by Stella Gray
I headed to the bathroom to take a shower.
True to form, I was surrounded by gold fixtures and gleaming marble floors. There was a clawfoot tub and a separate shower walled in by glass, stacks of fluffy towels and Turkish cotton robes waiting to be used. I took advantage of the well-stocked cabinet of luxury bath and shower items and then stepped under the spray, imagining the hot water washing away my insecurities.
Stefan did want me, I told myself. I’d seen the interest in his eyes when he’d watched me walk down the aisle in my wedding dress, especially when he had gotten a good look at the neckline. And our first kiss had been long and deep, his hands tight and needful around my waist.
The memory of that kiss sent a shiver through me. Despite the distance Stefan kept putting between us, I still wanted him. And wanted him to want me.
Closing my eyes, I tried to visualize what my first time would be like. I called up the sensation of his lips against mine, hard and hot, like the rest of his body. What would he do if he was standing here right now? He’d kiss me first, his tongue thrusting strong into my mouth, his hands gripping my hips firmly.
He’d be naked, of course. I’d gotten a look at his bare chest on our wedding night, and I knew it was broad and smooth and well-muscled. The rest of his body was no doubt just as gorgeous and I had no doubt that he was a man who knew what to do in with it in bed.
The thought of Stefan pulling me against him, our naked, wet bodies steaming up the shower, made me tingle. All over.
With my eyes still closed, I slid my hands down my chest, imagining that it was Stefan touching me. I cupped my full breasts, pinched my nipples, rolled them between my fingers. Gently at first and then a little harder. I imagined he’d be a little rough. I liked imagining that.
Heat pooled between my thighs and my legs spread wider as I dragged my nails lightly down my stomach. I’d gotten completely waxed in anticipation of my wedding night so when my hand reached lower it met no resistance, just smooth, bare skin.
I gasped as I touched my swollen clit, imagining that my hand was Stefan’s. He would be standing behind me, his body pressed against mine as he stroked me. I dipped my finger lower to trace my lips, fantasizing that Stefan was breathing close to my ear, letting out a groan as he finally pushed a thick finger inside. “You like that?” he’d say.
“Mmhmm,” I murmured quietly, grinding against that finger. I probed in soft, slow strokes, my entire body starting to hum. This was what I’d needed. I’d been on edge ever since our first kiss but now I needed relief. I needed release.
Pressing my forehead against the glass wall of the shower, I fingered myself deeper, faster, my walls wet and hot, my breath coming fast as my hips pumped back and forth.
“Come for me,” Stefan would say, commanding me. “I want to feel you come.”
I pumped faster, one hand reaching up to squeeze my breast. I shut my eyes tight, pleasure spreading through my entire body as the orgasm built inside of me.
“Yes,” I moaned softly.
Just before I climaxed, my skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. I opened my eyes and found Stefan standing in the doorway of the bathroom.
He was watching me, his jaw set, eating up the sight of me—his own desire visible, the front of his pants bulging. My body trembled as the shockwaves hit me, unable to prevent myself from coming right in front of him in breathless gasps.
When I looked back toward him, my spent body feeling loose and languid, I fully expected to see him shedding his clothes and throwing open the shower door to take me in his arms and continue what I had started.
Instead, I found an empty doorway. He was gone.
Stefan was keeping to himself in the suite’s office while I got ready. I chose a black evening gown that looked demure from the front, but when I turned around, revealed an almost completely open back. It was the kind of dress that I couldn’t wear a bra with. I pulled my hair into a messy yet artful twist with some loose tendrils framing my face and finished off the outfit with a pair of heels and a small clutch. I was very dressed up, but I didn’t know where we were going tonight, and I wanted to make sure people noticed me. Especially Stefan.
“Are you ready yet?” he asked, knocking on the door.
I flung it open but for a moment just stood there, taking in his dark suit, the scent of his cologne, his gold cufflinks. He was typing something on his phone, but when he glanced up his gaze zeroed on me and his hand dropped to his side.
“Is this okay?” I asked, turning in a slow circle, making sure he got a good look at the back.
His eyes blazed hot. Just like when he’d watched me in the shower. “You’ve done well.”
“Where are we going?”
He pulled a cream envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me.
Opening the flap, I saw that there were tickets inside. Tickets to the Vienna Opera House. For tonight.
“I…”
“You’re welcome.” His voice was gruff, as if to quell my overpowering emotions.
“I never expected this,” I finally managed.
He nodded. “I have something else for you.”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a long, velvet box and handed it to me. I opened it to find the most gorgeous diamond necklace I had ever seen. It was composed of two strands of glittering stones with a large teardrop-shaped diamond suspended from it.
I was speechless at its extravagance, my fingers gently resting on the pear cut stone nestled in the velvet. Stefan came around behind me, reaching over my shoulder to take the box. His hand brushed mine, and I felt a spark.
He lifted the diamond necklace out and draped it around my neck. It was heavy, the teardrop nestling between my breasts. I touched the cool stone, holding it in place, as Stefan fastened the clasp. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck, then slid lower to caress my bare back. Once. Twice. Three times.
