Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Internet Giant

by Aubrey Parker

  “I —” This time he stops, caught. He can’t even say he’s sorry for saying he was sorry.

  I don’t know what I want from Onyx right now, other than for him to suffer.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asks.

  “Say you want me.”

  Onyx blinks. Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it. “I want you.”

  “Say you cheated because you were a bastard. Say you left because you were a bastard. Say you came back into my perfectly happy, finally settled life because you’re still a bastard.”

  “I’m a bastard.” He comes closer, one step. He looks like he thinks I might bite him — and honestly? The way I feel right now, I might.

  I close the distance. I hit him in the chest, but he’s a wall of muscle and doesn’t flinch.

  “You don’t mean it,” I say.

  “I mean it.”

  “You came here because you expect me to fold, to take you back.”

  “I don’t think that, Mia. I know you’re smarter than that.”

  I hit him again. My gaze has averted, looking down at my tiny fists. My eyes have started to water. The emotion inside is changing. “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “Don’t tell me what I am!”

  I expect Onyx to step back, but he doesn’t. I barely looked up, and now my eyes are down again. I can’t know what’s on his face, or guess at what he’s thinking.

  It finally settles. I know what I want, even if it’s not awful for me. Mom would tell me to run and Jamie would shout me down for even thinking it. But I can’t help myself. I want Onyx. Or, more correctly: I want him to want me, without me wanting him. I need him, but can’t and won’t admit it. I’ll hate myself if I admit that I want him after the bastard he’s been.

  I want Onyx, but I want him to want me more.

  I want him to take me, so I’ll feel taken … instead of feeling like a fool.

  I want him to overwhelm me. To have his way. To force me to do what I already want to do.

  My thoughts are so broken I almost cry. What did this man do to me? Why can’t I just hate him, purely? Or if I find a way to forgive him, why can’t I love him, purely? Why such a horrible stew?

  He’ll never understand. Men never do.

  His hand is on my arm. Again, I won’t look up. Or face him. I’ve embarrassed myself enough — by succumbing in the office, by following him here. I must seem like a stalker. A basket case.

  A girl who, even if she’s a great lay, will eventually boil his rabbit.

  “Mia.”

  I twitch away. “Don’t touch me.”

  The hand returns. “Mia, listen to me.”

  I hit his hand, but again it comes back.

  “Mia. This is important. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what you want to hear. But there are reasons I came back. And they’re not what you think. I didn’t return to Inferno for you … but at the same time, you were the only reason I came back at all.”

  It’s the most he’s said. The words break me a little more, and I still can’t look up to face him. He pulls me closer. I feel his breath, his heartbeat.

  I realize I’m crying — ruining my makeup. Now I’ll look like a freak show too, instead of just acting like one.

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “What we did — it was a mistake. But I did want it.”

  I wanted it too, but there’s no way I’ll admit it.

  “There’s no way to untangle this. Aiden and the thing with Urban Design … Well, it’s complicated. Even explaining it makes me look bad. And I am. I should never have come here. The only way to win what we were facing, honestly, was not to play the game.”

  “What game? Who’s we?”

  “There’s a lot to it. And it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that, for everything, I’m sor—” He stops mid-word, knowing I hate his apologies. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  I step back. I look up. He still has my arm, but we’re no longer pressed together. I still don’t know what I feel. Except for regret; I definitely feel that. Whether Onyx is sorry or not — whether he’s a changed man willing to mind his ghosts — I’m still the fool.

  I should leave, because we’re at his place and he can’t. But if I go, who am I? I want to be the angry girl who’s had her say. But I’m not. Forever and ever, he’ll see this moment as the day I came to him, wanting him, even after all we’ve been through. Maybe he thinks it shouldn’t have happened and can’t happen again, but I’m still being rejected.

  Today, no matter the reason, I’m still not desired.

