The Philanthropist (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 5)

by Aubrey Parker

  He leans toward me. “This is a bad idea.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “It’s a bad idea for me to fuck you. It’s a bad idea for me to bury my dick in your pussy.”

  I’m panting, pushing against him as the head of his cock makes its long, vertical laps.

  He leans into me. His mouth meets mine as I breathe into him.

  I fall into our kiss. My head is spinning. His hand is behind my head, fingers in my hair, making slow strokes across my scalp. I grab Aiden’s face and pull it closer. We meet in an animal caress. We’re lips and tongues; I don’t know where he ends and I begin.

  “I want to fuck your ass, Jamie.”

  “No.”

  I don’t really mean it. I have my hand around Aiden’s neck, holding his face inches from mine. I’m slouched against the couch. His free hand guides his hard cock down my pussy, then it rests against my asshole.

  “I’m going to fuck your tight little ass, until you scream my name.”

  I’ve never done this. I’m not even sure I want to. But I nod when he meets my eyes, and hold my breath as the pleasurable pressure swells against my ass and Aiden pushes himself inside me.

  As the pressure reaches a head, part of me worries that I’ll feel pain.

  This shouldn’t be easy, but I’m hot enough that it is.

  I want Aiden Page in every possible way.

  He’s using you. You’re broken, and all he’s done is give you approval.

  You’re damaged, Jamie. You’re a lost soul, and this man has come to steal you away.

  But none of that matters. I want to be stolen. I’m tired of thinking. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of feeling so goddamn much, now that my internal dam has apparently shattered.

  I can only focus on the pleasure. It subsumes me, buries me in sensations. I’m a plate spinner juggling six dozen dishes, every bit of my body craving the attention Aiden is so willing to give.

  The balancing act is delicate. And right now, right or wrong, I long to surrender.

  And then I’m coming. And coming. And coming.

  I didn’t know the world had this much pleasure.

  I’m confused, but it doesn’t matter.

  I’m disoriented, but Aiden is my anchor.

  I’m lost, but he’s found me.

  I’m spiraling down, down, down, and down is up, and this pit has no bottom. I do as he wanted and scream his name.

  It ends as Aiden thrusts hard one final time, gripping me, his head folding into the pocket between my neck and shoulder. His strong chest hitches, the waves claiming him as they did me.

  His breath is hot on my collarbone, his lips wet against my skin. He pulls out. We roll to the floor.

  “I’m using you,” Aiden says. “I’m using you, but I don’t remember why.”

  I hold him to me. His face is still against my neck.

  “I know,” I say, “and it’s okay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  JAMIE

  I’M UPSTAIRS AT ANTHONY’S, TRYING not to think about anything but the fun stuff he and I decided to do with the rest of my time here. The doorbell rings. I hear Anthony downstairs.

  “Come on in.”

  I don’t think much of it. This house has that giant front gate. Whoever this is, Anthony’s already seen his guest at the checkpoint before letting them in. This is business. Nothing for me to worry about.

  But then I hear Anthony say, “What’s wrong?” And: “Maybe you should sit.”

  I’m still trying to ignore it, but a soft and terrible crying drifts upstairs and Anthony’s echoing voice says, “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Then, projected: “Jamie?”

  I come halfway down, then stop with my hand on the bannister. I see Anthony mostly from above. He’s in a dress shirt and no tie, towering over someone in one of the antique chairs lining the wide downstairs hallway: a woman, head down, face buried in her palms, a luxuriant spill of brown like a veil.

  But I know that hair. And that build.

  I even know those quiet sobs, as Anthony rubs one of his giant hands across her back.

  He gives her one final touch, then crosses to me. The slow sobbing continues. Anthony reaches the stairs, but doesn’t climb. Instead he looks up at me and, in a quiet, not-to-be-overheard voice says, “She asked just to see me. But I think you should talk to her.”

  Caitlin lifts her head and looks right at me.

  “We had an argument,” I tell Anthony.

