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#BABYMACHINE: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance by Cassandra Dee, Katie Ford (9)

CHAPTER NINE

Mason

 

The stretch limousine pulled into the massive circular driveway of a hotel just outside the city. In back, the Hudson rippled under the setting sun, glimmers of light bouncing off the water. A gorgeous view, but there was even better from my apartment in the city. With Beth at my side.

Slow jazz music played as I contemplated the scene. We’d arrived, but I wasn’t getting out. And the chauffeur knew better than to bother the man in charge.

Because damn, I didn’t want to be here.

I’d rather be a million places than here at this pretentious hotel filled with pretentious pricks.

Yeah, I fucked up.

I shoulda canceled on these guys, billionaire assholes all.

A night in with my juicy librarian was way better than this monkey show. Just Beth and I sitting in front of the fire, sharing a meal, talking, and eventually enjoying one another’s bodies. Like last night when I had her on the rug. Her ass in the air, pussy milking my cock as I fucked her through four orgasms and tried not to choke out those three little words I’ve been feeling for a while now.

I love you.

Damn.

It’s incredible, right?

Me, Mr. CEO, down on his knees. Mr. High and Mighty, the All-Knowing and All-Powerful, brought to the floor by one curvy, sweet girl.

But it’s the truth. Somehow, this little filly has me by the short and hairies. Like last night. Beth was the one sucking my dick on her hands and knees, but really, our positions were reversed. I worship at her altar. She’s a goddess, someone who can do no wrong.

So now, guilt weighed heavy on my chest, a fucking one-eyed monster making it difficult to breathe.

But I’d agreed to this contest months ago.

And those assholes weren’t gonna let it drop, they’ve got long memories for shit like this.

Fuck me.

Plus, to make it worse, we were deciding the winner tonight. And the setting of this goddamn get-together was far outside city limits for a reason. Because things were going down. Word was they had some whip and chain show planned, full of leather and shit. Lots of screaming. Hot girls who were willing to do anything, baring their all.

But that crap wasn’t what I wanted anymore. What the hell. Too little, too late, and now I was stuck.

Fuck!

Alpha males like me don’t get stuck.

But the situation was undeniable.

So heaving a grunt, I got out of the limo. There was no sense dawdling in the back seat and acting like a lost little kid. Time to get this show on the road. But suddenly, my phone rang, insistent buzz loud and annoying. Irritated, I snapped the receiver against my ear, only to hear my mom’s coo.

“Mason! How are you, sweetheart?”

I grunted. At least this was a distraction. Anything to forget this damned shitshow.

“Hey, Ma. What’s going on?”

Rhonda’s been calling me more and more often these days. Sometimes about nothing. Well, most times about nothing. Chatting about the weather, asking about business until she got to the real reason of her call. Beth. Or since I never told her Beth’s name, “my special lady.”

The first time she called Beth that, I almost lost my shit trying to deny it. But now I don’t even bother.

“I sent you that cookbook for your special lady,” Rhonda sang into the receiver. “Did you get it yet?”

“No, Ma.” Knowing Rhonda, she probably sent it by regular mail about an hour ago. The post office doesn’t work like that, Ma. And Santa doesn’t really live at the North Pole.

But there’s no way to talk sense into her.

“Well, let me know when it gets there,” she burbled. “There are so many great recipes. Remember the dumplings I used to make when you were small? Those would be nice to share after a long day at the office.”

“Thanks,” I managed stiffly. “She’ll appreciate the book.” She, meaning Beth. The thing is, it was the truth. The brunette adored cooking and would gasp with excitement upon seeing the family heirloom.

But at the thought of my little shy librarian, I tensed up even more. Fuck fuck fuck! What was I doing here, at this supposed “top secret” location”? Fuck! I just wanted to spend time with my girl, savoring the meatiness between her legs, stroking that sensitive asshole. Yeah, I’ve been training her butt and this was wasted time right now. Shit shit shit!

