Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Connector

by Aubrey Parker

  Gone is the challenge so recently lighting her eyes. Now she looks like a frightened teenager, suddenly realizing she’s in way over her head.

  “What did you say?” she asks me.

  My hands move to my throat and I loosen my tie. “I said to take off your clothes.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I don’t think I am.”

  Still she watches me with her big brown eyes. Her hands have moved up, probably without her realizing, to protect and cover her chest. I look Alex up and down, from her loose and shining long brown hair to her long, bare legs. I begin and end on her face. She’s beyond stunning, and has no idea.

  “Fuck you,” she tells me.

  “Fine. Then we’re through.”

  I turn to grab my jacket from its hook, but a small noise — not quite a wait, but that’s the way it feels — stops me. My hand freezes. I turn my head.

  Her hands have moved from their protective positions to her collar. To the top button. Long, agile fingers with pink nail polish move until the neckline opens. I see a broader expanse of her upper chest. Then more as the second button goes. I see cleavage. My cock stiffens.

  I leave my blazer where it is. I turn fully to watch her, leaning back now, arms crossed.

  The shirt comes off. Alex stands in front of me in a bra that’s not even trying to be sexy, a practical garment without any frills. Her breasts are full and soft-looking, nipples pressing through the cups.

  “Why are you doing this, Alex?”

  “Because you told me to.”

  “And are you this easily bought? Is your sexuality something to be bartered?”

  “I’m giving you a little show. Just a little, to get what I want.”

  “So that’s what this is. This is you in a superior bargaining position.”

  She looks confused. Minutes earlier, I told Alex that she was submitting to my superior bargaining position now so that she could get what she wants later. And somehow, she believed me.

  “Yes.”

  “No,” I counter.

  She’s shaking. Her fingers, as they try to find their place, tremble as if she’s been stricken with palsy. Gooseflesh stipples her skin, a few shades darker than mine. She’s a bit tan, with blood that makes her naturally dark — Italian, maybe.

  “Now the bra.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want.”

  Her hands move toward the front clasp twice, then back away. Each time, her nipples become a bit more obvious. My cock is rock hard from all this teasing.

  If she were doing it on purpose, it’d be genius. But Alex isn’t doing anything to tease me. She’s doing it because she’s unsure of what to do — but that’s not because she doesn’t want to.

  I move forward, toward her.

  I’ve had enough.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ALEX

  NATHAN COMES AROUND THE DESK. I don’t know what he’ll do, until he does it.

  He takes me by my sides and turns me around, so that his back is to the door and I’m facing it. Then I’m moving backward on my heels, wobbling when my ass presses against his desk.

  Then he lifts me up so that I’m sitting on the surface.

  His hands lay atop my thighs. They move higher, sliding slowly. He’s halfway up, wrist-deep under my businesslike skirt.

  I can barely breathe. My vision is swimming; I’m lightheaded. I feel every heartbeat in all of my places: in my temples and neck, my hands and fingers, between my legs. It’s like the pulse of a rabbit trapped in a snare. I might pass out.

  I’m afraid. But I’m something else, too.

  Something new.

  Nathan’s hands are all the way up my skirt. His thumbs brush my panties. I want to tell him to stop. I just met this man two days ago, and don’t know him at all. I don’t like the things he says, or the way he acts. I don’t like him. But as his thumbs brush fabric he’s not meant to see, it’s hard not to close my eyes with a sigh. It’s impossible to get enough oxygen through my nose, so I’m forced to open my mouth.

  The room is spinning. I have no idea what I’m feeling, but every piece of me is alive and on high alert. He has my full attention, body and soul.

  “You have a tell,” he says.

  It takes me half a second to recognize the English language. My head was starting to tip back. I right it, meeting his cornflower-blue eyes as he brushes my most sensitive spot with his thumbs.

  “What?”

  “A tell,” he repeats. “You hear about them in poker, but poker is just another form of negotiation.”