  My rage returns: “I was always just a fuck to you. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “No. Never. I was—”

  “It didn’t matter what we had — what you claimed we had, every goddamn time you told me you were sorry and would never do it again. And it didn’t matter how much sex we had, or how. Because it’s not about sex for you, is it? Even with us, now. It’s about more sex. It’s about whatever hole is next. You never wanted what you had. You wanted what came next: the next conquest, the next goal to achieve. The next notch on your bedpost.” Something occurs to me, and my head cocks. “You never loved me at all, did you?”

  “Of course I did. It wasn’t like that.”

  But it was, and it is. I see it now. I take another step back. His arm still holds me, but I’m gaining steam.

  “When did you ever fight for me, Onyx? When did you ever show me that I meant more to you than a willing pussy?”

  I shake him off, realization dawning. It’s true. In everything, Onyx asked and I said yes.

  Do you want to go out? Yes.

  Do you want to have sex? Yes.

  I just cheated on you. Do you want me back? Yes.

  I’ve been gone for six years. Now I’m here again. Do you want to fuck on your desk? Yes.

  I’ve never had a backbone. I’ve never been a challenge. I’ve never had things my way. I realize, now that I’m thinking about it and my ire is rising, that has always been the problem.

  It wasn’t that he cheated on me. It was that afterward, when he wanted me back, I went right along with him.

  Which is what Jamie has been saying.

  Which is what my mother has been saying.

  No wonder I hated myself when I was with him, and no wonder I felt like a used and discarded tissue when we finally broke up for good. It wasn’t that I hated Onyx. It was that I hated myself for never standing tall. For never calling the shots, and having things my way.

  I spent the drive here thinking of the shameful way I let Onyx fuck me at work, and the disrespect my subconscious gave me by delivering our sex dream. I’m burning with rage, but the rage is tinged with lust. The angrier I get, the wetter I get for him, too.

  “Just a hole. That’s all I ever was to you.”

  Finally, his bland, defensive expression snaps. “Hey, I’m trying to do the right thing here!”

  Seeing him move from apologetic to authoritative turns me on the rest of the way. It’s uncomfortable. I must end this, find a spot to park, and do what’s needed. I’ll claim a victory here, then a second by the side of the road. Or hell, while I’m driving. The seat’s vibration will do wonders … and as keyed up as I feel right now, a DIY orgasm won’t take long.

  “You never thought about what I wanted.”

  “Look, Mia, I don’t want to have sex with you again, okay? If that’s what you think this is all about, that’s not what I’m after!”

  “You, you, you,” I say. “You’re still talking about only what you want.”

  “Well? Then what the fuck do you want, Mia?”

  To hurt you the way you hurt me.

  To see you burn.

  But those are lies. Right here and right now, I believe he’s a different man. I believe he really is sorry, even if I won’t allow him to say it. And even if that makes me an idiot, I don’t care. Whether he’s different or sorry doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I do
what matters to me. All that matters, is that for once, I get what I want.

  “I want you to come over here,” I say, stepping back until my ass meets the side of my car. “And I want you to fuck me, whether you say you want it or not.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MIA

  Of course, he wants it. I could tell by the hard shaft on my hip while we were close a moment ago, and by the thick roll visible in his pants right now. I can tell by the way his eyes light up even as he hesitates. I can tell by the way that thick thing throbbed when I said the words, growing even larger.

  I don’t know what’s going on in Onyx’s mind right now, but watching him is almost comical. I know he wants me. He’s probably never stopped wanting my body, even when he insulted my emotions and mind all those years ago. But still, something is holding him back, so he looks like a man torn between two masters.

  Up top is his brain, forcing him to pause. And down low is his soldier, already on the march toward my wet pussy.

  It’s hard not to touch myself as I watch him. I want to fuck with him, and see him squirm. But I can’t wait. I wish he’d make up his mind. I want him to take me. I want his cock far enough inside to make me gasp.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  Onyx laughs uncomfortably, but I’m serious.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he says. “With us, it’s never just one thing.”