  “I know. She told me on the phone. She wanted to see me anyway.”

  “Why you?”

  “I suspect it was about you.”

  “But she’s mad at me.”

  I don’t say why. Caitlin either already told him the story or he’s figured it out. Girls fighting over a guy. Typical.

  “That’s probably why she called me instead of you. Go on. Be a friend.”

  It’s hard to consider. Caitlin exploded at me, but now that I’ve had a few days to process it I’ve found that I’m not cowed by her anger; I’m furious about it. How dare she? I don’t want to make up with this woman. Fuck her and whatever her problems might be.

  “I don’t want to talk to her.”

  “Rise above,” Anthony half-whispers.

  “Don’t get all ‘Anthony Ross’ on me. She hit me, Anthony. Did she tell you that?”

  He nods. “But right now, I’m not sure that matters.”

  “I’m not forgiving her, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

  “Fine.” Then I get a slight grin, and he says, “Just kick her the hell out of my foyer, will you? You won’t be doing Cait a solid. You’ll be doing me one.”

  It’s such bullshit, but there’s a reason magazines say that Anthony Ross has charmed the world — and without cynicism, which is a hell of a thing for gossip rags. He has a way of making everyone love him, persuading people to do what he suggests. It’s a power that could be used marvelously for evil, but I’ve only known him to use it for good.

  I descend the stairs toward Caitlin. She rises before I reach her, as if called to attention. She’s silent, clearly waiting for me to speak first, despite my not knowing why she came or what stupid crap she’s having problems with. She stands, arms at her sides, eyes wet and slightly downcast, manner timid like a beaten dog.

  “What?” I say.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What was that?”

  “I’m sorry, Jamie. I feel so stupid.”

  “You should.” I cross my arms, then catch Anthony watching and say, “Fine, whatever.”

  “I … needed to talk to Anthony.”

  “Then talk to him. Why am I involved?”

  I look at Anthony again. He says nothing and makes no expressions. But I still feel like, in his mind, I’m blowing this.

  “Maybe I should talk to you, too. Because …”

  “Because?”

  She looks around as if we’re being watched. Then, her voice low, she says, “I went down the other day. I drove past you and …”

  “And?”

  “… and Aiden,” she finishes.

  My stern facade breaks. Now I’m stupid. She doesn’t know what happened with me and Aiden in his room — or what my mind seems to have been considering about him ever since — but I’m not sure when she saw us.

  Did she see me crying into his chest? And if so, what did she think?

  Less stern, more as a genuine question. “What about him?”

  “Well, if you’re … you know … with him in any way …”

  That’s enough to shatter my remaining annoyance. I’m still pissed at Caitlin, but now I’m more uneasy about this turn of events. Her having some inkling that I’ve hooked up with Aiden trumps my anger. Now I want privacy, a means to get away.

  I take her upstairs and close the door. Her conversation with Anthony can wait.

  She’s still sniffling, but it’s clear that my not shouting has made her feel better. I hand her a box of tissues, barely civil. I’m not l
etting her off the hook just yet.

  “So?”

  “First of all,” she says. “Rudy.”

  “I’m familiar with his work.”

  “I believe you now.”

  “Now.” I stress the word, annoyed. We’re friends, she should take me at my word. I believe you now sounds like she’s been convinced — as if it’s only because her bitchy doubt has been overturned by overwhelming evidence.

  “Rudy asked about you. A few times.”

  “He’s such a charming, friendly guy.”

  “He stuck by me, okay? He supported the things that really mattered when no one else would!” She’s defensive. Like I’m judging her for being with Rudy — especially after we bad-mouthed him repeatedly — and honestly, I am. He’s worthless at best, a predator at worst.

  Either way, my friend deserves better.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “You know I always wanted to write.”

  “So he lets you write? Cait, that’s hardly a reason to—”

  She waves her hand. We’re getting off-track. This is about her believing me, not about Rudy sucking or not sucking.