  I don’t understand, but there’s so much about this that’s confusing. Like why, with his hands all the way up my skirt, I continue to sit here.

  Instead of saying more, Nathan curls his fingers around the sides of my panties and pulls them down. Out of my skirt, all the way down my legs. I feel them dangle on one of my feet for a few seconds before dropping to the floor.

  “Do you understand?” He’s suddenly serious, like a teacher imparting a lesson.

  I shake my head.

  One hand moves up again, but this time there’s no fabric to stop him. His fingers brush my clit, then slide inside me. It’s all I can do to not gasp with pleasure.

  His fingers come back out. He holds them up in front of my face and says, “Your tell.”

  He’s showing me my wetness. Evidence that I’m bluffing.

  I move my gaze from his fingers to his face.

  “Get off my desk.”

  “I—”

  “Get the fuck off my desk. Now.”

  So I do, feeling chastised. Somehow I’ve failed; I’ve done something wrong. He’s inches away. His hot breath tickles my neck. His scent has invaded my nostrils, waking a beast inside me. And now it’s clawing to get out. My nipples are so hard, they hurt. My pussy feels swollen, in urgent need of attention.

  I pull my skirt down, flustered. I’m reaching for my blouse, assuming I’ve been dismissed, when Nathan’s strong hands take my arms and pin them to my sides. He spins me around so I’m facing the desk, and lets go. Then I both feel and hear him shuffling behind me.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did to—”

  Nathan puts a hand on my back and presses me forward as if shoving me out of the way. But there’s a desk at my hips, so I tip forward, almost falling off my heels. I nearly face-plant, but get a hand out to stop myself.

  Rough palms pull my skirt up high, baring my ass. Then there’s enough pressure between my legs to melt me. I look back. Nathan has his pants down, cock in his hands. I’m about to say more when my slick slit invites him in, my overwhelming lubrication offering no resistance.

  His cock is suddenly all the way inside me, his hips pressed against my ass cheeks. I give a little whimper, gripping the desk against an involuntary contraction.

  “You’re so tight,” he says.

  He pulls out, rubs the head of his dick along my pussy lips, then dives back in, making me moan. Another long stroke, then another. His hands move around to my chest, finally unclasping my bra. My breasts hang free, but don’t sway because he immediately has them in his hands, using them like grips as he fucks me from behind.

  He rails me hard, shaking the desk. I’m fascinated by the movement of a pen on the wobbling surface, skittering to and fro as Nathan fucks me, ramming me into the desk.

  He pulls out and turns me around.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I manage to say when he faces me.

  “We already are.” He undoes his tie and unbuttons his shirt. His chest is smooth and lean. I want to touch it, but don’t. My hands are elsewhere: inches from his hard, slick shaft. I can’t bring myself to touch it. So far, this has almost been done to me, though I want to keep going. Touching him is an admission. Another tell.

  He looks me over as if he means to devour me. He pulls my dangling bra the rest of the way off, then unzips my skirt and fishes it off of my legs. I’m left fully n
ude in heels, watching him, both embarrassed and hotter than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  “I want to eat your pussy.”

  I feel like I should say no, but when he puts his hand on my chest, I make half the movements myself.

  I’m up on the desk. He spreads my legs, then fingers my wet folds, his eyes on mine. Then he moves down, lips drawing lines on my flat stomach. Up one inner thigh and then the other, making me tingle, avoiding my yearning pussy. Then his eyes flick toward it and he devours me, his tongue flicking my clit, drawing long strokes up and down my lips.

  “Come for me, Alex.”

  I didn’t need permission or instruction. I was already there, every muscle gripping. My head falls back onto the desk’s surface, and this time I cry out. He licks me into abandon, but I’m not even finished by the time his body is back between my spread legs, his cock sliding inside.

  “Say it, Alex.” He’s watching me. Breathing hard, getting close.