I made to get out of the car, but Mom interrupted, babbling about this and that. In fact, she’d already switched to her second favorite topic: when my special lady and I would come down to Florida for a visit.

I frowned. Goddamit. What was with this line of questioning now, of all times?

“I’ll bring her soon, Ma. Promise,” was my surly grunt. In reply, my mother let out an unladylike snort, but I rushed to cut her off. “Listen, I gotta go. My meeting’s about to start.”

“At this time of night?” scolded Rhonda. “It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday! You work too hard, son. It’s important to make time for the good things in life, it’s not just about work.”

I rolled my eyes. How little Rhonda knew.

“I do make time,” I said, exasperated. When—if—Rhonda ever met Beth she’d know how much time I put into the important things.

“Good!” I could hear the smile in her voice, and it made my lips curve grudgingly too. “I’ll let you get back to your big city wheeling and dealing. See you soon, sweetheart!” A kissing noise sounded out over the receiver and then everything went silent with a click.

Damn.

I was really up shit creek.

If my mom knew what I was about to do, she’d have my brains for dinner, eyeballs for dessert.

Shaking my head, I slipped my phone in my jacket pocket and tapped the limo partition. Seconds later, the driver whisked open the door, and I stepped out into the biting New York breeze, wind whipping at my hair.

“Thanks, Rick. Hang close. I won’t be long.”

He nodded silently, shutting the door before pulling out of the circular driveway. A valet greeted me on the front steps of the hotel, marble colonnades soaring into the sky.

“Welcome to The Chateau, sir. We hope you enjoy your stay.” The man bowed subserviently, looking at the ground. Damn. Did they train these people to be slaves, and not just friendly help? Shaking my head, I said nothing, moving forwards.

But yeah, “The Chateau” was pretty crazy. Inside, the setting was magnificent. A triple height lobby, the furniture in plush red and gold. Carpeting that was pristine, despite the fact that this was technically a common space.

But I wasn’t here to dawdle. With quick strides, I made my way to a private elevator subtly placed on the left, and swiped my keycard. Oh yeah. The penthouse suite. Only accessible via one elevator, not available to the public.

And once alone in the cold steel box, I pondered my circumstances again. Fuck! This was so messed up. This goddamn virgin bet was the most fucked-up idea ever. Who thought this up?

With a sinking sensation, I realized the idea had been mine, way back when. It seemed so long ago. What a damned idiot I’d been. If only I could kick my own ass, or somehow transport back into the past and change things.

Because I’d done it.

I’d found a virgin and enticed the girl into showing her all.

Yeah, I had all the evidence at hand. Pictures of her hymen. My notes in my book. Beth’s panties from that night. Even a picture of my cock, with a streak of blood on the left side, unmistakable proof.

But shit.

My jaw clenched.

I couldn’t share it.

I shouldn’t.

Beth was too precious to reveal to these assholes.

Pictures of that steaming virgin flesh? Hell no. That pinkness that belonged only to me.

I’d be desecrating holy territory if I let on.

My sweet female, whom my mother called “a special lady.”

Beth, who wrapped herself around me when we slept, her curves undulating against my hardness.

Beth, whom I loved.

Just then, the elevator dinged at the top floor, shaking me out of my reverie. And the doors whooshed open to a place that could have been a Roman atrium for aristocrats. Marble pillars everywhere, an inlaid gold and turquoise floor, not to mention purple velvet sofas with food spilling from tabletops. Way over the top. But that’s what these assholes are known for.

“Mason!” Reginald shouted out to me when I stepped into the room. His English prep school accent was even more annoying than usual, accentuating the Hugh Grant-floppy hair and bizarre three piece seersucker suit. Really? Man, some guys need a stylist stat.

“Hey,” I growled, none too happy, fingers curling around the drink he shoved in my hand. “Am I the last one?” Of course I was. I glanced at my watch. Nearly an hour had passed since the meeting started.