  “The point is that he wouldn’t leave it alone. At first, I thought he was asking about you because he wanted to know if you knew the guy who hit him, which he admitted to pretty much right away once I told him you said it wasn’t a car. That’s when I realized that his bruises looked like punches.”

  “He admitted it? Did he say who hit him?”

  Caitlin sits, so I do the same.

  “He couldn’t describe him. Just said he was big. White. Maybe in his 30s?”

  So Rudy isn’t ready to fink on Aiden. Good; I thought Caitlin’s comment earlier about how I’m “maybe with Aiden” was the reason she felt the need to talk, seeing as he bloodied her boyfriend. But no; Rudy is keeping the secret. Probably because he’s afraid of racking up some assault charges of his own — and afraid of Aiden’s lawyers.

  “But he wouldn’t stop,” Caitlin goes on. “He kept asking and asking and asking about you. I thought about what you said, about how he came on to you. And suddenly it clicked. So I asked him if he thought you were pretty. I told him that I thought you were beautiful — you know, to see how he’d react. Then it all came out.” She shakes her head. “He’s such a prick. He wanted to know if I thought you’d … if I’d …”

  I nod so she won’t have to say it. But I know what Rudy must have said, because I already heard it the other night. The guy wants a threesome, even if happens by force. Apparently my repeated Nos and Aiden’s intervention haven’t convinced him that it’s never going to happen.

  “I feel so stupid. I’m so, so sorry, Jamie.”

  She’s crying again. My cheek still feels the sting from where she slapped me, and my pride still wants to condemn her for hating me when I needed her support. But I’ve known Caitlin for a long time, and I understand her damage. She comes off as strong, and stronger whenever she calls people on their bullshit and tells them to man (or woman) up. But deep down she’s insecure, like so many of us.

  And I have to face the fact that the real reason she never left Rudy is probably because she thought he was her only chance. He supported her writing, and wasn’t a drunk. That probably made him seem — at least to Caitlin — like the best she could do.

  “It’s okay.” Fighting my obstinance, I cross the distance between us to hug her as she sits.

  “So that’s one thing,” she says, honking into a tissue and wiping her eyes. “I wanted to apologize for all I said and did. Rudy’s an asshole and we’re through. I just needed you to know how sorry I am.”

  “One thing,” I repeat. “There’s something else?”

  “Yes. It’s about Aiden, and why you need to stay away from him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  JAMIE

  “DO YOU REMEMBER THAT THING we found in Anthony’s room the other night?” Caitlin asks. “The thing that looked like a little tablet? Or an e-reader?”

  I nod. This is so out of left-field that I haven’t a clue where she’s headed.

  “Remember how there were a bunch of books, but only one author?”

  “Alexis something.”

  “Alexa,” Caitlin corrects, stressing the A at the end. “Alexa Mathis.”

  “Okay. What about her?”

  “The name sort of stuck in my head, so one day I decided to search the net. She’s an author, obviously. Romance and erotica, mostly. No real fame, but lots of books.”

  “And?”

  “I won’t go through it all,” Caitlin says, “but I really think Alexa is somehow tied to Eros.”

  “The porn company?”

  She nods. It’s not a big deal that both of us know this, seeing as Eros’s branding has made it somewhat mainstream. Yes, they’ve dabbled in porn, but their primary business is toys. They’re supposedly “couples-friendly” — nearly Mom and Pop enough to land a Super Bowl ad.

  “Some people think she’s an Eros creation. Not a real person. Or maybe a real person, but working with Eros.”

  “And why do I care?”

  “Remember what I told you the night we found that e-reader thingy? About how Aiden and his partner Onyx are involved in some shenanigans with Clive Spooner, Caspian White, and—”

  “Yes. But I still don’t see why I care.”

  “Well, the guys behind Eros are involved, too, I think.”

  “And?”

  “Do I really need to connect the dots?”

  “Apparently,” I say.

