by Stella Gray
He’d ease my thighs apart, fingers slipping between my legs, where I ached to be touched. I imagined him starting to stroke me, gliding back and forth with his thumb before thrusting a thick finger inside, his pacing timed to match my shallow, quickening breaths. His mouth would dip close to my ear, whispering naughty things to me as he touched me. Teased me.
“That’s my curious little cat,” he’d say, pumping deeper.
He’d be good with his hands. He was older, and experienced. He knew how to make a woman come. I bet he’d guess exactly what I wanted before I even figured it out myself.
As I lay there, the fantasy overwhelming me, I realized that I wasn’t just mad at him for what had happened that morning…I was upset with myself. For believing that this could be something more. For wanting it to be something more. I had been naïve.
But I was attracted to him. Deeply. Regardless of the circumstances, I wanted to take our marriage to the next level, find out what our bodies were capable of. Unfortunately, I was beginning to realize that that had never been part of the deal.
“You’re so tense,” the masseuse told me, no doubt feeling all the tightness that was now building in my shoulders and back.
I did my best to relax again, but all I could think about was Stefan. Why couldn’t I stay annoyed at him? Why did I want him to touch me, to kiss me, to caress me? He had made it clear that he wasn’t interested, yet my body craved him.
Of all the people in the world, I had to be attracted to my arranged marriage husband. The one person who seemed to have literally no interest in me. Or if he did, he was more than happy to ignore that attraction. It definitely wasn’t as important as his work.
Knowing I was playing with fire, I slipped back into my sexy daydream.
I imagined him standing above me, positioning me on all fours, pulling my knees wide. Exposing me to him fully. In my fantasy he spread my thighs with his hands and then licked my opening, already wet for him. He stroked me with his tongue, his fingers pushing into me at the same time, and I imagined my desperate moans, my orgasm coming fast.
He wouldn’t even wait for my body to stop shaking before he’d position himself behind me. Then he’d slam himself deep inside, grabbing my hips for leverage as he thrusted hard, grunting with effort. Maybe he’d fist his hand in my hair to tug my head back, my pain and pleasure mixing in equal measure, pumping faster and faster until he came, groaning my name.
The intensity of the fantasy surprised me. I’d never thought of myself as the kind of girl who would want something like that—raw and rough—but my skin tingled with each new image that popped into my head. Because somehow, I knew how Stefan would be in bed.
He wouldn’t be gentle, nor sweet. He’d be the way he was in real life. Brusque, intense, passionate.
Still, I knew it was pointless to even imagine having him, no matter how badly I wanted it. Maybe I was just desperate to lose my virginity and he was the most convenient person I could think of… No. That wasn’t it at all. I wished it was, but I knew that my attraction to Stefan was unique. The way he looked at me, how fast the heat would build between us, the hum in my body whenever he was close by. I was positive there was something there, even if it was purely lust and nothing else. That’s what made the whole thing so frustrating.
When I finally emerged from the salon, perfectly made up and expertly coiffed, I felt almost like a new person. Tugging my clothes back on in the changing room, I took a hard look in the mirror. There was no doubt about it—I was glowing. From my professionally applied Chanel makeup to the shimmering polish on my toenails.
Stefan was probably going to freak when he saw the charges I’d been making to the room, but it would teach him a lesson not to taunt me about spending money and then leave me alone for a whole day in an expensive hotel.
Feeling a little better, I made my way to the lobby cafe for a late lunch. I couldn’t believe I was hungry after the huge breakfast I’d eaten, but all that pampering had aroused my appetite.
It was a light meal, and I barely had room to try the city’s world-famous Sacher torte, but I figured a celebration wasn’t complete without dessert.
Afterward, I decided to explore the boutique that Stefan had mentioned. I had just stepped out of the café when I glimpsed a familiar figure out of the corner of my eye. It was Stefan, gliding across the lobby, his purposeful stride instantly recognizable.
Immediately my pulse raced, as all the fantasies I’d been entertaining during my massage came back to me at full force. Stefan’s strong fingers between my legs, his grip tight on my hips, his body thrusting into mine. I felt very hot, my blood buzzing with anticipation.
I was so distracted that at first I didn’t even notice that he wasn’t alone. No, he had a leggy brunette with him, his hand resting on her lower back. I could only see them from behind, but he turned his head to whisper something to her and she pushed her hair behind her ear, giving me a look at her face.
She was gorgeous. Unbelievably, super-human gorgeous. With her impossibly long legs and wide-set Bambi eyes, she had to be a model.
No doubt she was exactly the kind of woman Stefan was used to being around all day. Tall and angular, with high cheekbones and perfectly pouty lips. The little slip of a silk blouse made it obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. As they got closer, I saw that she had winged eyeliner and a wet, pink mouth. She looked like a living doll.
She looked nothing like me.
Stefan led her toward the elevators, still whispering sweet nothings into her ear—or so I assumed. She was smiling and laughing, touching his arm and playing with her long, silky hair.
At least he wasn’t playing with it.
