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 f**k 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 br**sts, pinching her ni**les 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 f**king sweet, so ripe for f**king, 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 c**k 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 h*ps 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 cl*t 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---