Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Connector

by Aubrey Parker

  Nathan places his hand, held flat like a plateau, about two feet above the floor.

  He says, “This is the amount of money it takes to survive.”

  He raises the hand a few inches.

  “This is the amount of money it takes to thrive.”

  He raises it another few inches.

  “This, Alex, is the point at which most people would consider a man ‘wealthy.’”

  He raises the hand another foot; it’s now just above his head from his seated position. “And this is how much money it takes to buy literally everything you could ever want: a ridiculously expensive car, a mansion with all the space you’d need plus six pools and a basketball court, a live-in staff, a vacation mansion on the Amalfi Coast, a Gulfstream.” He looks at me meaningfully, then shakes the hand where he’s held it. “This is the most money most people can conceive as a real thing, and yet it’s a fraction of what our poor friend Michael Beyers has.”

  Nathan points at the ceiling, presumably at where he’d need to hold his hand to indicate the billion dollar mark. “A billion dollars, Alex, isn’t within your ability to comprehend. It’s not something that just happens. It’s something you fight and claw and bite and live and die for. Do you understand me?”

  I nod, still standing in front of him like a model on a pedestal.

  “You waltzed into my office that first day like you belonged there. And each time we’ve met, you’ve spoken to me like I’m an ordinary man you could push around. On one hand, it impressed me. But on the other, it could hurt you. We’re in this together, so you have some education waiting. That starts with understanding something that, I’m afraid, you have no ability to understand.”

  “Try me.” My heart is fluttering like a tiny bird as I watch him watching me.

  “The idea of my Syndicate, starting with the nucleus group I call the ‘Trillionaire Boys’ Club,’ is like nothing that’s ever been assembled. It’s enough money to change the world.”

  “I understand.”

  Nathan shakes his head. “I already told you; you don’t.”

  “Because I’m young?”

  “Because you think it’s ‘weird’ for me to look you over. To appreciate you like art, which is what you deserve.”

  I look away, flattered and embarrassed.

  “The first thing you have to learn if you’re to play in this world, is that in order to become a billionaire, you need to be a certain kind of person. You must have certain … attitudes … that are as much a part of you as your skin itself.”

  “Which attitudes?”

  “That all that surrounds you is yours to take,” he says, eyes fixed on mine. “That the main reason you’d ever be able to accumulate unthinkable wealth is because, deep inside, you believe that you already own it.”

  Nathan shifts on the couch. He reaches toward me and slides a hungry hand along my leg, up under my dress at the knee. My skin is on fire.

  “You have to know with all your soul that the things of this world are already yours,” Nathan tells me, “and that all you must do, when you encounter what you desire, is claim it.”

  I swallow, looking down at him. “I understand.”

  Nathan sits back and crosses his muscular arms. “Then prove it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ALEX

  I STAND IN FRONT OF Nathan like a statue before a sculptor. I’m on the plinth; he’s below, touching me, seeking the art inside me. I’m summoning all my nerve, but I’m frozen, not quite ready to show him strength — the way I was that first day, before I knew what we were getting into.

  My breath comes deep, making my chest rise and fall as I try to catch up. Nathan’s hand is still on my knee, just above the line of fabric. He hasn’t moved, but my skin seems to think that he has. I can feel a phantom hand much higher than his real one. Those invisible hands rake my inner thighs and slide between my legs, painting me with juice from my pussy.

  He watches me, and I wonder what I’m supposed to be doing to prove it. Does Nathan want me to play the part of billionaire or belongings? Does he want me to act like an owner, or someone owned?

  He slides his hands up the sides of my legs, stretching the fabrics. He wraps his fingers around the waistband of my panties and pulls them down to my ankles. I step out and Nathan tosses them aside. But instead of going further, he pulls the dress back into place. I’m right where I was, composed, but now commando.

  The tease is unfair. No matter what I told Jenna and Corey, I came here expecting sex. I knocked on the door wanting it. And when Nathan slid my panties down my legs just now, all of my parts anticipated that he would go further.

  I’m wet for him. It’s impossible not to shift to alleviate the uncomfortable, delicious sensations. Impossible to watch him without flinching, to face off without biting my lip to imprison a sigh of pleasure.

  “Prove it, Alex,” Nathan repeats — and again, he sits back. The way his hands fall on his lap, I can’t tell if he’s hard.

  “How?”

  “What is yours?”

  I look around the room, at his many expensive belongings.

  Nathan laughs. “You’re being too literal.”

  “Then maybe I don’t understand after all.”

  He leans forward. He still hasn’t invited me to sit, and I’m a little afraid to move. All of this feels like a test. “Not long before I came to speak at your class, I flew out to LA and met with Hunter Altman. You know Hunter, of course.”

  “The producer. Blonde Ambition is one of his bands.”

  Nathan nods. “Like Ashton Moran, Hunter didn’t see a reason to join the Syndicate at first. Like most extremely rich people, he no longer wanted much of anything — because although the difference between one billion dollars and two billion dollars or more is massive, it makes little practical difference for most people. As I said, the point at which the world becomes open to all you could ever want happens at eight or nine figures, so a ten-figure net worth is only icing on the cake. There was little I could offer to entice him. By comparison, getting Caspian on board was easy. Do you know what made the difference between Caspian and Hunter?”

