Chapter 7 Rafael
Rafael
Staring at the thumbnail of the video, I grind my teeth together, before shoving my phone into my pocket without hitting ‘play’.
I’m not watching any more videos of Aurora Thorne.
I want my money back. And watching a video of Aurora in a little black dress isn’t going to get me any closer. At least, I’m assuming that’s what she’s wearing in it, judging from the title – The Perfect LBD.
A tight, short little thing, I bet. One that fits snuggly over her hips and arse and probably pushes up those perky little tits until her cleavage spills out. Maybe they even bounce a little as she walks, a tiny glimpse at the way they’d move if she were on top, riding a cock.
Riding my cock.
‘Bloody fool,’ I mutter, more annoyed with myself than ever.
After the unwelcome stress of bailing out Angelo again a few days ago, I was planning on screwing that brunette into the mattress all night before I found out she was married.
I don’t condone liars of any kind, which is ironic, considering I’m lying to my family by keeping the company finances surrounding George Thorne a secret.
I paid back every penny from my own bank account, buying time until the insurance would pay out and Dom could return the investment. So my problem with George Thorne and his daughter is now entirely personal.
Aurora. Damn . . . What was she doing there?
Cockblocking me, for one . . . I mean, I was going to at least try to screw Tanya. Things have been . . . somewhat uncooperative in that area recently. But I’m not losing it. I’m not ‘too old to get it up’, as Aurora so eloquently phrased it.
I have no problem getting my dick as hard as steel and coming in an amount that makes Niagara Falls look like a trickle.
I just need to watch her videos to do it.
There’s nothing wrong with that.
Nothing wrong at all.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I snarl, slamming my flattened palm against my desk.
She’s right. I’m a goddamn limp-dicked thirty-nine-year-old who can’t get it up unless I fantasise about a woman I don’t even like.
What the hell was Aurora doing, hiding in the shower like that? Was she going to stay there and listen to us? Would she have got off on hearing us if I’d managed to get a boner? Would she have touched herself whilst listening?
I lick my lips, my dick stirring at the memory of her face when she saw me. At the defiance on it. At all the unconcealed disgust in her aquamarine eyes. The closest I got to getting aroused at Tanya’s house was the second my eyes connected with Aurora’s. What the hell does that say about me?
I drum my fingers on my desk. But why was she there?
Her and her father live in a five-bedroomed house in Chelsea, for God’s sake.
And she’s always flaunting her latest fashion purchase in her vlogs.
She doesn’t need money. Unless . . . No, it’s out of the question.
I saw the evidence myself. Her father is as bent as they come.
Nothing more than a low-life crook, intent on taking what doesn’t belong to him.
And he’s smart. The authorities might have seized his assets, but they didn’t get everything.
He made sure of it. The house is probably in Aurora’s name so they couldn’t touch it.
The bulk of the money too. She’s probably laughing at me right now, with her boyfriend.
I grind my teeth until a pain shoots up my jaw and I reach up to rub the sting away.
A fucking boyfriend. She’s got a goddamn boyfriend. One who gets to touch her, kiss her, taste her. One who probably has no idea about the sneaky little minx he’s sleeping beside.
I bet she laughed all the way into his grotty building, thinking she is so much smarter than me.
The job at Tanya’s was likely a cover. To explain where her money comes from since her father went to prison.
Every penny she’s been getting for months belongs to some poor bastard that’s been screwed over.
Rage burns in my veins.
Two hundred and forty bloody million.
Yanking my phone from my pocket, I bring her video up and hit ‘play’. I’m entitled to watch. It’s my goddamn money that’s paid for what she’s wearing, after all.
I devour the opening seconds like a starving dog salivating over a prime steak as Aurora moves around on camera.
I was right. The black dress is tight. And her tits are presented on a fucking platter, jiggling a little as she moves about, creating the perfect channel to slide my dripping dick through.
Yeah, I could fuck those tits. Come all over them, while her pouty little lips gasp in surprise at how good it feels to be covered in my cum.
I’d bloody well drown her in it.
My hand is in my boxers in a flash, and I give in to the inevitable urge to wank over her again. It’s becoming a daily occurrence, like I need it to function. Wake. Workout. Coffee. Wank. Et cetera.
‘Beauty,’ I rumble, like she can hear me. Like she’s on the receiving end of my low rasp of appreciation as she turns, and I cop an eyeful of her curvy arse.
It’s as she spins back, and I wait to see those magnificent tits again, that something else catches my eye. A coat hanging on the rail behind her. A floral fabric. A distinct pattern. One I’ve seen before but can’t place.
She says something to the camera, and I turn my attention back to her face, tugging on my dick with increased urgency as the need to come overtakes everything else.
She’s a goddamn problem.
She’s fucking divine.
I bought that dress she’s wearing, and I’d rip it off her if I could.
Her father stole from me.
And she’s laughing at me . . . with her fucking boyfriend.
She shouldn’t be with anyone. No one should be touching her. No one except . . .
I come with a grunt, thick white ropes splattering across my palm as I rush to catch them.
I hate her.
I clean myself up and tuck my dick away. It’ll be appeased for a few hours, at least. Until the urge to watch her again hits.
I rewind the video, the floral fabric niggling at something buried deep in the recesses of my memory.
But it’s no use, I still can’t place it.
Can’t figure out why it’s familiar. One thing I do know is that it’s not Aurora’s.
I zoom in on the background, something sparking in my mind.
I quickly select another of her videos, then another, then another.
‘You clever girl,’ I muse as I relax back in my chair.
She always films so you can’t see much of the dressing rooms behind her. Just the odd item of clothing on a rail. Maybe a shelf of bags or shoes. No one would notice anything wrong, unless they were looking.
Unless they were me.
I pick up my pen and slide it between my fingers as I think.
Aurora’s filmed her content in at least three different dressing rooms, if not more.
She’s up to something. And if I’m going to find out what that something is, I need to engineer a way to spend more time with her.
Give myself an opportunity to discover the secrets and lies she’s hiding behind those deceivingly innocent-looking eyes.
Never mind dreaming up getting into her panties and punishing her.
I need to get into Aurora Thorne’s head.
I check my watch. I have fifteen minutes until my next meeting.
Rolling my lips, I take my dick back out leisurely and click ‘play’ on the video again.
My grip isn’t angry this time, like after I found the magazine with the devil horns on.
And my strokes aren’t urgent, like a few minutes ago, picturing her with her loser boyfriend.
This time I’m measured and controlled.
Because finally I have something on her. Somewhere to start digging.
And it feels fucking fantastic.
‘Mm,’ I groan, stroking myself slowly as I watch her face light up modelling the black dress.
‘That’s it, Beauty. Sit on my cock and ride it.
Let those little tits bounce in that dress I paid for.
’ I chuckle darkly. ‘Enjoy it. Because once I’m done with you, you’ll know exactly how it feels to be well and truly fucked. ’