It couldn’t have been an accident.
My skin tingled with each brief moment of contact.
I walked over to the closet mirror, gazing at the necklace, loving the way it sparkled against my skin.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed.
Stefan was stoic behind me, his expression giving nothing away.
“It is,” he said.
I appraised our reflection. We were a handsome pair, in our matching black clothes. It looked like we belonged together. Did Stefan think so too? I glanced at him, but his eyes were on the necklace. My nipples went hard. I knew they would be visible through the dress.
“It looks like it was made for you,” he added, his voice husky.
My eyes met his in the mirror. There was that intense, dark stare, and for a brief moment, I thought he might bend down to kiss me. But then he walked away.
Tori
Chapter 7
Looking more like a statement than an eatery, Restaurant Steirereck was housed in a façade of huge geometric blocks. The building’s silver exterior reflected the streetlights back at us, and golden light spilled from wall-sized glass panels, revealing the diners within.
“Wait until you see the inside,” Stefan said.
As he led me through the door, I felt like I was stepping into a contemporary art museum. The walls were paneled with pale wood and the décor was nothing but white linens and stark furniture, all simple, clean lines. The whole place oozed luxury and glamour.
“It reminds me of a Japanese zen garden,” I said.
“Our garden is on the roof,” the hostess said by way of greeting. “You have reservations, yes?”
Steirereck was our first stop of the evening, before we went to the opera. The restaurant was one of the best in Vienna, Stefan had promised.
We were led toward a private corner of the restaurant, but as we crossed the crowded floor, it felt like every person we passed was pausing to take us in. How could they not? We must have looked very important—Stefan in his expensive tux and me in my diamond necklace that kept catching the light and c
asting white flashes across the walls.
But when we reached our table, my heart sank. Because we weren’t eating alone.
An older man was sitting at our table, sophisticated in that effortless, European way, his attention on his phone. Noticing our approach, he immediately put it down and rose to greet us.
“Marco,” Stefan shook his hand. “This is Victoria. My wife.”
The word gave me a thrill, despite my disappointment at having unexpected company.
“Delighted to meet you,” Marco said, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles.
“You can call me Tori,” I told him.
“You’ll call her Victoria,” Stefan corrected, shooting both of us a look that didn’t allow room for argument.
I should have been annoyed at his controlling nature, but I liked it. I liked that he cared enough to be jealous. If that’s what this was.
Marco didn’t seem to mind the correction, giving me a wink as we were seated at the table. It soon became clear that this would not be a romantic dinner at all, and was actually more of a business meeting in an expensive setting with even more expensive food. Stefan even had an expensive wife, wearing an expensive necklace, at his side.
I fit right in.
Our food was good, though. In fact, it was incredible.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Stefan or Marco even noticed, they were so focused on discussing KZM’s marketing platform. Was this who Stefan had been on the phone with all day?
I knew that business was important, but I couldn’t believe he could so easily turn off his attraction to me after seeing how turned on he had been watching me in the shower.
I wished I could do the same, but I couldn’t help reliving the electric brush of his fingers against my skin as he’d carefully fastened my necklace for me. It might have been wishful thinking, but I could have sworn he’d taken his time with it. The way he’d slid his thumbs softly up and down the nape of my neck until I had goosebumps.
I had to cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache building up.
“Did you know the word honeymoon was first used all the way back in the fifth century?” I interjected at a pause in the conversation. “It referred to the first month of marriage, the ‘moon,’ when newlyweds would drink mead.”
I received two stares, one mildly amused (Thank you, Marco) and one blank (Stefan).
I cleared my throat. “You know, because mead is made from…honey.”
Marco opened his mouth to respond, but Stefan cut him off. “So with Paris Fashion Week right on our heels I need you to send me stats and portfolios on…” he trailed off, drumming his fingers on the table, “at least twelve women and six men. Better to have options.”
Marco nodded. “I have a few leads.” He looked over and gave me an apologetic smile.
I smiled back and stood. “If you’ll just excuse me for a few minutes,” I said. “I’m just going to freshen up.”
They were back to their conversation before I even left the table.
I took my time in the bathroom, touching up my lips and re-pinning my hair. I doubted that either of them would notice how long I was gone, and I wasn’t in a hurry to hear more executive language. At least I had the opera to look forward to and, last I checked, we only had two tickets, not three.
But, threading my way across the room, I immediately noticed a change in Stefan’s demeanor. Before, he was relaxed and confident, his hands resting on the table. Now he was leaning forward, his hands tightened into fists, his expression stormy.
“—all the funds and resources I’ve given you, you’ve still failed.” His voice was sharp.
Marco held up his hands. “We’ve been all over the continent and into the Middle East, chased down any hint of a rumor,” he was saying. “We’ve followed every lead, but—”
“You will find her,” Stefan said, his voice steely and dangerous.
Marco leaned back, and then noticed me. A fake smile immediately spread across his face.
