shudders, craning her head to look over one sweet shoulder, eyes wide. “Mason?”

  But oh yeah, I want it. Her anal training starts now. My fiery blue gaze burns back.

  “Relax your butt sweetheart. Just breathe out, let me play with this a little.”

  And sure enough, on her next exhale, I’m able to slide my digit right in up that butthole, sampling her dry mustiness. Fuck fuck fuck! This is so wrong! I’m literally in the backseat of a car, one finger stuck in the girl’s anus, the other in her vag. In fact, I can feel the tension through her thin pussy wall, my digits lightly rubbing against each other.

  “You like that?” I croon, beginning to move a little inside. “You like that?”

  And she can’t answer. Instead, her eyes close once more, lashes like half moons on those beautiful cheeks. And lo and behold, another big one is building. Those small, pink-nailed hands grab the leather seat as her creamy curves shudder, and then it’s on us.

  “Master!” she screams again. “Oh god, Master!”

  Because fuck. It sounds right. Master sounds good, rolling off her lips. She’s a natural for sure, in more ways than one. Because right now, I’ve got two digits embedded in her holes, and this time as she comes, both her pussy and ass spasm and clamp wildly, so tight and hot that my fingers almost break off from the pressure.

  “Aw fuck,” comes my growl. “Aw fuck fuck fuck.”

  And I
want it. My cock’s hard as a hammer now, dying to be in the female, but there’s no time. We’re literally pulling up the curb as one more shock jerks through her frame, anus and twat going wild.

  “Mason!” comes her helpless cry. “Master!”

  But oh shit. I’ve already pushed things too far. So popping my fingers out, I lean down to lap quickly between her legs, cleaning up the spillage. And then with firm hands, I drag that velvet material down, covering her rump before smacking it ruthlessly.

  Her head turns to meet my eyes, gaze shocked.

  “That’s right sweet thing. That’s how I roll. Now you ready? You ready to make an entrance?”

  Because we’ve pulled up in front of the venue, and a bellhop’s already approaching, one white-gloved hand outstretched for the door.

  The brunette bolts upright, smoothing her hair down futilely.

  “Oh god,” she whispers, caramel eyes still swooning a little. “Oh god, I’m not ready.”

  But I still her frantic hands with my own, leaning in for a kiss on those pouty lips.

  “You’re ready,” I growl, looking her deep in the eyes. “You’re perfect sweetheart, now let’s go.”

  And with that, the door opens, a shaft of light illuminating the depths within.

  I help her out, the curvy girl leaning unsteadily against my arm, teetering a bit in those high heels. But I like it. It makes me feel protective, like the defender of a tiny baby doe. And together, we walk into the banquet hall, the porcelain white expanse of her neck, throat and legs contrasting with the lush black velvet.

  As we enter, the crowd literally goes silent. Oh yeah, people turn to look, every eye on that beautiful figure. Because she’s gorgeous hands down, and it ain’t often there’s someone like this at a professional function. Carrie’s a fresh breath of air compared to the scheming, aging cougars in the ballroom.

  Suddenly a voice booms across the room.

  “Mason!”

  I turn. Aw shit. Because it’s not a man. It’s not my buddy Jason or Tucker. It’s Kathy Cargrove, the head of our marketing department. Like a tank, she trundles over, square form large and in charge, hair scraped back into a painful bun. Shit shit shit. There are two assistants trailing in her wake, scribbling into notebooks.