by Marian Tee
Pearl Beaufort March was a lady’s lady, a woman who could trace her lineage all the way back to its Mayfair legacy. She had been educated in an all girls’ school and a ladies’ college, and she had never taken the Lord’s name in vain.
Saffi was honest enough to admit that she wasn’t the most street smart person in the world, but Pearl was even worse, a throwback from centuries past, the kind who thought women were quite “brazen” to say ‘hi’ to a man without a proper introduction.
“I’m going to be okay, Mom. I promise.”
“But what about your fishies, sis?” This one was from Silver, who was three years older than Saffi. “Can you bear to leave them for the weekend?”
She rolled her eyes. “Hmph! As if you really care.” Even so, she made a mental note to herself to call Mary, the undergrad student living across from her room. Saffi had to make sure Mary would indeed look after her aquatic pets.
Steel, five years older and the more serious minded of her brothers, asked quietly, “Can’t you reconsider, Saffi? At least keep one bodyguard with you.”
“No.” She obeyed them all the time, and had no problems doing so. But this was different. This was…not for them to know about her. “You all know you can trust me, right? I’m not the type to go wild. You know that.” She crossed her fingers as she spoke, hoping God wouldn’t strike her dead for saying such a big whopping fat lie.
All for the love of Staffan Aehrenthal, she reminded herself.
“Fine,” the senator said in a heavy tone. “You win. But only because you asked it as your birthday gift.”
She grinned. “Love you all.”
“Happy nineteenth,” Samuel said gruffly.
“Happy birthday again, sweetie,” Pearl sniffed out.
“Take care, sis,” Silver added.
“Call me if you need help – any kind of help,” Steel murmured.
Her eyes became wet with tears.
She loved these guys so, so much. They were all so, so perfect she wished she could be like them and not be – literally – the odd fish in the family and a girl too ordinary to be a part of one of America’s most powerful political clans.
~~~
“I see her, boss,” Bob, Staffan’s personal bodyguard, reported from the restricted area next to the stage, a section strictly reserved for VIPs. Basically, that meant a mixture of the rich and famous, groupies with connections, and fan club members who got lucky.
Staffan had given Bob a copy of Saffi March’s photo as well as explicit instructions of what Bob was supposed to do the moment he saw his quarry. And now that he had, Bob was quick to act on his instructions.
Staffan held his breath as Bob’s phone immediately swung to the left, the screen shaking up and down a little before steadying, zooming on the bare bellybutton of a girl.
Staffan raised a brow. There wasn’t much written on Saffi’s FB page but her pictures spoke a thousand words. Also, she was a girl who had spent almost a decade studying fish. She definitely wasn’t the kind of girl who’d wear a cropped top that showed off practically her entire tummy.
“That’s not---”
He shut up as the camera of Bob’s phone zoomed out, allowing him a glimpse of the upper half of the girl’s body. It was her.
And yet, it was not her, too.
Staffan suddenly felt like he had warped into another dimension, one where everything the opposite of reality had come true. Because what he was seeing now was exactly that.
Gone was the very prim and almost nun-like Saffi March he had gotten to know through his daily updates from Facebook, Twitter, and even her fucking Pinterest account.
Her hair had been transformed into a riot of big wild curls. Dramatic make-up had turned her eyes bigger and darker while her body, usually covered in preppy outfits, was now almost naked with her cropped shirt and the shortest skirt Staffan had ever seen in his life. Goddammit! That skirt looked more like underwear in denim!
Staffan’s temper, which was always easily ignited, burned red hot at the thought of other men in the area being able to see Saffi March’s almost naked body. Why the hell was his Saffi dressed like this? Was she here on a date? Was she---
Saffi’s head was suddenly turning left and right, drawing his attention and making Staffan temporarily stop with his mental tirade. Her brows were puckered as she listened in apparent concentration to the screams of the other fans next to her. Frowning, Staffan watched her take a deep breath.
And then she was shouting, “Staffan Aehrenthal! Have sex with me!”