“You’re fine with time,” he chortled. “We’ve just been relaxing.”

Rex walked up, toasted already.

“Yo brother. You want some blow?” Um, right. Some shit he would do, not me.

So I jerked my head curtly. No need to let on that I was a changed man, different from these depraved assholes. I mean, yeah, I was still depraved, even more so now in fact. But my efforts were focused on one sweet librarian, and not whatever random hooch walked in through the door.

Shooting both guys a fake smile, I slapped Rex on the back.

“Let’s get started then, huh?”

Rex rubbed his hands together.

“Can’t wait, bruh,” he rasped. “Can’t wait.”

Our unofficial president rapped a gavel and shouted for us to settle down. Was the gavel really necessary? This wasn’t exactly a meeting of the Supreme Court. But fine. Whatever. I just wanted this to be over.

“Ahem. All Hail!”

Again, I rolled my eyes. This was cheesy shit, real over the top, but again, fine. Time is of the essence.

And at last, the meeting started. Jonas took the floor first. He was cocky, swaggering up to the fireplace and fussing with a portable projector, humming and whirring. Then the image of a blonde flashed onto the blank white wall. A rich bitch type, wearing some kind of equestrian outfit. Tall, shiny brown boots. Tight camel pants. A white shirt over her mostly flat chest. She was pretty and her smile said she knew it.

“I took my virgin the day after we made the bet,” he announced. “I didn’t have to go through any fake bullshit. I just put an ad in the paper for a cherry to bust and it practically dropped into my lap.”

The image on his projector changed. Same girl. This time she was naked and had her ass up, legs spread for the camera. Wide enough to see her pink pussy, dripping and open, slutty smile coy as she preened for the photographer. But that hymen looked real enough. And the look on her face said she knew all about what was about to happen and wanted it bad.

Jonas laughed and pulled a pair of panties out of his pocket.

“After riding some horses, this chick spread them for me. Hell, I recommend equestriennes, gentlemen. The exercise gets them good and limber.”

Fuck. In a past life, I would have laughed with the other dudes, but now it was just uninteresting. I didn’t need this.

But Jonas was on a roll.

“So I fucked her good and took her out for lunch afterwards. Haven’t seen the woman since, though my phone’s been ringing off the hook,” he smirked. The boy threw the panties down in the middle of the floor with a flourish, like he was issuing a challenge. They were pale pink and blood stained. “If you want more pics, I got ‘em, plus video. She doesn’t know about the video part,” came that evil smirk.

The guys instantly clamored for live-action proof and Jonas chuckled, like he had been waiting for this moment. He pressed a button and the sound of two voices filled the room. Him and a girl with a surprisingly deep voice.

“You want to put it in my pussy now, Jonas?” the baritone female chanted. “Right here? Right in this hot hole? It’s all for you,” she crooned.

I didn’t bother looking at the screen.

Jesus. How long was this shit going to take? I barely hid my annoyance. It was like being at a board meeting. All these guys taking out their dicks and measuring them for no damn reason, save ego.

But finally it ended. Jonas crowed long and hard, pumping his hips forwards and back, miming the hot sex. Yeah, right. I bet she was as dry as a bone. Shit, loser. You paid a professional? No way was she a virgin, all that was an act. Get real.

But people were eager to move on, to tell their own stories. And the guys who went after him felt they had to do even more. One guy even wanted to go grab a hooker from downstairs to act out the shit, but there was no time.

And finally it was the billionaire before me. Reginald, of course. That loser could get girls to bend over for him just by opening his mouth. Chicks dig sexy English accents, you can milk that shit for money.

And Reggie didn’t let us down.

“I caught two for the price of one,” he lilted with a smarmy grin. “Twins who did absolutely everything together. And I mean everything.”

The room went wild. Guys jumped up to slap him on the back like he was the second coming of the Messiah. They begged to see his evidence, tumbling over one another like eager puppies.

“No fucking way!” Jonas whined. “I don’t believe you did any of that. I call bull.”

