Home > Can't Help Love (Paradise Bay Billionaire Brothers #2)

Can't Help Love (Paradise Bay Billionaire Brothers #2)
Author: Claudia Y. Burgoa


To my favorite Geek



"And in the end, we were all just humans...Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald.



Chapter One




Fourteen years ago…

“Your plane ticket for May is ready,” Dad says.

I stare at the screen, trying to concentrate on the conversation. It’s impossible.

I’ve always been a rational person.

At least I think I am. My parents raised me to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. I follow all their social rules. All of them.

Well, at least I did up until I started my junior year of college and finally moved out of the house—and the state.

Dad is a very conservative man who believes women shouldn’t leave home until they get married. According to him, I’m not allowed to have a boyfriend before the age of twenty-five.

Ha, good luck with that, Papi.

“Maia, are you listening?” Dad growls.

Oh, I’m listening. I just can’t build a coherent sentence.

My secret boyfriend is hiding under the table—as I requested. However, he’s doing very naughty things while waiting for this call to end.

I swallow a whimper as Gatsby licks my left thigh as he skates his hands down the center of my body. He’s so close to my core I can’t breathe. I’m desperate and needy for him.

My story is simple. I’m a naïve good girl who went off to college and discovered she liked sex—a lot. It doesn’t help that my boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself. He’s always touching me, and I’m always wanting it.

I blame him.

Damn it, Gatsby Spearman and his delicious mouth and wicked fingers.

I told him to hide and stay quiet while I’m speaking to my parents. What is he doing?

He’s quiet, but also being his usual wicked-horny self.

“You said your last test is May fifteenth, the ticket is for the twentieth. You’re staying in San Diego for the summer, right?”

I bite my lip and nod a couple of times as Gatsby slides his finger between the elastic of my panties and touches my already soaking slit. I jolt but contain my expression. Every evening, this man does something forbidden while I have my daily video call with my parents. By now, I can keep my face stoic and my voice almost steady.

If computer science doesn’t work, I might have a career as an actress.

I try to kick Gatz, but he holds my legs in place while pushing two fingers inside me.


So, so deep, I can’t help but open my legs for him and hold on to the table so I don’t fall.

My breath becomes shallow, and then, I sober up when my father speaks. “Maia, are you paying attention to us?”

“Of course, I’m paying attention, Papi. You have my ticket for M-May.”

“Are you okay, mija?” Mom asks.

I nod. It’s almost impossible to talk when my boyfriend’s thumb circles my clit in a torturously slow motion while two of his fingers thrust in and out—fucking me.

“Of course, I’m okay.” I swallow hard.

Mom nods, satisfied. “How are your midterms coming along?”

I hold the table tighter, gulping down a breath as Gatsby keeps tormenting me with his fingers, his mouth. He’s about to send me to the edge, make me come so hard that my screams will be heard all the way to Europe. I’m trying to hold still, but it’s almost impossible.

My traditionalist parents would be very disappointed in me if they realize what’s happening under the table. They’ll be dragging me back home if they learn that I lost my virginity last September—it was my boyfriend’s twentieth birthday. We spent a romantic weekend on Tybee Island.

They’ll hate knowing that we have sex several times a day. We sleep in the same bed almost every night. They wouldn’t approve of our relationship at all.

Dad will buy a chastity belt, throw me in my room, and ground me until I’m thirty. Since I’m not planning on dealing with the consequences of Gatsby’s actions, I look under the table and mouth, Stop it.

Gatsby gives me a wicked smile. Not only that, he dares to pull down my panties while giving me a challenging glare.

“Stop,” I whisper.

“End that call.” The commanding low voice sends a wave of heat through my entire body.

I’m getting close.

So close.

“Are you okay?” Mom’s voice makes me hit my head on the table.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

Gatsby winks at me. “It’s okay. I have enough love for both of us.”

And I melt.

Getting under the table and riding him would be ideal, but I restrain myself and go back to my conversation. The one I plan to end soon so I can go back to my boyfriend.

“Are you okay?” Dad asks, giving me a suspicious glare.

“I thought I saw a cockroach under the table, but it was a wrapper,” I lie.

Mom touches the bridge of her nose. “Where are your glasses?”

“In the nightstand.”

“You should wear them all the time. That’s why you think that your trash is an animal. Clean the studio.”

My studio is clean, Mom. My boyfriend is a neat freak.

I almost roll my eyes, but I don’t. “Si, Mami. I’ll do that this weekend.”

“If you have a pest problem, call the management company. They’ll take care of it,” Dad reminds me.

“I can squash bugs, Papi, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

And just because he can, Gatsby pushes my legs wide, dipping down. I feel his breath against my wet center. When he swipes his tongue against my clit, I shiver. Pleasure rising like a tide of euphoria. His mouth is so good, my breathing is becoming ragged. If I don’t end this video call now, they’re going to hear me come.

“I don’t want to cut this short, but it’s time for me to go back to studying. Say hi to Tiggy and Cee-Cee for me.”

Dad glares at me. “We barely spoke. Your sisters plan on saying hello after they finish their homework.”

“Maybe you should give me one of those things called…cellphones. I could text even if I’m in class.” My parents are thrifty. They don’t like to spend on superfluous items. Someone should tell them that landlines are becoming obsolete. It’s been almost a decade since the last century ended.

“We’ll see,” Dad answers. That’s his polite way to say, no.

“I’m sending you a care package tomorrow. We made polvorones.”

“Thank you, Mami.” I wave, ending the call and closing my laptop.

Pushing my chair away from the table, I spring out of the chair. “What is wrong with you, Spearman?”

He’s still on the floor, grinning. “Have I ever told you that you taste delicious?” The dirty boy licks his lips and sucks on the fingers he had inside me a couple of seconds ago.

“You’re a wicked man. If my father knew about this”—I point from me to him a couple of times—“he’d kill you and ground me forever.”

“Your parents love me.”

“No. They liked you when we met you because you helped us carry the boxes and furniture while moving. You were also charming.”

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