(Trillionaire Boys’ Club, #5)
Publication date: April 3rd 2017
Genres: New Adult, Romance
The Syndicate’s plans are finally made. Everything’s been building to THE GURU.
Anthony Ross is larger than life: tall and handsome, strong in body, mind, and vision. I’ve always believed what my friend Jamie says: what Anthony does onstage isn’t an act. One day, he’ll change the world.
Jamie would know. Anthony is like a father to her. It’s just one reason my crush on Anthony can come to nothing … even after we cross the line, and it starts to become something.
But now I know what the Trillionaire Boys’ Club’s plan is for Anthony, and I can’t be selfish. He doesn’t have time for relationships, now more than ever. He can’t be distracted.
The whole world needs him. I can’t keep him just for me.
Anthony has to choose between me and his mission — but I’m afraid even love isn’t stronger than destiny.
The first phase of Aubrey Parker’s Trillionaire Boys’ Club concludes with THE GURU. Don’t miss out … everything has been building to this!
Whatever this was supposed to be between us, it’s become something different. I need to face reality instead of the nonexistent myth. We were never supposed to be a couple, but somehow we’ve become a couple.
I look at Caitlin, knowing what I have to do.
But I can’t.
She hasn’t made me second-guess anything that shouldn’t be second-guessed. She hasn’t distracted me from anything that didn’t require the occasional distraction.
But she’s harming my focus, and there’s no way out but to end it.
I take her hand and lead her inside. There’s no one in the house but me — no maids, no assistants, not even any groundskeepers outside. I wanted privacy. So I open my mouth to tell her what needs saying. I waver. I see her eyes — soft brown, the kind of eyes you get lost in. I tell myself to be strong.
Instead, I pull her to me. I kiss her.
We can’t do this. I need to stop. If I don’t, I’m a bastard. If I don’t, I’m not just the hypocrite Alexa accused me of being; I’m also digging the knife deeper into Caitlin’s belly, too cowardly to tell her this was supposed to be our breakup.
She deserves better. She deserves the breakup. She doesn’t deserve my confused affections. She doesn’t deserve the bludgeon of my lust.
But I mash her lips with mine. Her hands are all over me, unbuttoning my shirt, pulling it over my head. I remove her blouse so urgently that I almost rip it. My hands slip beneath her bra without unfastening it, because there’s no time for niceties. Somehow I get it off anyway and then her hands are at my belt, unzipping me, reaching down my pants to stroke my sudden erection.
She’s rushing so much that her hands are clumsy, amateurish. She grinds against me. I try to push her away, to end this, but instead I stumble all the way to the wall with her, pressing her to it. I kiss her neck, lick her tits, rub my fingers across their saliva-slicked curves, pinch her nipples.
Her hands are still on my cock, jerking so fervently that I might just come all over her stomach right now to end this. My hand slips inside both pants and panties. I find her bare and wet, warm and inviting. I touch her clit and she gasps. I cover her gasping lips with mine, kissing her urgently.
I push back. I actually have to keep my arm straight between us, fingers tented near her collarbone, forcing myself not to look into her eyes or at her heaving chest.
This has to be done. It can go no further.
“Caitlin, we need to talk.”
“It’s so hot when you say that.”
Her fingers circle my cock.
My balls snug up under me, tense and ready to fire. Just looking at her makes me want to come. Just looking at her makes me want to take her upstairs, make us both forget, and then look out at that valley vista together.
“Then talk,” she says.
“You need to stop,” I say, hoping she doesn’t.
Her hand pauses.
My hand, still inside her panties, does not. I force it to. I draw it out and I take another step back, finally apart.
“What is it?”
She’s shaking her head.
“Caitlin, we need—”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” She’s still breathing like she’s run a race. Her breasts rise and fall. Her eyes are deep, suddenly sad.
“Let me say what I need to say.”
“You have to hear it. You deserve it.”
“Kiss me. Make love to me.”
I just watch her. I watch her and want her.
She closes the step between us and pushes my chest.
“If you have something to say to me, say it with your cock.”
I move closer. I won’t do this. I’m not that big of a bastard.
But with her just a foot from me, I can smell her like a predator smells prey.
I’m no longer in control — I’m not Anthony, the rational man who shares my skin.
Now I’m something different. Something else. Something that is all need.
My hands move of their own accord. I hook my fingers into her waistband and pull violently down. Her pussy hypnotizes me. My cock twitches, dribbling fluid with hungry anticipation as she reaches for it.
Her fingers wrap around it. They shouldn’t be there, but I want them.
I push her sideways, so her back is against my wall of windows. So I can see the valley as I betray her with my lust. Does it matter that she knows what this is? Does it matter that she’s realized what I was going to say, and wants me to fuck her anyway?
“Open your legs,” I say. “Show me how wet your pussy is.
I love to write stories with characters that feel real enough to friend on Facebook, or slap across the face. I write to make you feel, think, and burn with the thrill that can only come from getting lost in the pages. I love to write unforgettable characters who wrestle with life’s largest problems. My books may always end with a Happily Ever After, but there will always be drama on the way there.