Chapter 3 Rafael
Rafael
The thin strap of the lemon-coloured floral sundress slips, exposing her shoulder. She doesn’t notice and keeps chatting to the camera. Her face is animated and glowing as she talks through her outfit, twirling in a circle to show the way the hem kicks up in the air as she spins.
I shift in my seat, my rock-hard dick crying out for attention. Instead of touching it, giving it the much-needed friction it’s desperate for, I pick up a pen from my desk and balance it on the table, sliding my fingers down, then pausing, before I spin it on its head and repeat the move.
Her eyes glitter as she casually loops the wayward strap back up over her smooth shoulder whilst talking about ways to dress the outfit up or down. It pulls the fabric higher over one breast, and the extra few millimetres of curved skin that were exposed disappear.
I bite my lower lip, concealing an unwelcome groan of disappointment.
She’s a problem. A huge fucking problem.
She leans forward to pick up a pair of heels to show to the camera. My pen goes flying as I scrabble to grab my phone and wind the video back.
I hit ‘play’, and watch again as she leans down, showing the briefest flash of cleavage from her perky little tits.
My hand is on my dick before I can control it, and I squeeze, sucking in a breath as she straightens and starts wittering on about heel heights.
‘The fuck am I doing?’ I drop my throbbing dick like it’s a hot poker and pause the video.
Aurora’s face freezes on the screen in a wide smile like she’s taunting me. I scroll down, not trusting myself to watch any more. Instead, I head to the comments section.
You look amazing!
I want that dress! I’m saving up. Two more pay days to go.
Simply beautiful.
Looking for a boyfriend?
The last one makes me grit my teeth. But it’s not the one that should bother me the most. They all should. Every single one is admiring her, justifying her prancing around in designer outfit after designer outfit like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Bet her followers don’t know she paid for all those frilly little dresses that cup those pert tits of hers with money that doesn’t belong to her.
I wonder how much of my two hundred and forty million Daddy dearest spent on his precious daughter’s love of all things designer.
Enough that I own the entire dressing room she’s filming in, and every item of clothing in it.
I even own the little panties she’s wearing beneath that dress. Maybe I should insist on taking them back.
‘Dammit,’ I hiss, tossing my phone on to my desk and raking my fingers through my hair.
Aurora Thorne.
Daughter of George Thorne, a man who, when he stole funds from the company he worked for – a company my insurance firm invests heavily with – didn’t just steal from them, he stole from me.
It wasn’t only the two hundred and forty million I lost.
It’s the fact I almost lost it all.
George Thorne nearly cost me Fairfax Guardian.
The whole firm could have crumbled if I hadn’t dipped into my own pocket to save us.
I almost lost it once, years ago, when I first took over from my father.
The fact it almost happened again is an act that simply cannot go unpunished.
The authorities might have been unable to recover what I lost, but George Thorne will return it to me, one way or another.
A man clever enough to gain the trust of a huge firm and be granted access to that amount of money in the first place is a man clever enough to hide his assets during a criminal investigation.
My eyes flick to my phone.
His daughter obviously didn’t inherit his brains. If she did, she wouldn’t be flaunting her brand-new designer wardrobe online, even if she does use a fake name for her online persona.
I pick my phone up again and can’t resist hitting ‘play’ once more.
My dick jolts back to attention immediately, but I ignore it.
She tucks a strand of blond hair behind one ear before smoothing the front of the lemon dress down with a loving caress.
‘Enjoy it, Beauty,’ I murmur. ‘I’ll find Daddy’s secret hiding place. And when I do, you’ll be lucky if you can afford to shop in Primark once I’m through with you.’
She looks at the camera like she can hear me. Her pouty lips glisten and her aquamarine-blue eyes stare right at me. Memories of a dancer’s darker blue irises flash to mind. I was so close that night to finally taking the edge off this . . . obsession.
But not close enough.
I let out an irritated snort. The strippers are getting to be an addiction. A high I chase but can never grasp. Because nothing will compare to the real thing.
I want to scrape back every penny that belongs to me from George Thorne.
And that should be enough.
But for some goddamn reason that defies logic, I want her too.
I want to punish Aurora Thorne for being his daughter. For knowing what her father did, yet still claiming to anyone who will listen that he’s innocent. For waltzing around with my sister, tainting her with her company. For living in the five-bedroomed house in Chelsea Dove told me about.
All whilst wearing clothes my money paid for.
My dick hardens to the point of pain. I despise her. Yet every time I see her all I can think about is how it would feel to have her tell me she’s sorry.
Beneath me.
Have her cry it out as I thrust inside her.
See the tears run down her cheeks as she begs me to forgive her.
I’d mark her as mine. Fill her with my anger.
She should feel guilty. Ashamed. Not defiant. Not look at me on the rare occasions we’ve been in the same room as though I’m the problem. This is her fault. Her’s and her father’s, their cosy little crime duo.
And she definitely shouldn’t blink those doe eyes at me in a way that makes my palm twitch with the urge to spank her arse until it wears my handprint.
I want to ruin her.
I will ruin her.
One way or another I’ll get what I need from her. She must know where her father’s hidden all the money. And the fact she’s not given it up to the authorities makes her my enemy as much as her father.
The day I make Aurora Thorne beg is coming.
And I can’t bloody wait.