“Unlike most of you gentlemen, I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever,” he smirked, whipping out photos.

And sure enough, the images showed identical twins, dark haired and hot, blowing kisses at the camera. The next series of shots showed them tonguing each other down below, then Reginald’s dick punching into a tight and hairy hole. Which twin could have been anyone’s guess. But then the next shot was of the same dick, smeared in blood, dipping into a shaved snatch. Oh, I get it now. Two girls who are twins, one who shaved, and one who didn’t. That was the differentiating factor.

“I had them both, one after the other,” he boasted in that clipped accent, like he was better than everyone else. “I had my cock buried balls deep in two snatches. As soon as I fucked one and made her bleed, her sister was right there, begging for her turn. Can you believe it? Identical twins with identical twin snatches,” he smirked. “If any of you want to try, just let me know. They’re up for hire.”

Rumbles of excitement rolled through the room. Guys shouted out to get the girls’ numbers, practically panting in heat. My billionaire pals were obviously all about that scene, but honestly? It just sounded stupid to me. Two girls? Yeah, I’d had that back in the day and it was more of a hassle than anything else. Not so cool the morning after.

“So yeah,” Reggie continued. “Top that, motherfuckers. I think this contest is DONE! Winner right here,” he crowed, pointing to himself.

A guy near me shouted his approval.

“Fuck yeah! That was hot as fuck. Twins? Good one, my man, good one.” He lifted a half empty glass of bourbon. “I unofficially declare Reginald the winner. And I bow down to you, my friend.”

Fine by me. The relief loosened my shoulders, lungs fully expanding for the first time all night. Now I wouldn’t have to share what I’d done with Beth. I was gonna get off scot free, my secret safe.

But no such luck.

“Yo, Carlton hasn’t gone yet,” grunted Rex. “We all gotta play. You know the rules.”

Fuck. Shit.

These guys were all about games. Unfortunately, these games weren’t interesting anymore, but this was what I’d agreed to do. Shame twisted in my stomach, but there was no way out.

I tried to bullshit at first.

“Naw, we already got a winner, there’s no need. Reggie here did identical twins. What could possibly top that?”

“Hear hear,” yelled one guy drunkenly, sloshing his glass. “To the winner!”

But Rex frowned.

“We made a pact,” he said tightly. “And we all have to go. If you didn’t score anything, just say so,” came that smarmy whine. “It’s all good. Not everyone’s a winner in life,” he said with a smirk.

I was about to lie. I was about to shrug off the comments, and let them think I was a loser. But then a guy I didn’t know so well, Tim, stuck his oar in.

“You like ‘em fat, right? Those girls are never virgins. And you know why? It’s because they can’t get laid so they boink themselves with giant dildos, stuffing their pussies full. It’s really sad the way these chicks crave dick and can’t get it. But hey,” he shrugged, “not my prob.”

And I had to say something then. Because yeah, maybe I’m technically considered a chubby chaser. So what? I like females with meat on their bones. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, and trust me, it’s twice as nice when you try it.

So I spoke then.

“Naw, I got a good one. She’s so good that I didn’t want to share,” I said offhandedly. “Too good for you losers.”

The room quieted down.

“You sure about that?” whined Jonas. “You sure about that?”

But Tim is an asshole through and through, pure evil incarnate.

“She’s fat,” he said dismissively, turning away and helping himself to some more wine. “She’s fat and nasty, Carlton’s embarrassed to show the pics.”

And then I was done. Done done. Beth was no such thing and I couldn’t let these fuckers think that.

“Naw, she’s sweet as honey with thighs like milk. Big thighs sure, but they’re pure cream, with juice spilling out between.”

The guys leaned forward, mouths opening.

“What’s that juice taste like?” asked one.

I pretended to think for a minute.

“Pure sex,” I tossed off. “A female in heat. A sweet girl who had no idea what she was doing, but who gave it to me all the same.”

