Authors: Marian Tee
She turned red, her heart skipping a beat at the words even as she said in a mumbled protest, “Stop it.”
Laughing, Staffan ruffled her hair.
She bit back a sigh. These days, Staffan was either ignoring her – or treating her like a kid.
He asked after a beat, “So…how was your flight?”
“It was okay,” she said quickly.
“That’s great.” He turned to her with a frown. “But I’d really rather you didn’t travel alone again. It makes me sick with worry.”
Was that really the reason – or was it because he hadn’t wanted her to fly here…and be with him? It was hard not to think that when she remembered how he had reacted after she told him about her surprise.
“By the way, when I get there, I just want you to know I’ve booked train tickets for us to Venice. It’s going to be an overnight journey.”
And he had said—
Nothing.
Remembering the conversation made her want to sigh, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury to do so.
Focus on the future, Saffi.
Today was the day to save her marriage. Whatever it took, she had to find out what had made her husband change.
****
“Are you done changing?” Staffan knocked on the door of the en-suite bathroom in their cabin. Normally he would have no qualms entering without permission in hopes of finding his wife naked. But it was different now.
“Just another minute,” Saffi answered, her voice muffled. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“There’s a special wine and cheese buffet at the observation car. I thought we could check it out.” He didn’t actually give a shit about the buffet, but it was a good an excuse as any for them to avoid spending too much time together in private.
Saffi finally emerged, looking ethereal like she always did in her little black dress.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured.
“I’m glad you approve.” She turned around.
That was when he saw that her little black dress wasn’t so ordinary. Rather, he saw nothing, the dress only having a pair of spaghetti straps to hold it together at the back. It dipped so low that if he was in a mind to inch the silk down, Staffan knew he would have seen the line of his wife’s deliciously ample bottom.
Hearing Staffan mutter something in Swedish, Saffi turned to face him, asking innocently, “What’s that?”
Please Lord, please let him be jealous.
Her husband asked tersely, “Aren’t you going to be cold in that dress?”
Imaginary fist-pumping inanga.
She tried not to smile as she said, “Nope. I don’t feel cold at all.”
Opening the door for her, he said reluctantly, “If you’re sure…”
As they headed to the observation car, she tried to casually reach for her husband’s hand, but instead Staffan stuck his hands inside his trousers’ pockets at the exact same time.
Staffan forced himself to ignore the stricken look on Saffi’s face. This was for her own good. In time, she would understand why.
Don’t give up, Saffi.
Red-faced, she told herself the words over and over as they made their way to the observation car. Fashioned with charming elegance, the fifty-seater car had walls covered in velvet damask and the floor covered in original Aubusson rugs. Vintage chandeliers hung from the ornate ceilings and in one corner, a man played classical music from a baby grand.
There were only two rows of cushions in the observation car, with each having its own window to enjoy the scenery. Saffi hurried to the back, needing the utmost privacy. “Could we sit here?”
Staffan tried not to reveal his unease at Saffi’s choice. “I think it’s better to stay here.” He stopped at the first booth he reached that was adjacent to an occupied one.
“Oh. Okay.” Saffi did her best to hide her disappointment as she walked back to where Staffan was. The cushion next to them was occupied by a woman in a business suit. Saffi studied her discreetly, trying to decide whether the other woman could be a fan of Staffan Aehrenthal.
Probably not,
Saffi thought. She looked way too old and serious.
“Saffi? Window or aisle?” Staffan asked.
She experienced a moment of panic.
Which position would make it easier for her to seduce Staffan?
“Umm, window?”
“All right.” He stepped back so she could get to her seat.
Saffi grabbed the throw pillow as she scooted to the side, making sure Staffan had enough space to sit comfortably. When he was seated, she held her breath, waiting for him to invite her to snuggle.
Catching the expectant look on his wife’s face, he asked, “What is it?” Another stricken look, another twinge in his heart. Damn. This was hell.
Hurry up and figure out the truth, Saffi.
He had messed up so many times in the past when it came to her. This time, he wanted everything to be right.
Saffi wasn’t looking his way now. Her back was stiff, her gaze resolutely focused on the scenery outside. But her reflection gave her away, the way his wife’s lips trembled so badly telling him she was hurt.
His fists clenched. The urge to take her in his arms seared through him, but he forced himself to stay still. One touch – and it would be all over. One touch – and they might end up hurting someone innocent, someone he was determined to protect at all costs.
Staffan heard himself ask, “Do you know what today is?”
The question startled her, and she shook her head, not trusting herself to speak just yet.
“The date really doesn’t ring a bell?”
Saffi frowned, trying to think about what could be so special… “Oh my God,” she whispered. Her head snapped towards him, her eyes wide with incredulity. “It’s the date of your concert. The one where we first met.”
The smile that broke over her face at the realization had his chest easing. He hated seeing her in pain, hated it even more when he knew he was the reason she was hurting.
“I thought women were supposed to be the ones who remembered all the important occasions,” he teased.
“It just slipped my mind…” Her heart sang. God, it was practically having a concert inside her body. She was so happy. Surely someone who remembered stuff like that couldn’t be thinking of—
She forced the thought aside and focused instead on the memories. “I think I lost my voice from so much screaming that night,” she confessed.