His jaw dropped, and he nearly dropped his phone, too, unable to believe what he had just heard Saffi scream – and was still hearing her scream.
The women that had been screaming next to her gave Saffi high-fives, which she returned happily, a giddy look on her face. And then they were all screaming the same thing, laughing afterwards, and the cycle repeated itself.
An unbidden smile formed on his lips.
His Saffi never failed to surprise him.
He shifted on his feet, aware of how his pants had become suddenly and uncomfortably tight.
And she never failed to make him want to fuck her either.
~~~
Deafening screams rocked the concert venue when all the lights went out and the first recognizable notes of Poison, Staffan Aehrethenal’s first worldwide hit, played. When the lights blazed back, an uproar of screams and cries rose from the crowd.
Staffan stood in the middle of the stage, dressed in a tux, his beautiful face unsmiling but the heat in his fuck-me eyes more than made up for it.
And then he started to dance.
Saffi swooooooned. The girls around her swooned. Everyone swooned, including even some of the bouncers lined up next to the stage since apparently they were batting for the same team.
Staffan moved closer and closer to the edge of the stage, his every step infinitely sexy with its precision and grace, his hand gestures wondrously defined and in tune with the music.
Her heart got all choked up at the sight of him performing live, her throat running dry.
There was nothing as beautiful as seeing Staffan Aehrenthal dance. It was sheer poetry in motion, and he never failed to seduce his faithful audience with every little move he made. There were just no words to describe the heart-thumping excitement he evoked from his fans no matter how fast or slow he danced. And when he started to sing, too, oh God, how it made Saffi’s body tremble with desire!
Staffan’s eyes suddenly locked with hers.
She gasped.
She knew she must be imagining it. She must be. He couldn’t be---
The line of bouncers suddenly split into two from the center, just in time to let Staffan jump down from the stage. And then he was walking towards Saffi, his eyes never leaving hers.
Saffi’s gasp came out strangled, and it became harder and harder to breathe as Staffan came closer, a six-foot-five silver-haired man whose face was literally the first and last thing she saw before she slept and when she woke up. He was the subject of her laptop, tablet, and phone’s screensaver, the pin-up in her high school locker, and she even had limited edition collectible photo in her wallet.
Before she knew it, Staffan was already standing right in front of her, too gorgeous to be true but too close not to be real.
God, he was tall. God, he was sexy. And oh! Galloping groupers! Those hazel eyes. Surely she had to be mistaken. Surely those eyes didn’t say---
Staffan Aehrenthal held his hand out.
She took it without even a moment’s hesitation.
As he pulled her close, the screams all around them became louder. But even so, she heard Staffan very well as he whispered to his ear, “I’m going to fuck you now.”
And the next thing she knew, he was taking her up the stage.
Staffan Aehrenthal taking a girl from the crowd and dancing with her on stage was nothing unusual. He did it in every single one of his concerts. She had been aware of that, and she had envied all the
girls who had the privilege of dancing with him. But what she didn’t know was that dancing with Staffan meant something entirely unexpected.
Staffan held her close, singing, not saying a word to her even if it was his backup vocals’ turn to sing. But with every chance he got, his hands would graze her breasts, pinching her nipples to life. Every time he would twirl her around, his hands would be brushing against her most private part, the one that had started to throb just because he was near.
Saffi was on fire, in heat, and out of her mind with desire. She was utterly mesmerized, and all she could do was follow Staffan’s lead as he continued to arouse her in front of thousands of people.
A part of her was completely shocked. He was seducing her…not just in public but on stage. At a concert that thousands of mobile phones were presently recording, a concert that could be televised---
She should be running away from him now, but she couldn’t. All Saffi could do was look and feel Staffan Aehrenthal touch her. All she could think was him. Staffan. Staffan. Staffan.
The look on Saffi March’s face almost made Staffan lose his concentration. Dammit. She looked so fucking sweet, so ripe for fucking, that only his sense of professionalism, honed in the years he had worked in the music business, kept him from losing control and taking her then and there.
