Page 44

Tori

Chapter 14

Islid on a blue dress that I’d gotten at the boutique, knowing the cool shade would bring out my eyes. It dipped so far down in the back, you could see the dimples above my ass. Like the one I’d worn to the Vienna Opera House, I couldn’t wear a bra with it. I was sure Stefan wouldn’t mind. The silk skimmed my body, cool and luxurious against my skin, my nipples going instantly hard from the friction. The straps were halter style—one little tug and the whole thing would pool at my feet, leaving me standing there in nothing but a black lace thong.

I paired the dress with my new black stilettos. Grace would have called them ‘fuck me heels.’ I had to admit, they sent the right message. My calves were taut from the steep arch of my foot, and the added height visually elongated my legs, making them look a mile long. With the power of these shoes, I could give all those models a run for their money. Maybe Stefan wouldn’t even bother taking them off before he took me to bed.

In the mirror I could see my cheeks flushing as I thought about what it would be like to have my body spread out before him, naked except for my heels, ready and willing.

Tonight was going to be the turning point. From now on, I was going to show this man exactly the kind of wife I was.

As dinner time approached, my nerves skyrocketed. The room service staff came and went, arranging a series of domed silver trays amid a romantic table setting complete with candles, white roses, and soft classical music. The whole room felt like a private restaurant, a special hideaway just for us. I couldn’t wait for Stefan to see it all.

I couldn’t wait for Stefan to see me.

In addition to my sexy outfit, I had spent the last two hours making myself look as appealing as possible. I styled my hair to make him want to rake his fingers through it, leaving it down in soft, shining waves that fell across my shoulders and bare back. I kept my makeup minimal but sultry—thick, thick lashes, just a hint of a smoky eye, and wet, full lips that begged to be kissed. I had even dusted my cleavage with shimmering powder, to draw his eyes to the curves there. I gave myself a final once-over I looked good. I looked really, really good.

As the clock inched toward seven, I began to get nervous. And excited. My entire body seemed to vibrate with heady anticipation. It was like my wedding night all over again.

I sat at the table, watching the candles, my foot bouncing with impatience. I wanted Stefan to get here. I wanted him to come in the door, tense and spent from his long day, and then stop dead in his tracks at the sight of me.

His gaze would go hungry and primal then, and without a word he’d drop his bag to the floor and sweep me up in his arms, those strong hands roaming all over my body. I could almost feel the heat of his lips at my neck, my chest, my collarbone. A shudder went through me. And he wouldn’t stop there. He’d draw my mouth toward his and with a low groan, he’d kiss me. Hard, deep, ravenous. Needing it the same way I did.

I’d kiss him back just as hard, plunge my tongue into his mouth as he tore the silk dress from my body. Gasping for breath, we’d knock over the room service trays that had been painstakingly arranged, too reckless to care about the crash of plates, and he would lift me onto the table, spread my legs wide open and slide into me like he’d been craving it this whole time and couldn’t hold back anymore. I was ready to welcome his cock inside me. I wanted him to make me come. I wanted to makehimcome.

My skin tingled, my imagination running rampant as I pictured all the ways we could bring each other pleasure. Even though I wasn’t very experienced, I fully intended to dedicate myself to learning exactly what Stefan liked. What made him hot and brought him to the edge.

I was certain he knew exactly what he liked.

But seven o’clock came and went. Under the silver domes, our food was probably getting cold. It had been sitting there for a while, untouched, but even though I was starving, I refrained from eating. Frustration began to bubble up inside of me, overpowering my anticipation and desire. If Stefan arrived and the food was cold, well, that was his fault, wasn’t it? The candles began to burn precariously low, and I felt just as worn down.Where was he?

I took out my e-reader and figured I’d just dive into some Hungarian if he was running late. But it grew closer to eight and I started to worry. Was this more punishment for the other night in Vienna? It didn’t seem fair—I’d already spent most of the day waiting outside a conference room in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Wasn’t that enough punishment for my transgression?

Finally, my phone buzzed. I grabbed for it, only to find a text from Stefan that said exactly the opposite of what I had been hoping for.

Something’s come up. Go ahead and eat without me. Not sure when I’ll be home.

Reading his text felt like getting a punch in the gut. I wanted to hurl my phone across the room. Wanted to shove all the food off the table, break all the dishes and make a huge mess.

Of course, I didn’t. Because I wasn’t that kind of girl. I might have been furious and ready to throttle Stefan, but I wasn’t going to trash our room in an effort to get attention. I sat at the table, watching the candles finally burn out as I decided exactly what I wanted to do.

I was alone. In Budapest.

Stefan was out there, doing god knows what, expecting that I would just stay here in the room and wait for him like a good little wife.

Why was he so sure he could control me this way? I should be out on the town right now. Dancing and partying and having a good time.

Except I didn’t want to. Not really.

The only thrill I had gotten from flirting with that stranger in Vienna was when I realized that Stefan was watching me. When I knew that I had made him jealous. That was the first time I felt like I had finally gotten his attention.

That’s what I needed, maybeallI needed from Stefan. His attention.

He should know exactly how I felt. That if all he wanted from our marriage was to be two people with separate lives, then that was fine, but he couldn’t treat me like this. Either we were strangers who rarely saw each other but kept up appearances for show, or we had a relationship similar to my father and stepmother’s. One that still required a modicum of respect and consideration on his part.

I debated texting Grace, but I knew she had no expertise when it came to marriage. On the other hand, she probably had something to say about a man who acted so hot and cold all the time. She’d dated a guy senior year who acted just like that.

Picking up my phone, I started typing out a text to her, but then deleted it. I tried again, deleted it again. I couldn’t do it. The issue of my virginity had been embarrassing enough, even with her enthusiastic support of it, and I wasn’t confident that spilling my guts to her would actually help me come to a plan of action.