  “You’re not taking advantage of me if I tell you to do it.”

  “It’s not a good idea. It’s a terrible idea. I was an asshole to you in the past, and if we …” He trails off as I turn around, sigh, and open my car door. “What are you doing?”

  I shrug. “I’m not going to beg you.”

  “Wait.”

  “If you want to be ‘a better man’ and refuse, that’s your call. If you’re dumb enough to think that it’s insulting me to do the single thing I’ve ever actually asked for, because I want it?” I shrug. “Then that’s on you.”

  Onyx is still gaping at me. I open the door the rest of the way, then walk around it. My pussy is so wet from all this talk and mental foreplay, there’s no friction when I move. My panties must be soaked. I’ll need to pull my skirt down enough when I sit, or stain the seat. It might happen anyway, right through my skirt.

  I look at his body: chiseled and firm. I look at his cock, tenting his trousers.

  I yearn.

  I boil.

  But when he still fails to move, I open the door to its stop and sit down.

  “Wait.”

  I buckle up. I start the engine.

  “Mia, wait.”

  I close the door.

  I put the car in drive. It rolls forward two feet before the door yanks open and I see Onyx holding it. His hands are suddenly on me, fumbling across my chest and lap, pulling at the seat belt as if he’s never seen one before. I instinctively hit the brake to stop the idling, but when the belt comes free, the lurch as Onyx grabs me unseats my foot. The car’s still in drive, so it continues to roll slowly forward. I shriek as I’m dragged through the door. Then I’m hanging in Onyx’s big hands as the car continues to inch forward.

  “Onyx, the car!”

  It strikes the gate at two miles per hour, bending the fender. The car stops, but the engine’s still running with a wolf’s hungry growl.

  Watching the car with alarm, I’ve almost forgotten about Onyx, still holding me. His hands spin me like a top. I feel dizzy. I meet his eyes and find there’s almost no human left inside them. This is an animal before me. No longer a man; he’s a thing. A thing that wants me. A thing that plans to take me, and has lost all sense beyond desire and need.

  “You could have—” Then I can’t speak because his mouth is on mine, smothering me, murdering my outrage, stealing my breath. I was a pot ready to boil, now I’m an erupting volcano. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, but it’s like I can’t differentiate one type of stimulation from another. He angers me, my body responds. He frightens me, my body responds. He pulls me from a moving car, nearly getting me caught or run over, and part of me is terrified even as he kisses me … but it’s lost to the part of me that calls to him, gropes toward him, wants him — needs him — inside me.

  His big body consumes mine; our center of gravity is his to manipulate as he clutches me to his broad chest. We lean into each other, then we’re staggering backward and I think we’ll fall, but I fetch up against something hard and smooth that turns out to be the rear quarter panel of my Camry. We hit it hard and it hurts a little, but right now pain is just another undifferentiated stimulus. Whatever makes my heart race causes my pussy to throb. I’m soaked. I don’t notice the hurt. I only notice his hands.

  As they hold my face between them, captive, his lips crushing wetly into mine.

  As they slide down my sides and then up again, to the top button of my blouse. But the hands don’t fumble for the button. They’re too carnal. In one strong motion those big, strong hands rip the fabric, popping buttons to skitter away on the macadam, and I feel the cooler night air kiss my bare skin. He wastes no time pushing my bra away to free my tits, which want his fingers to roll across their hard nipples. When he bends down to take one and then the other in his mouth, sucking, biting just a little, I reach back to undo the bra clasp he’s failed to handle, and then my hands are on him, too, removing his blazer, loosening his tie.

  It all takes too long. I can’t wait. By the time I finally unbutton his shirt to a hard, ebony chest and raised abs, it feels like I could come on the spot.

  His hands travel down my stomach, across the front of my skirt, sliding down and then up under. There’s no delicacy. With feral intensity he yanks my panties aside, slipping a finger inside me, making my eyes close. I moan.