He had always done this. Always. But only Saffi threatened his control.
Saffi gasped when Staffan suddenly turned her around to face him, her back to the crowd. He pulled her close, their bodies touching, and she gasped as she felt his erection press against her.
She whimpered. Oh, but how could she not when his fingers were dipping into her skirt and panties until he was touching her very wetness?
Staffan’s body shook at how warm and tight Saffi was, the images of Saffi’s body welcoming his cock similarly lending an added roughness to his voice that made the crowd go even wilder.
Without missing a beat, he sang and danced a sexy slow dance with her, his hips pushing against hers, which caused his fingers to thrust inside her more deeply.
She whimpered again, and the sound almost forced him to the edge.
The electrifying beats of his music echoed the way her heart pounded, and combined with his thrusting and conquering fingers, Saffi knew she was just seconds away from coming.
The backstage dancers suddenly converged around them, the last notes of his song playing, and Staffan shoved his fingers in and out of her faster and harder. When the lights turned out, Saffi felt Staffan abruptly go down, tossing her skirt up and biting her lace-covered clit as his fingers pushed all the way in.
She screamed, the sound of it lost in the crowd’s riotous noise.
As her eyes closed, all Saffi could think was, so this was what being hand-selected meant.
Chapter Two
@starry_eyed4SA, Twitter:
OMFG. I have a BACKSTAGE PASS. I am so going to handcuff him to me the first chance I get!
“Wait for me.” Ninety minutes had already passed since she came down from the stage with quaking knees yet Staffan’s words, uttered in a low, dark, and velvety whisper, remained with her.
The backstage area was crowded with dancers waiting in the wings together with reporters, Gs, and Staffan’s security team. It was easy to slip past them without anyone noticing, and she did so as quickly as she could, heading to the closest restroom outside the backstage area.
She slipped inside the restroom and sighed in relief upon finding it empty, its silence soothing and welcoming. After locking the door of her cubicle, Saffi pulled the lid down and collapsed on the toilet bowl.
She needed a couple of minutes to herself, a quiet and private time to…freak out.
Her first orgasm. Her first public orgasm. Her first orgasm with Staffan Aehrenthal. Bamboozling bass! Just the memory of it had Saffi sucking in her breath, body tingling, and reducing her exceptionally advanced mind into a single-celled organ capable of only just one thought: she was going to DIEEEEEE.
Had Staffan Aehrenthal really taken her on stage with him? Had he really done that to her? And had he really told Saffi to wait for him?
She sighed, the sound rebounding inside the air-conditioned restroom. Everything still seemed so surreal. Maybe someone more sophisticated would have taken things like this in stride, but Saffi had never been sophisticated. In spite of the wealth and status that came with being a Beaufort and a March, Saffi had always felt the odd and ugly duckling in the circles her family moved in. Nothing as spectacular as this had ever happened to her, and she was strongly tempted to slap her cheeks several times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
She closed her eyes, and the memories of Staffan walking towards her, taking her up to the stage, and dancing with her easily came to mind. The beauty of his face, the silky hardness of his skin under her fingers, the heat of his touch---
Another breathless sigh escaped Saffi.
It was good not being Saffi March. The real Saffi would never have been able to do any of the things she did. She would never have looked like this in the first place. But this weekend, she was reborn with two simple goals:
Watch Staffan Aehrenthal perform live. Check.
Figure a way to get close to Staffan. Super check.
But after what happened on stage, Saffi dared give herself another goal.
Give Staffan her virginity.
Saffi didn’t care if she was being silly or not. She knew where her life was heading, and it didn’t have any room for something like love. She accepted that, wasn’t bitter at all about it but before making the ultimate sacrifice, Saffi was determined to have this weekend for herself.
So her next strategy: figure out a way to keep her virginity a secret from Staffan until he’s taken it away. He was extremely notorious for not wanting inexperienced women in his bed, and Saffi had a feeling that she was the least experienced female in the entire concert arena right now.
