Page 6 of Mister Daddy

My eyes trace the path the mystery girl takes. As hard as I try, I’m unable to unglue them from her body. It’s crazy because there are plenty of other women in the club right now, but none are as mouthwateringly gorgeous as the woman in the blue dress. The way that fabric melts onto her skin should be illegal. The way the neckline emphasizes her Double D breasts makes my body harden. I silently beg her to stop tugging down the short hemline because her milky thighs deserve to be seen. Admired. Loved. The things my mouth could do to those thighs…

Two twigs pull the girl from her seat at the bar and back onto the floor. I was watching her when she was out there before, her movements hesitant and her body nervous. The alcohol must have hit her while she was at the bar because she’s loose now. Her arms flow with the music as her head bobs to the beat, brunette locks flying everywhere

I want to dig my fingers into her hips and pull her against me while she continues to sway, but I can’t. I want that softness plastered against my hardness, the sweetness of her moans filling the air as I give her a good ride. But this is my ship, my crew, and my customers. They’d be shocked to see me behaving like a barbarian.

So instead, I’ll keep watching her from afar.

Someone bumps into my side, knocking me slightly off balance. “Sorry, man,” the drunk frat boy says.

“It’s fine,” I growl. This is why I never come to the club on board. People run into you and spill drinks on you, sloppy and ridiculous in their Hawaiian shirts and flip flops. I could tell the guy to go sleep off his inevitable alcohol poisoning, but he’s on vacation and probablywantsa good hangover. Plus, I want him to like the cruise line, and not associate it with an old buzzkill.

After all, I’m only here to check things out, to make sure everyone is having a good time on their first night. Personal interaction with the guests is well below my pay grade, but I like to live among the plebes every once in a while. It’s almost like that show where the boss dresses up and works side-by-side with his employees to see what life on the bottom is really like. The only difference is that I’m observing, not working. And I’m not in a disguise, although I doubt anyone would recognize me. Being CEO means that I’m way up top, and most employees only see my head shot when they read the company’s annual report. Not that my employees do that on a regular basis, or at all.

But I don’t mind because the anonymity is nice. When I’m in my office, everyone always wants something from me because they know I’m the guy with the goods. It’s always Mr. Jones this, Mr. Jones that. I can’t get any peace, ever. Here on the dance floor, no one would guess that I’m anything other than another guest.

The beautiful girl wiggles her hips as her friends cheer her on. My pants are loose enough to hide my hardness, but I slip a little further into the darkness to ensure no one notices. It’s ridiculous. I’m a forty-five year old man with dozens of women throwing themselves at me, and yet I’m stiff as a pole for a twenty-something guest shimmying under the lights.

“Can I get you another drink?” a solicitous waitress asks, interrupting my thoughts. There are two servers making the rounds at the various tables in the club, running drinks to people who don’t want to brave the bar crowd. Most of the seated guests are closer to my age than the dancers, come to think of it.

“I’ll have two fingers of scotch,” I tell the young woman. “The best scotch you’ve got.”

I hand her my card, and she glances at the name. Eyes widening, she does a double take, taking my massive frame and obviously-expensive suit in.

“Mr. Jones, I didn’t know you were on board!” she gasps. “How has your night been? Has everything been to your standards? I’m happy to help in any way.”

“It’s been great,” I growl, not even meeting her eyes. “Do me a favor and keep that card between us, though. I’m trying to be discreet.”

“Of course, sir! I won’t tell a soul,” she promises before scurrying away, throwing another look at me over her shoulder.

I want to trust her, but I’m sure she’ll be talking. The servers and bartenders here will know that Carter Jones is in the house within fifteen minutes, tops. Good thing I wasn’t planning on staying much longer.

Meanwhile, the mystery girl is still out on the floor dancing when the waitress returns and hands me my drink. It’s more than two fingers, poured into a real glass instead of the plastic ones used by guests. Clearly, they pulled out the stops.

“Enjoy your drink, and if you need anything else, anything at all, just flag me down,” she says nervously.

“Thank you,” I rumble. “What was your name again?”

The woman bobs her head in gratitude, her dark head moving up and down.

“Vanessa,” she says hurriedly. “Vanessa Cruz. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones, and we’re happy to have you aboard.”

Finally, I cast her a level glance.

“You as well, Vanessa. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need anything.”

Vanessa nods and moves carefully to some other tables, practicing perfect posture and keeping an extra bright smile as she takes drink orders. I try to ignore the way she continues to glance back at me as if I might be grading her performance.

This is why I prefer to be incognito when I’m on deck. Because how can you really get a lay of the land when your staff is doing somersaults to keep you happy? It’s better to be hidden, and to observe their level of service as just an anonymous guest.

Sighing. Well, it’s too late to stay in the shadows now. Obviously, Vanessa must have told a few people who I am. Grunting, I turn away to focus on the beautiful girl again. It’s a good use of my time. She’s still dancing and swaying those luscious hips from side to side as her generous breasts bounce. How can she still be dancing? She’s been in the club for a while now, and those high heels can’t be comfortable. Still, she moves and sways to the terrible music as if the dance floor is where she’s meant to be.

Damn, this woman’s perfect.

What am I doing, staring at her from a distance like some silly stalker?

If I’m being honest, my reasons for coming to the club weren’t totally business related. Sure, I wanted to verify the cruise was starting off right. After all, my reputation rides on every trip being perfect. But I also came up from my quarters to check out the prospects and to find a hook up.

It’s pretty sad, I know. The man who can get anyone and anything, is actually cruising his guests for a one-night stand. But it’s so easy, and even the mighty sometimes go for low-hanging fruit. After all, there are so many single women on cruises, and they’re never looking for more than a night or two of bliss. It makes sense. Everyone’s here for a week or two of debauchery, and what happens on the ship stays on the ship. It’s your chance to leave your real personality at the door, and to be someone else for a change.