  “The reader only had Alexa Mathis books on it, but she’s nobody. So it’s gotta be an Eros device, right, because why else would it only have an unknown author’s books on it unless she’s part of Eros and it’s their thing? And if Eros and these other guys are all working together on something big and secret …” She looks around, then practically whispers: “Do you know what I’ve heard?”

  “What?”

  “I know how this sounds. But I’ve heard they actually are in cahoots, and they call themselves …”

  “What?”

  “The Trillionaire Boys’ Club,” she says.

  I laugh, but Caitlin doesn’t.

  “It’s logical that Anthony would be in it too, you know.”

  I laugh again.

  “He’s got the device. How would he have it if he weren’t involved? The Club — or sometimes I hear ‘Syndicate’ — is all billionaires.”

  “Just because you’ve decided on some crazy conspiracy theory doesn’t mean—”

  “It’s not crazy, Jamie. I’m your fun-loving gal pal by night, but remember: I’m a corporate lawyer by day. I’m not exactly flighty on the job.”

  “Well, so, what are you saying? Anthony’s in some club. Big deal.”

  “I got a call at work. Some guy named Parker Barnes. Recognize the name?”

  I shrug. It means nothing.

  “He’s one of our clients, but I had to look him up. Turns out he’s on the Eros board.”

  Dramatically, trying to wash this seriousness away, I say, “Dun-dun-DUUUUN!”

  Again, Caitlin fails to laugh. “He asked about Aiden. About the patents we represent for Eros, but more specifically, whether Page has shown any interest.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then he asked about you.”

  “Me?”

  Caitlin nods. “Miss Jamie Kyle. We had a good, long conversation, Mr. Barnes and me. He wanted to know about you, but didn’t seem surprised to find out that we’re friends. He asked about Anthony, again not surprised that you were close. And again about Aiden. Wanna know what I think?”

  “Not really.”

  “I think he’s working with Aiden. To get something from you.”

  “What?”

  “Any guesses?”

  I look at Caitlin, seeing where this is going. The other day I bashed her boyfriend, and she reacted terribly. Now she’s about to bash my … well, whatever Aiden is to me.

  “Same as you alrea
dy knew,” she says. “Same as you’ve been saying all along about Aiden, from the start — except I get the feeling the two of you are … closer now.”

  “You think Aiden is using me to get to Anthony.”

  “You already knew that.” Caitlin raises a warning eyebrow. “Right?”

  It takes me a moment, but I nod. “ Of course.” I don’t know why, but this time, the same knowledge hits me in the gut.

  Why should it? I knew Aiden was using me. I hate him, and he hates me. Our bodies are compatible, but it ends there.

  “So you’ve got this, right?” Caitlin asks, eyebrow still up. “You’re still firmly against Aiden and whatever he’s up to?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Anthony?”

  “What about him? If he has that e-reader thing, then that means he’s working with Eros already, assuming you’re right. He clearly knows all of this.”

  “A lawyer sees a lot,” Caitlin says. “I still want to talk to him, to see what he does and doesn’t know about the people he’s getting into bed with.”

  I watch her for a long moment, but the tension is too high. This is dumb. Her conspiracy theory is conjecture at best. I already knew what I know about Aiden, so I suppose I’ll need to figure that out. But the rest? No news worth acting on.

  Caitlin will talk to Anthony, I suppose, and maybe she’ll prejudice him against Eros the same way Onyx prejudiced him against Forage and Aiden.

  Nothing to see here ladies; move along.

  Instead of playing into Caitlin’s seriousness, I hit her with a pillow from my bed.

  “Never fuck with a girl who owns a pillow,” I say as she blinks up at me, half-shocked and starting to laugh. “The next time you don’t trust me, I’ll smother you.”

  Caitlin grabs a second pillow and hits me harder. I laugh and bolt toward her. She opens the door and runs. We’re two kids loose in the big house — sans margaritas for now.

  “Whatever,” Caitlin shouts over her shoulder. Her pillow hits the floor. “You’ll have to catch me first.”