I should have gone into the boutique. Should have turned tail and marched out of there and spent as much of Stefan’s money as humanly possible. Instead, I followed them. I kept my distance across the expansive lobby, but there was no need. Neither of them noticed me standing there, off to the side. In fact, they were so caught up in each other that I could probably run screaming across the lobby and they wouldn’t even bat an eye.
Stefan, being Stefan, kept pulling out his phone. His date pouted a little and I bit back a smirk. Not even this gorgeous creature could keep him away from his true love—his cellphone. But he still had his hand on her lower back. Already, he was touching her more than he had touched me during our entire honeymoon.
Jealousy tore through me.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I watched as they got in—alone—and the doors closed. I rushed over to the bank of elevators and called my own down.
Were they going up to our room? Did Stefan actually have the balls to think he was going to sleep with this woman in our honeymoon suite while I was still somewhere in the hotel? In flagrante delicto or not, I was going to rip them both to shreds when I got up there.
But when I arrived at our floor, the hall was empty. So was our room. I sat heavily on the sofa, where the pillow and blanket Stefan had left there last night were still perched. If he hadn’t brought her here, they had to be somewhere else in the hotel. Together.
I swallowed, feeling a lump in my throat. Not only was Stefan doing everything he could to avoid being physical with me, but he was also spending our honeymoon fooling around with some other woman. A few hours ago, I had thought that things between us couldn’t get any worse. That I couldn’t feel any worse.
But now I realized I’d been wrong.
Tori
Chapter 11
“Have you ever been cheated on?” I asked the sales associate.
“Yes.” She tilted her head, motioning me to turn in front of the mirror in the flounced skirt I was trying on. “I was still in polytechnische schule, how you say…high school. A dumb teenager. He was older. I thought he was so mature.” She rolled her eyes.
After I had collected myself, I had marched down to the extremely expensive boutique in the hotel lobby, and found the store full of salesgirls more than happy to help me rejuven
ate my wardrobe on Stefan’s tab.
One of them, who was about my age, had introduced herself as Katharina. She had a shy smile, but she knew what she was doing when it came to my request for sexy and sophisticated. With her help, I picked out several brand-new outfits—things I would’ve never dreamed of buying for myself back in Springfield.
“So what did you do? After you found out he cheated, I mean?”
She allowed herself a little smirk. “I confronted him. He was a waiter, so I went to his work at the busy shift and shouted at him in front of the entire restaurant. The girl he was shtupping worked there too. They both got fired.”
“I can’t believe you outed him in public like that!” This girl had balls.
She shrugged. “I didn’t plan for it, I was just so angry. It felt good.”
I stepped back into the dressing room to try on something else, and spoke to her through the door. “So…did he try to get you back?”
“No. After that night, I never saw him again.”
That was a luxury I didn’t have. I would see Stefan again, and as I glanced at my watch I realized that the hour of our reservation was drawing near.
Maybe confronting him would make me feel better, too. It probably wouldn’t change anything, but I couldn’t imagine playing along with our fake marriage for the next couple of years, going about my business as if I knew nothing and resenting him for his lies the whole time. Because I’d decided one thing: I wasn’t going to ask for a divorce.
Not just because our fathers would be furious, but because I still wanted to have my college dream, and the security that Stefan’s wealth offered. My degree was the one thing that would assure my future whenever this counterfeit marriage really did end.
I stepped out to look at myself in the mirror again, this time in a slinky black number as expensive as my iPhone. I did a quick turn, tugging the hem down when I saw how much of my thighs were visible. I felt so exposed.
“This one is so…vavoom. You must be very confident,” Katharina said with a shy smile.
“I’d have to be, to walk around in something like this,” I said, biting my lip as I studied my reflection.
“It looks like it was made for you,” she offered. “It hugs you. But maybe too daring?”
Oh, but I dared. “Actually, you know what? I think I’ll just wear it out of the store.”
Katharina laughed, and it felt good to join in with her. Almost like I had a friend, though I knew this was just her job.
In the end, I had more clothes than I could carry. Beyond the dresses, blouses, and some practical slacks, I’d stocked up on totally impractical Jimmy Choo stilettos, some strappy Ferragamo heels, and an armload of cashmere wraps in rich, softly muted tones.
“I’ll arrange to have everything sent up to your room,” Katharina said.
“Wonderful.”
I felt empowered somehow. Most of these clothes were tighter and sexier than anything I’d ever worn, yes, but it was the first time in my life I’d made all my own wardrobe decisions. My father never would have let me walk out the door dressed this way. And I doubted Stefan would have been happy with my choices, either.
But my father wasn’t here. Neither was Stefan.
As Katharina rang up my purchases and wrapped each of them in layers of tissue paper, I spotted a purse that was displayed on a shelf just past the counter. It sat behind a thick pane of glass, and like a piece of fine jewelry, its own spotlight shone down on it. I couldn’t help but notice how buttery soft the leather looked, the way the gold hardware gleamed.
“Excuse me, but what is that?” I asked, pointing.
She glanced over her shoulder and turned back with a diabolical grin. “The lady has a discerning eye. It is a Birkin bag. It is made by Hermès.” She pronounced it ‘air mez.’
“I’ve heard of them,” I said.
