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“Did you hear the part where I said she annoys the fuck out of me?” I ask, quickly growing impatient with the subject we’re discussing.
“I heard it.” Dad lets out a chuckle. “Loud and clear.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Still, you don’t believe me.”
Slowly he shakes his head. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. First, they crawl beneath your skin, and before you know it, your entire fucking world revolves around them.”
Taking my dad’s tumbler from him, I down the rest of his drink. “There’s no way on this godforsaken planet that my world will ever revolve around Abigail Sartori.”
Dad nods, and when he pours whiskey into the empty glass, I say, “I’m going to head to bed. Maxim is coming tomorrow.” As he takes a sip, I add, “Don’t tell Mom about any of this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Dad’s chuckle follows me out of the sitting room. Walking out of the main house, I head in the direction of mine.
The late evening air is cold, especially with the breeze coming from the lake around the island. A chill creeps up my spine, and it has nothing to do with the chill in the air.
This afternoon I almost lost my shit when I saw Abigail had been crying. I was ready to rip someone’s throat out.
I was so fucking caught off guard by the intense protectiveness I felt toward the insufferable woman I couldn’t even tell her to go to hell when she taunted me.
I don’t fucking care about her.
Then why the fuck did I react so strongly to a couple of tears?
And the questions from Dad?
Am I missing something?
I open my front door and don’t even bother turning on the lights as I walk to my bedroom.
Yes, Abigail is beautiful, and sometimes her sass is amusing, but that’s where it ends.
You’ve jerked off more than you care to admit since she set foot in St. Monarch’s.
Fine, I admit there’s some kind of attraction, and her flirting with me every chance she gets doesn’t help, but I don’t plan on acting on it. The woman is fucking sexy, and any man with eyes in his head would find her desirable.
Stripping out of my clothes, I walk into the ensuite bathroom and turn on the faucets for the shower. I don’t wait for the water to warm before stepping beneath the spray, letting the drops hit my face.
Abigail Sartori is just a little girl who’s looking for entertainment while she’s at St. Monarch’s.
Daddy.
I hear her purr the word, and before I can banish the memory, I grow rock hard.
Never in my life did I think it would be a turn-on hearing a sexy woman call me Daddy.
Not just any woman. It’s the way Abigail says it. Her voice is always filled with promises of filthy sex and intense orgasms.
Fuck, she’s not just under my skin but running wild in my head.
Grabbing the body wash, I squirt some into my hand and begin to clean myself.
When my fingers close around my erection, memories of Abigail’s body straining beneath mine bombard me. I hear her voice as if she’s whispering in my ear, and before I know it, I’m shooting my load in the shower.
Christ. This has to stop.
Chapter 8
Abbie
