And it hurts like a bitch when he doesn’t stop me.
***
Mr. Simons stands on the deck, wearing a crisp white shirt and navy trousers. He greets us with a charming smile, kissing my hand lightly and turning to my father with a curt nod.
His eyes are back on me in a heartbeat, tracing my moves, roving my body, and latched onto my boobs with hungry intensity. A procession of ice-cold centipedes creeps up my spine, their frosty feet leaving chills in their wake, making me shudder, which Mr. Simons mistakes for a good sign, his blown pupils finally tearing themselves away from my chest to lock onto mine.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Fitzpatrick,” he purrs once my father stalks toward the bar where a young man reaches for a tumbler. “It’s a pleasure to have you here,” he adds in a smooth baritone, then turns as a woman in nothing but a bikini approaches.
She looks much younger than him. Thirty, maybe not even that. Boobs, lips, cheeks, ass... all fake.
Must be one of his mistresses.
“This is my lovely wife, Annabelle.” Mr. Simons gestures toward her with a fond smile.
It’s good that I don’t have a drink yet, or I’d choke. I didn’t expect a man like him to be married. She’s beautiful despite those fake lips. Blonde hair cascades down her back in soft waves, her body sculpted into a fantasy, skin beautifully kissed by the sun.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, trying not to let my relieved sigh sound too obvious.
Surely, he won’t try anything with his wife around...
It’s not often that I actually get touched inappropriately. Most men are perfectly content to stare and make innuendos. Some invite me for a drink to show me off like a trophy, and some don’t pay me any heed at all.
But...
There is always abut.Always an exception to the rule.
While most highly situated men my father uses to multiply his money wouldn’t dare risk a scandal by feeling up a barely legal young woman, some don’t have scruples. The richest, the billionaires... they consider themselves above the law. Above socially acceptable behaviors, etiquette, and manners.
Some try to cop a feel. Some try more than a hand on my knee or fingers brushing my nape.
And by the look of Mr. Simons, and all I read about his sketchy, full of sexual assault charges past, he is most certainly one of those men. Those who think a stuffed wallet means they’re free to do whatever they want.
The saddest part is that it’s true. They can do as they please. With influential friends and enough money for bribes, scum like Mr. Simons walk free despite multiple rape accusations. Every time one made it to court, the charges were dropped... probably because his entourage paid the women a lot of hush money.
Thankfully, I’ve been a part of my father’s schemes for years, and I developed a few tricks to keep myself relatively safe.
We spend a couple of hours on the deck, enjoying breakfast. No inappropriate comments fly above the table. Nothing but polite conversation, but things take a turn when I excuse myself to use the restroom.
I don’t hear Mr. Simons until his hand clasps my wrist and he shoves me against the wall of the narrow corridor.
Flashbacks creep up, flooding my mind with memories I buried long ago, and my breathing falters.
“I thought you were never going to stand up, sweet cheeks,” he says, dipping his head into my neck, inhaling deeply, one hand moving to grip my waist, the other on my thigh. “You look spellbinding. I missed you last night... Where did you go?”
“Headache,” I utter, clawing my way back from the abyss of dark memories, fighting to tether myself in the here and now, or I won’t be able to protect myself.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, and when I saw you today in this...” He trails one hand down between the valley of my barely there breasts, his voice low and husky as he whispers filth in my ear.
My skin crawls when his fat fingers slide up my thigh and he pushes two digits under the hem of my dress, audibly groaning.
“Fucking perfect,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see all of you.”
“Mr. Simons,” I whisper, gently pressing my hands against his chest, blood whooshing in my ears. “Your wife could come down any moment. Myfather ishere. We can’t.”
It takes a few lingering heartbeats for his horny mind to assess the risks before he grunts his disapproval, inching away enough to lick the shell of my ear.
“You’re right,” he huffs, yet in the next breath he oozes care, however artificial. “I wouldn’t put you in that predicament. Nothing to upset my sweet little girl, but...” He leans back further, his lips hovering over mine, eyes searing through me. “Just one touch.” His tongue peeps out, moistening his lips as he slides one finger up and down my pussy. “Let Daddy check how soft you are.”