  I’m making noises. My back is sliding across the desk. I’m not even here; I’m somewhere else. I’ve come with other guys, but it was nothing like this. It’s as if Nathan has discovered a whole new level of me, pushed me into pleasure I didn’t know was possible.

  “Say it,” he repeats. “Tell me you’re coming.”

  “Oh my god I’m coming!” My shout is almost involuntary. Seconds later I couldn’t have spoken, just as I was mute before he put his cock back inside me. A second orgasm is on its way, and it’s so large I’m almost scared.

  Nathan growls as we come, his thrusts growing violent — singular stabs, instead of his earlier steady rhythm. He buries himself to the hilt, balls slapping my asshole. Like he’s trying to get all the way inside, to fit his entire body inside my contracting hole, to vanish inside me and leave the world forever.

  When he pulls out, I sit up, already wondering if this is something I’ll regret. I feel a need to find my clothes, aware more than ever of my nudity. Was it really only an hour and a half ago that I came in here with Corey, angling for a job with my best professional arguments? It feels like a lifetime.

  Nathan has already pulled his pants back on. He’s buttoning his shirt — a garment that’s fine in a way I can see but not describe, that probably costs more than my rent — but he’s turned away. Businesslike already, getting things back in order.

  “Nathan?” I say, somehow hearing my own voice as an intrusion.

  “Go home, little girl,” he says without looking at me, “and think about what you’ve learned today.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ALEX

  IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT, BUT I don’t care about dinner.

  I sit in my room all day, nose buried in books I’m not using to study. My mind is fixed on this afternoon, unsure of how I should feel. There’s nobody I can turn to. Nathan would be the closest, but he’s also the worst to consider. And besides, Geoffrey would surely intercept my call and promise to deliver a message.

  I kill the hours. Around nine there’s a knock on my door. I’m surprised to see that it’s Jenna.

  “Hey. Sylvie, Heather, and some of the others want to hit the clubs. Wanna go?”

  I’m more fixated on Jenna’s manner than her question. “Why did you knock? You live here.”

  “Dunno. Seemed like you wanted privacy.”

  This would usually be followed by a masturbation joke, but Jenna’s not making that quip today and I wouldn’t be receptive if she was. I don’t need to masturbate. I’m good for a while. If good is, in fact, what I am.

  I don’t answer, so Jenna goes on. “Anyway. You coming?”

  Behind her, I hear Nathan’s voice: Say it, Alex. Tell me you’re coming.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t really feel like it.”

  “But it’s Ladies’ Night.”

  “Thursday is Ladies’ Night.”

  “Yeah, well, we find some guys to pay our cover and any night can be Ladies’ Night.”

  “No thanks, Jenna.”

  She stays where she is, half her body visible. Her mouth squinches to the side, then she’s doing that thinking thing where she sort of chews the inside of her cheek.

  “Can I help you?” I ask when she doesn’t leave.

  “Maybe I’ll stick around, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Just because.”

  I close the open book in front of me. I set my pen aside, then turn on my chair to face her.

  Jenna reciprocates by opening the door the rest of the way, still waiting for me to speak.

  “What’s going on here, Jenna?”

  “Corey says you’re mad at him.”

  I could deny it, and would if this were Corey. But it’s Jenna, so I say, “I’m over it.”

  “He also says you’ve locked yourself in here all day.”

  “He’s full of shit.” In truth, I’ve had the door open. Maybe it would have been more normal to spend my Saturday afternoon doing things like Jenna has, but I can stay in and study alone if I want to.

  “There’s something going on. Tell me.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Tell me or I’ll start using your razor to shave down below.”

  I laugh a little. “It’s nothing.”

  “Corey said you sent him back in a cab, but then didn’t come back. From Nathan Turner’s office, I mean.”

  “Corey really has a bead on everything, doesn’t he?”

