Trillionaire Boys’ Club: The Producer
Publication date: January 10th 2017
Genres: New Adult, Romance
These hot, powerful men don’t impress me.
I’m not new to this secret club of billionaires. I know all about their Syndicate … and even some of their plans to control the world. I’m Alyssa Friggin’ Galloway, publicity genius, and I’ve dealt with all of them: Nathan Turner, who built the Boys’ Club, and even the insufferable Ashton Moran.
They’re all the same: all arrogance and bluster, using women like disposable things. I’m immune to their charms.
So why does the worst of the worst … Cole Freaking Ellison … intrigue me so much?
To stay afloat with all these MEN, I need to be tough. So I hold my ground. But Cole? He sees right through me to the vulnerable thing beneath.
Cole wants to control me. He wants to use me for his own pleasure.
And against all judgment, I want to let him.
The Producer is part of the Trillionaire Boys’ Club series by Aubrey Parker. Each book tells the story of one of the Club’s powerful members … and you’re going to want to collect them all.
Alyssa’s lips purse to laugh, but I’m not kidding. I’ve never done anything precisely like this before, and that newness makes the errand feel dire and serious. I want her. I will have her. I’m not willing to wait, and if Alyssa doesn’t like the disorder caused by my early arrival? Well, she doesn’t need to be in charge of everything all the time, does she?
I walk closer, wondering at my own actions. Not caring. Only feeling the need that’s been burning within me all day while thinking about her.
I’m an edge-walker, but not usually this devious.
Today is different. Today I’m like a criminal, bent on achieving my need through any means necessary. So I called her assistant, Susanne, and told her I was from UPS and that there was an oversized package she needed to sign for. When the assistant left the office, I sneaked in behind her and locked her out. I’m sure she can call the superintendent or someone to let her back in, but that’ll take time. She could cut to the chase and call Alyssa, but her boss won’t be answering phones for a while.
She’ll be otherwise occupied.
Unable to speak.
A sentence without a predicate. She doesn’t know what to say.
At least not anything more than my name.
“Let’s cut the $hit,” I tell her.
Alyssa looks frozen in place. Ravishing. I got hard the moment I decided not to wait until four. Now I’m throbbing. I want her. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since that text.
I’ll try hard to prepare myself.
It turns me on, knowing she’s thinking about me. Alyssa comes off as such a straight-laced girl. A total pro. She wears her sensible girl suits with her sensible girl skirts that never rise immodestly high. Heels that are common but understatedly sexy, if you know where to look. She wears her hair like she’s going to court, but all I can think of is shaking it loose. Her features are always so hard, but if you pay attention it’s easy to see just how breathtakingly beautiful she is.
Once you know Alyssa for a while, you start thinking that she’s sexless. But one couched text, with its barely-there innuendo, was enough to shatter that impression. Yesterday morning could have caught her off guard. Our encounter on the bathroom floor might have been a one-time thing she’d instantly regret. But her text changed that. It made me see, through the thinnest of cracks in her frozen facade, that Alyssa isn’t a robot.
Now I know she’s truly a woman, with desires to match my own.
My c@ck strains against its confinement. I watch her chest rise and fall; her nipples push against her silky white blouse. She’s breathing long and slow through moist, gently parted lips. Her eyes stay on mine, hungry under her reservations.
“Let’s stop bull$hitting each other and f@#k like animals.”
“You need to leave.”
“You don’t want me to leave,” I say, shaking my head. “So tell me. Forget about what’s proper for once, and tell me what you really want.”
Her eyes flick toward the door. I’ve locked that one, too, same as the outer door her assistant is probably already finding closed.
“Say it, Alyssa.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Say you’ve been thinking about me.”
Alyssa says nothing.
“Say you’ve been wet all day, waiting for four to come.”
She swallows. I step closer. I move around the desk. Alyssa looks for all the world like she’s about to startle and flee. But she doesn’t go. Instead she lets me walk up next to her, close enough to smell. She says nothing as my hands run up her sides, as I brush her hair away from her long neck. She tips her head sideways, just a little. I can’t see her eyes from behind, but I imagine them closing.
“Say the truth,” I whisper into her ear.
“I want you.”
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.