About to reveal her true name, Saffi stopped herself in time and said the first thing that came to her mind. “I’m…Horny?”
Staffan choked in surprise even as the other women tittered.
Saffi lifted her chin even though she was already mentally killing herself for the seventh time. “That’s right. I like to go by that name because I’m, umm, horny all the time. I’m, umm, very RAWR and all between the sheets and now it’s my turn to, umm, kiss you---” She stopped abruptly, her brain finally catching up with her mouth.
What the heck had she been saying?
Deciding that actions were better than words, Saffi abruptly moved close to Staffan, taking him by surprise. His scent filled her. Even sweaty as he was after the concert, Staffan Aehrenthal had the most delicious smell, and the intense look in his eyes as he waited for Saffi to move just made her feel like she was floating.
Without thinking, she placed her hands on his broad hard shoulders, using it to pressure him down until he lowered his head enough for their eyes to be at level with each other. Saffi tiptoed to kiss his forehead, whispering, “I want to drive you crazy. I want you to know that I’m wet and without my panties---”
Staffan nearly shuddered at her words. Saffi March may be physically innocent, but her mind definitely wasn’t. And dammit, he found every silky, silly, beautiful inch of her f**king fascinating.
“Out.” It was all he said to the other women before he pulled Saffi towards him, his fingers sinking into the lush softness of her bottom as he closed the distance between them.
“That was cheating,” The Traitor muttered as she stalked away. “He didn’t say we could speak while kissing him.”
The woman in red just laughed. “Be graceful in defeat, darling, and next time---do try not to think like a man with a small brain and an even smaller dick.”
The door slammed shut behind them.
“You horny little minx,” he growled down at Saffi.
All she could do was smile weakly at him, unable to believe that she was again in the circle of Staffan’s arms, and this time they were alone.
“What are you going to do now?” Staffan asked just to torment her. “I heard you were with…Celsius?”
The cool tone of Staffan’s voice unnerved her and she mumbled, “Yes, sir,” before she could think about it. She winced right after.
The sir made Staffan strive for control, having a hard time fighting off a lot of things – his smile, his erection, and his desperate urge to f**k Saffi March. She was a lovely handful in his arms, soft in all the right places, and he f**king loved how she kept wriggling, driving him wild with her every fidgety move. It amused him that after all her boldness and bravado, Saffi now appeared unable to figure out where to put her hands.
Ah, Saffi March.
You want to look like everyone’s groupie for some reason but you’ll always be a fangirl.
My f**king fangirl.
And it was going to stay that way.
He stepped back, surprising her when his arms also fell to his sides, releasing her.
Saffi looked at him fearfully. Had she turned him off with her less than experienced moves?
“I’m waiting, H.”
The term made her smile for some reason. “I like that,” she admitted.
He liked it, too, but Staffan decided not to say anything. He was obsessed with her, too much to make it safe for her to know it.
At his silence, Saffi nervously reached for her top and slowly pulled it over her head. It took barely a second since it was more like a second layer of undergarments. It was that small.
The way Staffan gazed at her, the way he devoured her with his eyes, left Saffi befuddled with desire. She stood there, frozen, one hand clutching her top, not knowing where to put it. Should she just drop it to the floor? Should she fold it and lay it on the table?
“Drop it---”
Saffi relaxed, eager for Staffan to take command.
“With your bra.”
Oh.
“Umm…now?”
He raised a brow again. “When else?”
Right.
Dropping her top, she reached out from behind to unhook her bra. The hook gave way too easily, not providing her any time to get more of her bearing back.
The bra finally fell, and Staffan swallowed back a groan at the sight of Saffi’s bare br**sts. Fuck. They were the loveliest sight he had ever seen, pale, full, with rosy ni**les that begged to be sucked. In the three months he had been f**king stalking her in Facebook, there were nights he had imagined seeing Saffi March naked, her eyes nearly dilated with desire as she touched herself before him. Those were the times he had been forced to pleasure himself. He had to. No other woman had aroused him ever since he had talked to Saffi on the phone.
He really was f**king obsessed with Saffi March, and now he was finally going to make her his.
Staffan crooked a finger.
Trembling with excitement and shyness, she took one small step towards him.
The door burst open, followed by the entire group of Staffan’s backup dancers flooding in.
She shrieked just as the boisterous group finally noticed her, jaws dropping, their celebratory shouts cut off. Somewhere from behind, a champagne cork popped open, followed by a nervously muttered ‘shit’.
Staffan instinctively snatched Saffi close, his arms going around her as he pulled her tightly against him. Her bare br**sts pressed hard against his chest, and he bit back a groan just as one of his dancers gasped.
“Sapphire?”
The girl in his arms whimpered.
Staffan glared at the dancer – a younger lean dark haired man who was too bloody handsome for his own good. He decided then and there the other man – Alan Carson –would not be allowed anywhere within a ten-foot radius from Saffi.
Who apparently was also known as Sapphire. So that was where “Saffi” came from. The thought that Carson knew more than he did about Saffi irked. “Everyone get the f**k out of here,” he growled.
“We’re sorry,” Eddie – his head choreographer –muttered. “One of the Gs went to our dressing room and told us you were…errr…done.”
The Traitor had struck again, Saffi thought, followed by the realization that everyone in this room now knew what she and Staffan had been about to do. Worse, one of those dancers apparently knew her – the real her. Saffi squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment.
Staffan glanced down at Saffi when the door closed on the last of his backup. Her eyes were still closed, her face flushed red. “Sapphire?” he asked, wondering if she’d finally admit it now.