It was a problem she was still mulling over when she stepped out of the cubicle – and found herself staring back at four beautifully dressed women, all of them clearly older than Saffi. Just as obvious was the fact that they were diehard fangirls of Staffan as well since they had wristbands that only Tier II members of Staffan’s official fan club had.
The silence between them lengthened into something tense and uneasy. It was weird how she totally hadn’t heard any of the women come in. Finally, Saffi said with a friendly smile, “Hi.”
No one returned her smile, and Saffi took an instinctive step back when one of the women moved towards her. The other woman wore a black cotton dress, with lacy long sleeves and a knee-length hem. It should have made her look seductive, but her cold eyes made the other woman look more like a jail warden in heels instead.
Warden Chick glared. “You have something we want.”
Saffi stiffened, having no problems understanding what the other fangirls wanted. Her fingers tightened around her backstage pass, clutching it to her chest like it was her lifeline. No way was she going to give this up without a fight. If she did, it could mean that they would be “hand selected” like she had been. She didn’t give a fig about the women who were hand selected in the past, but the thought of Staffan doing the same thing with other women – now – definitely bothered her.
Warden Chick looked at her companions over her shoulder and their cued laughter bounced all over the restroom.
Catapulting catfish! This was not…good. “I, umm, have nothing you could possibly want. You guys are so obviously prettier and more, umm, loaded than I am, so what could I have that you don’t?” She tried sneaking past them, but one of Warden Chick’s companions shoved her back, hard enough for Saffi’s back to hit the wall behind her with a painful thud.
Saffi winced. “Guys, really? Are we seriously going to do this?”
Warden Chick answered her with a rude gesture.
Saffi had never ever been in a catfight in her entire life, but tonight was apparently going to be her first. Her fists clenched. W
ell, they’d see for themselves soon enough that Saffi was a lot stronger than she looked.
“Don’t make this hard for yourself, groupie,” Warden Chick sneered.
Saffi lifted her chin. “I’m not going to give over what I know is mine.”
The other woman shrugged. “Suits us.”
Saffi held her breath, preparing for a fight for death. But before the women could take another menacing step closer, the door flew open and another batch of women came inside, all dressed in different definitions of skimpy.
Her eyes widened. It was them! The women who had talked her into screaming all kinds of sexual invitations before the concert!
One of the new arrivals glanced at her in surprised recognition. “Hey. It’s you, the one who---” The older woman – whose name was Carmina if Saffi recalled correctly - stopped speaking, her own eyes narrowing when she saw Warden Chick.
Carmina said coldly, “Up to the same tricks again, Mitch?”
Saffi’s jaw dropped. “You…two…know each other?”
“This isn’t your business,” Warden Chick- or rather Mitch – snapped. “So stay out of it.”
Carmina stalked forward, forcing Mitch to step back. “Of course this is our business. Because this girl is one of us.”
Looking at the two of them, Saffi felt like she was watching something straight out of National Geographic, with Carmina an enraged lioness going against a hyena named Mitch.
Mitch sniffed. “Why am I not surprised? You look all the same.” And she coughed under her breath, “Sluts.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what Staffan Aehrenthal likes, haven’t you heard? Unlike you fan girls.” Carmina coughed ‘bad in bed’ under her breath.
This was probably a good time to make it clear that Saffi had started out as a fangirl but had decided to convert to the groupies’ religion for her nineteenth birthday because Staffan Aehrenthal liked his women slutty. She opened her mouth to speak, but the two other women beat her to it.
“Take that back, whore,” Mitch shrieked.
“Not on your life, you fugly hag!”
All of a sudden, Saffi found herself in the middle of a hair-tearing, nail-clawing catfight, literally untouched but surrounded by screaming and hissing women. She gasped when one of Mitch’s followers made a swipe at her backstage pass, taking Saffi by surprise. She quickly tried to grab it back, managing to catch a corner of the card. The other woman pulled it back at the same time.