  “What?”

  “Caspian immediately understood the one thing that a trillion-dollar pool could give him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Power.”

  “Caspian already has power.”

  “More power. For a man like Caspian White, as for everyone, there’s a limit to how much money can be used — and hence, how much value money has beyond a point. But power? He can never have enough of that.”

  “And Hunter Altman doesn’t care about power?”

  “He cares differently. We all want power; it’s a basic human need. We all want to feel as if we’re in control, as if we can exert our power on our surroundings to get what we want. There are other means of exerting control, and it’s my job, as I form this Syndicate, to determine which pleasures press each person’s buttons.”

  “What pressed Hunter’s?”

  “A better question,” Nathan says, leaning forward and continuing to examine me, “is what use you are to me, if you don’t even understand the power you already have?”

  “I don’t have any power,” I say — and right now, it’s true.

  Nathan laughs again. “Lift your dress, Alex.”

  I suddenly feel shy, even though it’s senseless. But he’s watching me intently, so I comply. I do it slowly, feeling examined, aware of every flaw. I feel inadequate, as I peel the fabric up, baring myself to this man.

  Nathan looks at the spot between my legs, where I’m bare. He moistens his lips, then meets my eyes. “Unzip me.”

  Waiting for a punchline, I slowly kneel before Nathan. I don’t understand him. One minute he’s giving me billionaire lessons, and the next it’s all about genitals. I comply because I must — because a simple glance down my front shows my blushed pussy lips, swollen and aching for his touch.

  Nathan’s dick is thick and hard. A
line of what looks like spit hangs between his tip and his jeans. I watch his cock throb with his heartbeat, hard and insistent. I can feel its heat.

  I’m not sure if I’m supposed to touch it, but I wait to do as I’m told.

  I lean back, and Nathan crosses his arms to pull his T-shirt over his head. The combination of his flat, hard stomach and his sculpted chest, shoulders, and arms are almost enough to give me an orgasm. He’s the finest specimen I’ve ever seen.

  Nathan looks at his own cock, then finally those cool blue eyes meet mine, and there’s only hunger inside them. “And you say you don’t have power,” he says.

  “It’s just about sex?”

  “Of course it’s about sex. I can accumulate everything I want, but I can never have what you offer unless you choose to give it to me. The same is true of any straight man. You have more power than any billionaire — because what he’s made, you can take, if you know how to make the deal.”

  “Rich men can buy sex,” I say. But I’m starting to understand. My fingers wrap around his shaft ever so lightly, and he has to catch his breath before responding.

  “It’s not the same — and that’s also true of force or coercion or getting a pretty girl drunk. Yes, a man can take what he wants if he’s strong and crude, or he can trick you into giving it up. But you have no idea of your asset’s true worth. You’re only nineteen. You’re fresh and new. You’re tight and fit and beautiful. Your pussy is soaking gold. If you play it right, there’s nothing a man wouldn’t trade for your honest and sincere interest in him.”

  I kneel a little higher. I run my hand down my front, then slip a finger inside me, parting my folds. I watch Nathan’s eyes as he watches me do it. I shift a bit, bringing myself closer to his throbbing cock. I watch it twitch. I see Nathan’s breath deepen. He’s clearly uncomfortable.

  “Are you beginning to feel it?” he asks. “Your power?”

  I roll my finger across my clit. A wave of pleasure shakes me, and my body shivers. My mouth opens. An exhalation of pleasure escapes me.

  I don’t say a word. But the answer is yes.

  “I own the world. But right now you could make me do whatever you wanted. Anything to be inside you.”

  I stand. I reach down and pull the dress the rest of the way up, then over my head. I’m not wearing a bra. I cup my tits, then lean over Nathan, but I don’t give him my hand or mouth. Instead I push his hand away from his dick. The power feels good, and that power comes from denial. Let him go unfulfilled for a while, even by himself. Let him watch me as I unwrap my treasure, and I’ll see if he’s telling me the truth.

  “You have no idea what you do to men, Alex,” Nathan tells me as he watches my body. “Society has trained you to be meek; your father trained you to be bold. But you think you’re a kid deep down, don’t you? A silly little girl who has to be loud if she expects to be taken seriously. But when you walk down the street, you’re the the most commanding person on it. There is nothing more powerful than a pretty young girl that everyone wants to fuck.”

  “That’s disgusting.” I’m only mouthing words, trying to obey my internal compass — something that, nude and watching Nathan’s hand returning to his cock, is becoming increasingly difficult. What’s he saying? That all I have to offer is sex? That I have nothing else?

  “You can deny it,” Nathan says, reading me, “or you embrace it to get what you want. You came to me hoping for a negotiation, but you’d already won, if you’d only tuned in to realize it. Just as you could do with anyone you know. Just as you did with your friend Corey.”

  “I didn’t do anything with Corey.”

  “He made the deal I couldn’t. He made the deal that even you couldn’t. And he was only able to reach down and find his balls because he had the right motivation: to impress you.”

  “I’m glad I can inspire him.”