She told me the price. It was enough for half a year’s tuition.
“Do you make commission here?” I asked.
She glanced around and then lowered her voice subtly. “I’m saving up for a semester abroad. University is free here, but not in other countries. I want to see the world.”
I smiled. “In that case I’ll take it.”
“The lady dares again,” she crowed. “It’s stunning. Will you take it with you now?”
“I don’t think it goes with the dress, but please send it up, and thank you for all your help.”
I’d decided to take myself on a date at the hotel bar, after this. The last thing I’d need was to have too many drinks and forget where I’d set down my brand new, trazillion dollar purse.
Meanwhile, I sincerely hoped that when Stefan did return from whatever he was out doing with his leggy brunette, the sight of all the shopping bags would give him the kind of heart palpitations I had gotten when I’d spotted him with his mistress.
I felt a little guilty about the whole thing, but then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror again. The dress Katharina had called vavoom was sleek and slinky, hitting me mid-thigh. The whole thing was held up by tiny little strings criss-crossing my back that could barely be described as straps. I chose to finish off the look with a pair of sky-high stilettos in cherry red. I was ready to have some fun.
With one of my new cashmere wraps in hand, I headed to the restaurant bar. I loved lots of things about Europe, but the drinking age was quickly becoming a favorite. I sat down on a stool and ordered the fruitiest, most ridiculous cocktail I could find on the menu.
Above the bar, the clock read 6:45.
I ignored it.
There was absolutely no way I was going to be meeting Stefan for dinner. I purposefully put my phone away so I wouldn’t even see if he called or texted. He could sit and wait in the restaurant for hours for all I cared. Let him get a taste of how it felt to be someone’s last priority.
I finished my too-sweet drink and ordered another one. I was starting to feel a little buzzed, but I liked it. Besides the occasional glass of champagne at one of my father’s parties or a sip of wine at dinner, I hadn’t done much drinking before this trip. I’d probably already had more alcohol today than I had in my past eighteen years. Europe was wonderful.
My next drink was as ridiculous as the first and tasted just as good. The bartender gave me a crystal dish of fancy olives as well, so I munched on those while sipping my drink through its pink curly straw. I had a feeling the bartender had added that just out of whimsy—nobody else in the place had been given a straw like mine, and I figured that since I wasn’t partaking in the bar’s famous wine list, he was probably just amused by my choice of drink.
I smiled at him as he refilled my pretzel dish. Everyone here was so nice. Nicer than my husband, that’s for sure. At least the hotel staff seemed happy I was here. Probably because I was spending a ton of money and tipping them all so generously, but hey, I would take it. The bartender was definitely going to get a huge tip. I finished my drink and ordered a third.
“I like a woman who knows how to have a good time,” said an accented male voice.
I spun on the stool to find a preppy hot guy on the next seat. He was blonde and compactly built, smiling at me in a crisp patterned shirt. He gave off a vibe of wealth and confidence—like Stefan did, but more relaxed. Way less intense than my husband ever acted.
He was very handsome, very polished and outwardly friendly, but my heart didn’t leap at the sight of him. My pulse didn’t race. My palms didn’t sweat. Still, it was nice to have some company that I hadn’t technically paid for.
“Your accent is different,” I said. “Everyone speaks Austrian around here. But yours is more…French. Where are you from?”
I took another sip of my drink, awaiting his answer expectantly.
“You have a good ear,” he said. “I’m from Rouen. It’s the capital of Normandy, in the north of France. One hundred and thirty-five kilometers from Paris.”
“I only know miles,” I admitted, grinning. This wasn’t so hard, this whole ‘mak
ing friends’ in a foreign country thing. Though obviously I was spoiled by his fluency in English.
“It’s about two hours, by car,” he elaborated. “And how about yourself? You are clearly American.”
“I’m from Springfield,” I said. “It’s two hundred miles south of Chicago…that’s three hours, by car. Maybe four if there’s traffic. Actually, there’s always traffic…I’m rambling.”
“May I buy you a drink?” he asked, glancing at my wedding rings.
I gestured at the glass in front of me as if to say, ‘I’m good.’
“Well, perhaps we can keep each other company.”
“I’m okay with that,” I said, taking a healthy swallow of my cocktail.
He leaned closer. “You’re very beautiful, you know.”
“I’m married,” I said with a smile, flashing my ring pointedly. “This is my honeymoon, actually. But thanks for the compliment.”
He held up his hands defensively. “Just a friendly observation. How are you finding the city? Have you had a chance to see much of it?”
“Vienna is amazing, but…my husband has been here before, and he’s not into sightseeing.” I shrugged. “I want to see everything, but he’s been busy working. I’ve barely even left the hotel.” My mood deflated. I nursed my beverage.
“Tsk, such a shame. There is so much here to discover. And you’re a woman who likes to explore. I can tell by your eyes—they dance around the room. You hunger for experience.”
“That’s exactly right! I really do.” I found myself smiling despite my reservations.
“Surely you’ve at least had Sacher torte? Visited the gardens at Schönbrunn, and the Belvedere Palace? What about the Danube Tower?”
“Just the dessert so far,” I admitted. “It was great—”