  There’s no courtesy to his foreplay, if that’s what this is. He’s not trying to please me, but he is all the same. This is Onyx taking, and me grateful for being taken. He doesn’t strum my clit but I’m hot enough to feel even the tiniest movements in other places rocket through it. The vibration of the running car behind me telegraphs through my bones to make everything hum.

  With an almost angry motion, Onyx lifts my skirt up and out of his way, raising it to circle my hips. He drags my panties down and I shake them away, my pussy now bare to the nighttime courtyard. His hand finds my wetness again, sliding flat between my thighs this time, cupping the right and dragging its back along the left, both of my inner thighs slick with my juices. His thumb is up, stroking my clit.

  I can’t wait any longer. My hands pull his dress shirt off and fling it away, then sprint to his belt. The clasp feels too complicated despite its simplicity. It takes too long to open, and the slide clasp on his slacks is likewise. The zipper is next. Then my hand is reaching inside for my prize, finding it thick and hard in my small hand, feeling him respond. I slip lower, cupping his balls, then run my hand up the underside of the shaft, feeling its every feature and ridge.

  He pushes me down by the shoulders. I can’t help myself; one hand slips between my legs to continue what he can no longer reach. I stroke his thick, hard monster, pausing to watch it twitch before bringing my lips forward to kiss it. Then Onyx’s hand is at the back of my neck, not forcing but wanting, and I slip my lips along his shaft until I’ve taken all I can. I stroke his length between my wet lips, savoring the feeling of his overwhelming size.

  “Sit on the car,” he says, “so I can eat your pussy.”

  “Fuck me, Onyx. Oh, God, please fuck me.”

  But he just pulls me upright and says, “Do as I say.”

  It’s not like I have a choice; he effortlessly lifts me to sit on the trunk, my ass cold on the metal. His hands slide between my legs and part them, uncomfortably wide, as if he wants the best view, the best access. Then his fingers and lips and tongue make a symphony of wetness between my spread legs. I can’t tell what’s touching me or licking me or rubbing me and I don’t care. All I care about is that
I’m coming harder than I ever have before.

  He pulls back, pushes his pants the rest of the way down, and grips his thick, hard cock by the base, aiming it like a weapon. I have a moment’s hesitation, wondering if he’s too big despite knowing I’ve taken him inside me so many times. A moment’s hesitation about us, about this situation — something about me feeling like a fool. But there’s no space for that in my head as he pushes his cock inside me, filling me up, making me yell out with pleasure.

  “Jesus, Mia. You’re so wet. You’re too fucking wet.”

  He’s pulled halfway out and is looking down at our union. From my half-propped-up position, I can see my pussy lips wrapped around him, his length coated in my flowing juices. He uses his hand to wipe it away and fucks me again, this time with more friction, and I think I come again, but it’s all a mess of sensation.

  He pulls out. He steps back and I stare at his long cock, its surface shiny from fucking. It’s too big to stand straight out; its girth makes it sag. I want it back inside me. I’ve never wanted anything more.

  He reaches out — takes my hand and pulls me away, not asking permission or assent.

  He leads me to a patch of grass, where he lays down and I kneel beside him.

  “Get on top. I want you to ride my cock. I want to see how you fuck me.”

  I crawl atop him, reach between my legs to take his hot length in my hand. I guide him to my needy slit, grateful as he fills me again. Then I ride him — close at first with my nipples brushing his chest, then upright as he pushes me up, his hands on my tits. They move up, to my hair, and those big fingers roll across my scalp, sending waves of sensation to every part of me.

  “Sit up,” Onyx growls. “Sit up and let me see my cock slide into your beautiful pussy.”

  I do, but to move how he wants me I need to get off my knees and onto my feet. I reach back to slide my high heels off but his hand stops me. He purrs into my ear, “Leave them on.”

  The ground is blessedly firm, though, and the heels don’t sink into it. I sit upright, now fully in control of our fucking, looking down on Onyx as he receives his pleasure.