  “Inspire.” He laughs as if the word is absurd.

  “Yes, inspire.”

  Nathan looks my naked body over from bottom to top and slowly strokes his cock. “He’s just a friend, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t have straight male friends, Alex.”

  That irritates me. I’m suddenly angry, and rage blends with my lust.

  I should want to get dressed and storm out. But I don’t want that at all.

  “You don’t know me,” I say. “You don’t know my friends.”

  “I know that you’re naive. I know that you believe boys are like you, but with opposite parts. It’s not true. It’s biological, what we are. It’s sweet that you think Corey and your other friends think platonically of you.” He sneers. “But that’s not how boys are wired.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Corey has jerked off while thinking of you, Alex.”

  “He’s a friend.”

  “And when you ran around him topless on that beach, his poor little balls were probably blue the whole time. Or he came in his shorts while watching you two play in the waves.”

  The beach? Wait a minute. How does Nathan know about that?

  “You can be mad at me, and Corey, and all your other straight male friends for staring at your tits when you aren’t looking. You can be mad that when you wear skirts or shorts that are maybe too short, they all watch with fascination, hoping you’ll cross your legs and give them a flash. And you can be furious — God knows I might be — to know that the boy you once let house-sit for you went through your underwear drawer over and over, touching your panties, imagining the crotch pressed against the wet lips of your tight, nineteen-year-old pussy.”

  My face is hot. My fists want to clench. “How do you know about my house sitter?”

  Nathan ignores me. “Or, instead of being mad about all those things, you can step into your strength and be grateful. You can understand that, as powerful as my Syndicate will someday be, there are ways in which you could rule us all.”

  Nathan’s cock twitches hard. A strong jet of fluid squirts from its tip, making an arc in the air before landing on his six-pack. It jerks a few more times, shooting smaller arcs, and then he’s finished, dribbling through the aftershocks.

  “Look at what you do to me,” he says, “just by existing.”

  It’s not fair. He’s finished, and I haven’t begun. My hand returns to my pussy, my fingers slipping inside.

  Look at what you do to me, I hear his echo in my mind.

  And as my own sensations build, as I watch Nathan’s breathing slow, he reaches for his T-shirt, impatiently wipes himself clean, and stares deep into my eyes just as they’re beginning to shut.

  “Now put your hands against the window with your ass out, and control me some more.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  NATHAN

  ALEX PLANTS HER PALMS AGAINST the floor-to-ceiling window. She bends at the waist, ass toward me, legs spread. Her pussy is pink and wet, taunting me. It doesn’t matter that I came just from looking at her. I’ve never done that before; it’s always taken some stroking and stimulation. But just talking about these things with Alex, for some reason, is enough to get me going.

  Looking at her body, watching her mouth, I felt the sensations rising and had no chance to stop them.

  But if that’s all it took to pop me off the first time, I can rally. I’m still rock hard. My balls still ache for her. My pulse still makes my shaft twitch like the ticking leaps of a clock’s second hand. I look at her pussy and want nothing more than to be inside her.

  I go to Alex, and she swings her hips away from me, laughing. “You’re not allowed in,” she says.

  I grab her and pull her back to center. “There’s control, and there’s cruelty.”

  My cock tip brushes her slit. It’s as warm as a hot bath, and equally wet. Her lips open to my cock’s caress, opening and wrapping the head as I run it up and down, licking me like a kiss.

  “I’m holding all the cards,” she says — and I’m wondering, already, if I’ve made a mistake. She needed to get this point, a
fter fucking me first.

  “You’re forgetting one thing.” I bend over her back to do it, my hand around her waist, pinning her against me. My cock isn’t inside her; it’s pushed to the side, our hot parts mashed together, both yearning. I’m whispering in her ear. I can feel her shiver.

  When she answers, much of her bravado is already gone. “What am I forgetting?” she asks.

  I reach for her pussy, wrapping around from the front. I touch her clit and she practically collapses on my arm. A sigh escapes her. If I keep touching, she’ll come in a second. She’s as hot as I was, as hot as I’m already getting again. But I’ve come once, and she hasn’t.

  “That,” I tell her, referring to the sigh. The collapse. The need I feel in every inch of her.

  “What?”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  Too quietly, she says, “I’m not bluffing.”

  “I’ve come already. I don’t have to fuck you.”

  “Fuck me, Nathan. Put your cock in my pussy.”

  “No.”

  But this time, when she turns around to meet my eyes, I get a distinct message. It’s exasperated more than lusty, not desperate so much as annoyed with my constant game-playing. It’s the same look Alex might have given me when she entered my office that first day, acting like she had every right to be there. The same look she could’ve given me when I grabbed her at the school administration building, when she was still pissed.

  It’s a very Alex look, and it says, Are you kidding me? Stop being such an asswipe, trying to make a game out of everything. Knock it off and fuck me already.

  I reach behind her. I grab my cock. And I slip it inside.

  Sensation claims me. I should be immune, already spent. But I’m not. Alex is gripping me like a fist, hot and wet and ravenous. She won’t stay still, bucking back into me as if I’m not moving fast enough, grabbing me with her pussy, milking my cock like an udder.