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I flush again. Oh my god, oh my god. Is this what men and women talk about, like real adults? My words come soft and whispered, even as my cheeks grow scarlet once more.
“I do,” I confirm. “But promise okay? Because I – I can’t get pregnant,” is my stammer. “So promise okay?”
And the big man’s voice echoes over the receiver again.
“Scout’s honor, sweetheart. And I got all the way to Eagle, so that means something,” he growls, amused.
I flush once again.
“Good,” is my whispered voice, looking around the dressing room furtively. “And thank you.”
Mason laughs once more, like he knows how embarrassed I am to be discussing this. But then the alpha speaks again.
“Sweetheart, are you free Friday night?”
I pause. Of course I am. That was part of our deal, wasn’t it? That I be available to him any time, whenever he crooks his finger?
But he was just being polite. Because as soon as I say yes, the big man continues.
“Good, honey, good. I’ve got a company banquet that evening, and I want you to come.”
My mouth drops open. On the one hand, I’m ecstatic. I’d love to go with him to a function, to see and be seen on the arm of this gorgeous man. But on the other, how can this be happening? Are we supposed to be seen in public together? I thought sugar daddy and sugar baby arrangements were discreet, something carried on behind closed doors.
But Mason continues, completely assured.
“Go to Saks Fifth Avenue and ask for Linda Rose. She’ll help you pick out an appropriate dress. You know what I like, sweetheart, so pick something sexy that shows off your curves.”
And a thrill rushes down my spine. It’s the first time that I’m going to shop with a man in mind, envisioning his strong fingers as they pull the fabric from my huge tits, revealing my lush ass. A tingle starts in my pussy, and reading my mind, Mason chuckles again.
“See you then, sweet thing. Looking forward.”
And with that, he’s gone.
The phone drops from my senseless fingers. My heart races so fast I think I might pass out. Because I’ve been telling myself all day that I have to play it cool with Mason. I have to act the sophisticated lady, men like him don’t want someone naïve and foolish.
But somehow, it doesn’t matter.
Everything he does sets me on fire.
And surprisingly, everything I do seems to set him on fire as well.
At that moment, Nicole steps from the dressing room.
“How do you like this?” my sister asks, spinning on the floor. It’s a cute sweater with a penguin in front, and she looks adorable in it.
“Very nice,” I nod approvingly, and she bounces happily before returning to the dressing room, only to quickly reappear with a handful of warm, woolen sweaters.
“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, his hardness pressed against my softness. I want the billionaire … so maybe somehow, in some way, I’m doing this for me 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.
