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“Really?” she gasps. “This is all for me?”
I nod.
“Yep, until the new apartment’s ready. All you.”
Nicole’s eyes go wide. The girl’s in awe, and I catch her running her fingers across every marble surface she passes.
But still. A man needs food, and my stomach rumbles loudly.
“Hungry?” I ask, and both Nicole and Carrie nod enthusiastically. So like a real family, we order a bunch of Asian takeout, crowding around the dining room table with chopsticks in hand.
“You won’t like that,” Carrie warns Nicole about a shrimp pad thai. But the girl defiantly scoops a large spoonful onto her plate.
“Eww!” the blonde blurts out, spitting her mouthful into a napkin. Carrie merely rolls her eyes as I calmly help myself to more. I feel like we’re two parents with a misbehaving child.
“Come on, eat up,” Carrie encourages her sister.
“But there are peanuts!” Nicole whines.
The brunette frowns.
“Are you allergic?” I ask wryly.
“No, she’s just never liked them,” Carrie answers for her sister.
But Nicole jumps in then.
“They’re disgusting. The nutty flavor, ugh, gross,” she shimmies her shoulders while sticking out her tongue.
Carrie and I share a glance. We really are parents to an adolescent, someone with child-like tendencies.
“Come on,” Carrie says patiently. “Eat up. You’ll like it. Plus there’s lemongrass, your favorite.”
And slowly, Nicole takes another bite, chewing slowly before swallowing.
“So?” Carrie asks.
Nicole shoots her a grudging look.
“I guess it’s okay.”
My girl nods.
“Good, then finish your portion. It’s healthy for you, lots of nutrients.”
And I marvel how Carrie slips seamlessly between confidante, protector, mother and caring sister. How is this possible for someone who’s only eighteen? How in the world can she juggle so many roles without letting a ball slip?
And the brunette catches my eye, smiling slightly.
“You too Mason,” she admonishes playfully. “You eat too.”
With a growl, I’m on it. No weird food problems for me. In a few minutes, all the noodles are gone, as well as the delicious black bean broccoli and some fried rice for kicks.
But the food does something to me. Because as Nicole excuses herself to watch some TV, the taste of spicy sauce stokes a fire within. I need spice. I need Carrie, the desperation immediate.
And she can feel it. The brunette turns my way suddenly, brown eyes limpid. I take my time, admiring those thick thighs and voluptuous ass. Stalking her like prey, my arms wrap around her waist from the back, pulling that softness to my stiffness. Oh yeah, there’s my erection, hard and full, pressing insistently in the small of her back. Subtly, I grind a little, Carrie’s eyes fluttering closed, her breath coming fast.
“The maid will clean this up,” I whisper in her ear.
The girl twists to look at me, big brown eyes limpid.
“It’s okay, I can handle it,” she murmurs. “I don’t mind.”
But I’m not taking no for an answer.
“I only have one night with you before your new apartment’s ready. So you’re not cleaning up, sweetheart,” comes my harsh growl. “Put that down.”
And suddenly, the fire in Carrie’s eyes burns bright with desire, meeting mine. Because my sugar baby is on the same page. We crave each other, we hunger wild and fierce. And even in this homey setting, with the table cleared and her sister in the other room, it can no longer be denied. I’m getting into that sweet body … tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Carrie
In just twenty-four hours, my whole life has changed. Last night I spent countless hours online looking for apartments. They were cheap for sure, little boxy things with no sunlight and no space. But today, everything’s changed. Today, Mason rented a penthouse for me and Nicole.
And I appreciate it. The billionaire knows how much I love my sister. He knows what a hard life Nicole’s had, with little joy, affection or caring.
So to see the look on her face was priceless. The absolute wonder and awe, like a five year-old at Disneyland spying Cinderella for the first time. And I appreciate it. I’ll never be able to repay Mason for his generosity, and how he went out of his way for a member of my family.
And yet, I’m embarrassed. My parents have always been like this, and it never gets better. Jim and Rhonda drunk twenty-four seven, lurching around like idiots, my face scarlet as horrified citizens look on.
“I’m so sorry,” is my stiff beginning. “I’m so sorry for all of this,” I say, hand gesturing futilely. Nicole’s socked away in front of the TV, her door closed. Mason and I have retreated to his bedroom, the dark wood imposing, all navy blue and black.
The big man lounges casually in an armchair, sipping at a glass of amber liquid.
“No worries,” he says carelessly. “I’m just glad you’re out of there. I wish I could have done it sooner,” he speaks again, blue eyes flickering over my curvy frame. And right on cue, I go hot all over.