“Well, you
were
pretending to be H.”
Saffi flushed. ‘H’ was what she had impulsively chosen to call herself at that time. She had been disguising herself as one of his groupies and had even come dressed like one in hopes of catching his attention.
The flush on Saffi’s cheeks had Staffan grinning wickedly. “Do you remember what happened on the stage—” He stopped abruptly. Dammit. He shouldn’t have brought that up.
The words had Saffi holding her breath, and she felt even fainter when she saw the desire darkening Staffan’s gaze. His jaw was clenched hard, as if he was holding himself back.
“I remember,” she whispered. That night, he had picked her from the crowd. He had taken her up on stage with him, had danced with her, had sung to her, and at the very end, he had made her come, with not one of the thousands of screaming fans seeing what he had done.
He was that good.
When Staffan made a move to stand up, Saffi knew it was now or never. She dumped the throw pillow on his lap, forcing him back to his seat.
Staffan glanced at her, more puzzled than anything. “What the—” He froze.
His wife had just stuck her hand under the pillow and curled her fingers around his cock.
~ Two ~
“Saffi.” His voice was hoarse.
Her eyes ensnared his, not allowing him to look away and regain his composure. Saffi moved closer to him, pressing her breasts against his arm just as her fingers tightened around his cock.
His eyes clenched closed, a look of rampant need on his face.
Gathering all her courage, she whispered to his ear, “I want you to take me, Staffan.”
His teeth gnashed. God, if only that was possible. “We’re in a public place.”
The words made her want to cry, but she refused to be so weak. “That never stopped you before.”
Staffan tensed when he felt her fingers move towards the fly of his trousers. “Saffi, no.”
“Give me one good reason why.”
When she started to pull his zip down, Staffan knew he had to act fast. He had to put a stop to this or they might end up doing something both of them would regret forever.
“Excuse me.” He hailed one of the attendants, his words turning Saffi into a statue next to him.
The attendant walked quickly to them, professional smile in place. “Yes, sir?”
“Could you give us a blanket? I’m afraid my wife finds the air a bit chilly.”
“Right away, sir.”
When the attendant left, Saffi asked, “A blanket? Why would—
mmph.
” Staffan’s lips were on hers, his tongue pushing in boldly.
Someone cleared his throat behind them.
Without breaking the kiss, Staffan extended his hand, and a moment later, a plastic-wrapped blanket was placed in it. He ripped it open and in one swift motion whipped the blanket over her.
Saffi suddenly found herself flipped around, her back against Staffan’s chest. Their gazes met through the window. Before she could speak, she felt him lifting her up, forcing her to let go of his cock.
Staffan leaned against the side of their booth so he could face the window and stretch his legs out on the cushion. Then he placed Saffi on his lap.
Saffi bit her lip hard when she felt Staffan cup her breasts from behind, the movement of his hands made undetectable by the thick blanket he had placed over her.
She fell back against him weakly as he began massaging her breasts, her breathing becoming ragged when he started to play with her nipples, mercilessly so. He tugged and tugged, twisted and twisted, doing everything he could until her nipples had turned into pink burning flesh that had Saffi squeezing her eyes shut at the tormenting pleasure of his touch.
“Staffan.” Her husky voice turned his name into a plea and a caress.
A shudder ran through his large, powerful body at the sound, and she couldn’t help but say his name again when she felt his cock nudge her flesh. It throbbed against her, heat against moist warmth, a rigid rod of temptation she wanted more of.
“Please, Staffan.” All semblance of self-respect and pride had disappeared. “I miss you. I miss this.” She tried reaching for his cock, but Staffan caught her wrist and placed her hand on her breast instead.
“Play with your breasts,” he commanded. “My hands will be busy elsewhere.” And they were, his fingers delving between her legs. One hand tore her panties away, crushing it into a ball and shoving it inside his pocket.
“Move, baby.”
The dark command of her husband’s voice had her even wetter. Hand trembling, she began to knead her breast, her own touch bringing her pleasure because it was what he had ordered her to do. Her other hand gripped his thigh, tightening around the hot, muscled flesh when she felt his fingers prying her open.
“Staffan, oh God, Staffan.” She couldn’t stop the words, her body shuddering at the way he stretched her open wider and wider. She felt so deliciously exposed, the forbidden knowledge that her pussy was made so blatantly bare making her breasts swell and her skin turn rosy with arousal.
“Ready?”
She nodded, the anticipation for his possession making her so close to coming. Her heart thudded against her chest as she waited for him to unzip himself, but instead confusion hit her when she felt his fingers grazing her flesh.
“Staffan?” She twisted halfway to look at him.
So many damn questions in her gaze. But none of them he could answer just yet. And so he kissed her the same time he pushed his finger inside her.
She jerked against him, her lips parting just as her inner muscles closed around his finger. He kissed her deeply as he thrust his finger in and out. When she started to writhe, he grated against her lips, “Stop moving.” He was no prude, but he didn’t like the idea of any man in proximity figuring out what they were doing and start looking at his wife the wrong way.