“Victoria!” he said, like my name was his life raft. He jumped to his feet.
Stefan rose as well, a scowl still darkening his features.
“Grab your coat. The opera will be starting soon.”
The Opera House was just as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. Although I’d spent the car ride trying to find out what had happened with Marco, Stefan had only blown me off. I wasn’t going to just let it go, but for the moment I was able to forget how distant he was acting, my attention completely focused on the breathtaking architecture. It reminded me of a church with its ornate arches, elaborate balustrades, and a grand staircase carpeted in spring green.
Stefan had gotten us seats in a private balcony overlooking the stage. All of it was so breathtakingly romantic that when the lights went down and the music started, I reached for his hand.
He returned my grip and we held hands through the first aria before he gently released me. I didn’t mind—by that point, I was so spellbound by the performance, I hardly noticed. Judging by Stefan’s demeanor, he was just as riveted as I was. Gazing down at the stage, he was the embodiment of Prince Charming, and I allowed myself to imagine that he really was. When the opera finally ended, I couldn’t believe it was already over. I’d been completely swept away.
We returned to the hotel late.
Between the day of sightseeing, the jetlag, the rich, multi-course dinner and the Opera House, I was exhausted. But not exhausted enough to forget what had happened in the shower earlier, or how Stefan’s eyes had burned into me. I had a plan.
“Can you help me with this?” I asked when we were alone in our bedroom, turning my back to him and gesturing toward the clasp of the necklace.
I could have easily removed it myself, but I wanted his hands on me.
He did as I requested, his fingers brushing against the soft skin at the nape of my neck, just like they had earlier. I realized it had to be one of his hot spots, and I suppressed a smile. I was learning his tells.
I carefully put the necklace back in its box, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against my fingertips.
“I’ll be right back,” I told him, dropping my voice to a more sultry register.
I had left my wedding night lingerie in the bathroom before we left, and I hurried to get it on, pulling the bobby pins out of my hair as I did. It tumbled down to my shoulders in pale waves and I stood in front of the mirror to adjust myself as much as I could within the confines of the ungodly array of tiny hooks and ribbon laces.
Taking a deep breath, I headed back to the bedroom, tilting my head and arching my back against the doorjamb in what I hoped was a seductive pose.
Stefan was on his phone.
“Are you ready?” I asked, my voice more wobbly than I would have liked, but at least I got the question out without stumbling over my words.
Stefan didn’t even look up.
“I have to go out,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Don’t wait up.”
He left.
I climbed onto the bed, completely stunned, not believing what had just happened. Again. This was our honeymoon and he was going out? Was this a game? Did he get off on humiliating me? I knew I turned him on. So why was he avoiding me? Was it something to do with the person he and Marco had been arguing about at dinner? The “her” I wasn’t supposed to have heard them discussing? He’d been more passionate during that small snippet of conversation than during any exchange he’d had with me.
Who was my husband looking for?
And what would happen to me when he found her?
Stefan
Chapter 8
All I could think about was white lace. White lace, rosy pink nipples, those lush, supple curves begging to be touched. Dominated. Owned. In that lingerie she’d looked like a fine dessert. Gleaming behind glass, utterly tantalizing, and just out of reach. In a flash, my mind had been flooded with visions of laying her down on the bed and spreading her open to eat and eat and eat. The only
thing holding me back had been my master self-control.
I was pretty sure Tori thought I hadn’t been paying attention—that I didn’t bother to look up when she came out of the bathroom. But I had. And I’d seen her. I’d seen everything.
My dick was still hard.
As I walked the streets in the cold, clear night air, I scolded myself to get it together before I reached my final destination. It was no easy task, though—and I was pretty sure I’d have that image of Tori, standing there radiating sex and innocence, burned into my memory forever. I’d been with plenty of drop-dead gorgeous women in my life, had scores of dirty sexy memories stored up—but for some reason, all I could think about was my new wife.
She was just so fucking irresistible with her guileless blue eyes and that ripe virgin body. I wanted to put my mouth over every inch of her. Wanted to bite and suck until she begged, until I left my mark. Until she couldn’t go out in public without everyone seeing that she’d been branded. Claimed. Fucked into submission.
But it was an indulgence I was determined to deny myself.
It had been damn near impossible to walk away that afternoon when I’d caught her in the shower. I could see her again now, fingering herself under the steaming water with her head thrown back, squeezing her perfect tits together with the other hand.
I knew I’d left her confused and hurt when I had walked out the door. But that wasn’t my problem. She knew what she’d been getting into with this marriage.
Though I had to admit, her determination to go to college had been unexpected. Most women would have been more than happy to get a lifetime of expensive clothes, luxury vacations and priceless jewels in exchange for agreeing to the deal.
Apparently, Tori wanted more.
She had focus and drive. I respected that. Hell, I admired it.
But I had to focus on KZM right now. Too many people were counting on me. I didn’t have time for a real marriage. A real relationship. I wasn’t going to let Tori distract me.