  “You know how he is. He was all butthurt that you were mad. So what happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I tried to talk Corey up but he was … you know. He was how he is. So it pissed me off. Blew all I was trying to do. And yeah, I sent him off without me because I didn’t feel like sitting next to him for half an hour while he tried to make me tell him that everything was fine.”

  “He does that, all right,” Jenna says.

  “It’s over now. Live and learn.”

  “So you didn’t stay behind?”

  “Why would I stay behind?”

  “Corey said you ran up for your purse.”

  “I did.” I see where she’s going, so I invent something quick: “Then I went to the park to clear my head. I took a walk.”

  “In heels?”

  “I carried them.”

  “So, barefoot?”

  “What, you don’t believe me?”

  Jenna pauses on the threshold. She’s all done up, ready for clubbing until 2 a.m. But I know her, and she’ll probably give it up to stick around with poor dumb Alex, who’s acting sort of like a girl who got caught not knowing when to keep her fool legs shut. She moves from the chair and slumps into a chair. “So do you want to go to a movie or something?”

  “Don’t stay home with me, Jenna. Seriously, I’m fine.”

  She won’t call me out, insist that I’m clearly not fine, or leave me in denial. “I want to.”

  “I don’t really feel like going to a movie.”

  “Let’s rent one, then. Get pizza.”

  Jenna sometimes wears a hard, almost jaded expression. The rest of the time, she’s so impossibly beautiful, with her needs-no-effort hair right out of a salon commercial, that she intimidates both sexes. But I’ve come to know her well these past months; deep down, she’s like me. We’re both kids who are learning to be adults, trying to look like it’s no big deal when it is.

  “Okay. But nothing with Vince Vaughn.”

  Jenna groans as if this is unreasonable.

  But her pestering is helping for sure. I’m already feeling more like myself, leaving behind the strange funk that, honestly, I’m not sure even is a funk. I’m about to tease her when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Yeeeees?” Jenna purrs.

  The door opens and Corey’s standing there, looking reluctant. I’m instantly annoyed, because Jenna had me feeling better and now there’s this. I really am over his bullshit and willing to let it all go. Eager to let it go. But no, here
he is with his sad face. Corey’s going to make me listen through an apology, then wait for me to soothe him by saying it’s all okay.

  Instead, he does something expected.

  He smiles a little and says, “I did it, Alex. I finally did what you told me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  NATHAN

  AT FIRST, I’M SURE ALEXANDRA Wynn will call me. She’ll phone the office, then sweet-talk Geoffrey into putting the call through. Or she’ll turn out to know someone who knows someone who knows someone, and then somehow end up with my private cell. There’s an outside chance, even, that she’ll show up here again. She’s done that twice, once uninvited. The girl is certainly gutsy enough.

  The trick is knowing which emotion to feel:

  Power?

  Or regret?

  I’d never tell Alex, but the first would be appropriate. It shouldn’t be, and I didn’t think it would be. But as much as I imagine being annoyed by her inevitable phone call or visit, I find myself wishing — more with every passing hour — that she’d annoy me.

  Technically, I’m done with her. I saw her; I had her; I’m finished. Another hot girl, notched accordingly.

  But I keep thinking of her.

  If she could see inside my mind, she’d know the first emotion was more on-target.

  Power.

  A nineteen-year-old girl with nothing of value, haunting me. Controlling the path of my thoughts, which keep course-correcting toward her.

  I keep wondering if she’ll shove her entitled, pushy way back into my business.

  You lost the negotiation, I imagine telling her. You thought you were giving me what I wanted, but the truth is that you wanted it, too. Your soaking pussy betrayed you — same as those eyes that begged me to fuck you. You think you can solve my problem with Ashton Moran? You couldn’t even keep me from putting my cock inside you.

  But in truth she’s controlling me.

  If Alex entered my penthouse right now and demanded that I pick up the phone to call Alyssa on her behalf, I’d do it. Same if she got down on her knees with her tits out — if she started rubbing my dick, but knew not to take me all the way until she got what she wanted.