And falling into a reverie, I told them about Beth’s thick, soft body. How she took me to heaven every time those legs opened. Reluctantly, I even relayed the story of our first time. How the brunette was so shy, blushing like a bride as I snapped pics of that precious hymen.

“So you got pictures?” asked one guy quickly, his dick practically hanging out.

“I got tons of photos,” I nodded. “A shit ton, but it’s too good for you assholes.”

That caused a furor.

“Pictures! Pictures!” chanted some of the guys like we were at a football game.

“Shut the fuck up,” I raged. “I don’t have to show anything. No one said that was required. We only had to get pictures, not show them.”

That threw the crowd into a frenzy then.

“Pictures! Pictures!” some of the guys screamed, like the crowd at an arena. “Pictures!”

Was this a budding riot? Were the slaves gonna stage a revolt if I didn’t show the pics? Should I get out my sword to defend my honor? The gavel banged down hard, Tim calling the group to order.

“Quiet!” he shouted. “Quiet, quiet!”

And after a few seconds, the crowd hushed. But this wasn’t a good hush, this was a restless, uneasy detente, with tension in the air.

“Carlton,” Tim frowned. “What the hell? You have pics but you’re not gonna show them?”

I shrugged.

“Listen, it was never part of the deal. We said we’d take photos, but I’ve had second thoughts. You assholes don’t deserve it,” I said, shooting a glare at the upstarts. “She’s too good for you.”

Tim deliberated for a moment.

“It’s true, we never specifically stated that anyone had to share,” he spoke slowly. “But if you don’t, that’s clearly against the spirit of the law, if not the letter.”

Red descended on my vision then.

“What the hell is ‘the law’?” I mimicked with air quotes. “I mean, get real. This is a bunch of dudes who made a bet. None of us are law-abiding citizens, we’re just rich motherfuckers who do whatever we want. So yeah, don’t even start with that ‘spirit of the law’ shit.”

An uproar sounded then, guys jumping from their seats, looking like they were ready to fight. But the thing is, I was rarin’ for a brawl. I’d go down swinging if they wanted to see pictures of my beautiful Beth nude. She was mine, and mine alone, that shit was for my eyes only.

The gavel pounded again, cutting through the furor.

“Quiet, quiet!” Tim shouted. “Quiet!”

All this guy needed was a long white wig and he’d be perfect in some English Chancery Court. So I turned to my fellow brothers then.

“Listen,” came my growl. “I did a virgin. You can believe me or not. Your choice. But you’re not seeing an inch of skin. Not one bit of that pretty pussy is gonna grace your eyes.”

Reggie jumped into the fray then.

“Just let it go,” he pronounced to the crowd. “I did twins. That’s better, hands down. I win anyways, what’s the point of getting your panties in a squinch?”

A couple guys murmured agreement, and it was decided. Because my sweet girl couldn’t possibly be better than identical sluts who were wannabe porn stars yet virgins at the same time. Right?

So fine. No pics needed, Reggie had a slam dunk. But as I strode out of the room, Jonas caught my sleeve.

“You got a name for this chick?” he asked slyly. “Or was she totally made up?”

I shot him a glare.

Fuck you, were my thoughts.

But different words came out.

“Liz,” I snarled. “Her name is Liz.”

And it was true, in a sense. My beautiful Elizabeth White could also be called Liz in a jif. To me, she was Beth, but nicknames change depending on the audience.

And with that, I strolled out, soul light for the first time all night. Because the ordeal was over. I hadn’t betrayed my best girl, I hadn’t done anything but sing her praises. Yeah, it’d been to a pack of howling wolves, but shit, nothing too terrible happened.

So what if I described her responsiveness, that gorgeous female body? So what if I described the moans, the pants, the way she stretched to fit my monster cock? All that was hidden under a layer of anonymity. Because how many Liz’s are there in the world? Billions by my count. But this particular Elizabeth was all mine … and I’ll never let her go now.