Page 17 of Twisted Fate

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself greatly when I decide to come to your bed, Sophia. But it will be whenIdecide.”

In that moment, I’m fully aware of what all this is about. It isn’t the separation of business and pleasure—or at least, not entirely. It’s more about him exercising control where he can, grasping for power in this situation. He’s been told to marry me, and he couldn’t avoid it, not without angering his father and weakening—or maybe losing—his position. But he can control when he takes me to bed.

“Isn’t someone going to want to see bloody sheets in the morning?” I challenge. “Isn’t that some mob tradition?”

Konstantin chuckles. “My father suggested it, but that’s one tradition I refuse to participate in. Why, Sophia?” His eyes narrow, searching my face in a way that makes a shiver run down my spine. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

My heart patters unsteadily in my chest. “You could find out.”

He chuckles. “You’re not going to convince me, Sophia. Now, I’m tired. I’d like to retire for the evening.” His tone is firm,brooking no argument. I’m being dismissed, and I don’t fucking like it.

Not one bit.

"Fine," I say, lifting my chin. "If that's how you want this to be, I suppose there’s no changing your mind. But don't expect me to be happy about it."

He raises an eyebrow. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He gestures to the adjoining door. "Your room, Sophia. I'll have someone check on you in the morning, see if you need anything before we leave for our honeymoon."

The honeymoon.Relief washes over me that he’s not altering that plan, too. I’m reminded of where we’ll be off to in the morning—a week at a luxury resort in the Serengeti, just the two of us. I can’t imagine he’ll have gotten us separate bedrooms there. I’ll have plenty of opportunities to seduce him there, where he’ll be less guarded and more vulnerable to my charms.

“Thank you,” I say stiffly, heading toward the door. I glance back once to see him watching me stonily, his expression giving away nothing—not if he regrets letting me leave, or if he’ll spend tonight with his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about how it could be buried inside of me instead.

“Don’t mention it.” Konstantin pauses. “Good night, Sophia.”

I take a deep breath, refocusing. This isn’t the end, it’s only the beginning. A hiccup, yes, but not one that I can’t overcome. It’s only the first night, and I’m adaptable.

A good assassin has to be.

I smile at him, my hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Konstantin.”

5

KONSTANTIN

Idreamed of my new wife all night long.

It would have been all but impossible not to. I’ve never seen a woman more stunning than Sophia was in that dress, walking down the aisle toward me. A vision in pearlescent silk, her body made for a man’s hands to explore, those long, delicate fingers clutching her bouquet, her lips curved in a soft smile as she looked at me.

I dreamed of those fingers wrapped around my cock, of those lips teasing the tip of it, licking up salty pre-cum as I groaned and arched underneath her touch. I dreamed of her mouth on mine, of that perfect body writhing on my sheets as I thrust into her again and again, hard and aching for her.

Which is exactly how I wake, an hour before dawn, sweat dripping down my bare chest and my sheets tangled around my legs. My cock has escaped the confines of my boxer briefs, jutting up thick and hard into the air, slick with my arousal.

I grasp it without thinking, letting out a soft groan at the touch of flesh against flesh. There’s nothing slow or teasing in the way I stroke myself, only the frantic need for the release I was chasing in my dreams. I try to banish the image of Sophia,the picture of her mouth open on a moan of pleasure, of her lips wrapped around the tip of my cock, but I can’t. And I’m too in need of an orgasm to search for a different fantasy.

I stroke myself hard and fast, one hand gripping the side of my mattress as my head falls back against my pillow, chest heaving as I chase the pleasure I so desperately need. I thrust up into my hand, my palm slick with my pre-cum as I feel myself throb, on the edge of what I so desperately need.

The orgasm, when it comes, is so forceful that I moan aloud through clenched teeth, back arching as my cock throbs and pulses in my fist. Cum arcs from the tip, shooting across my chiseled abdomen and up to my chest, coming in hot spurts that make my toes curl and a moan spill from my lips with every new pulse.

“Fuck,”I breathe aloud as the last drops of cum slide down my softening cock. I let go of myself, groaning as I sit up slowly, not bothering to flick on the light as I head to the bathroom to shower. I’ve jerked off plenty of times, especially in the last two years when my bed has been empty, but I’ve never woken from a dream like that. It felt viscerally real—and theneedthat I felt when I woke up was even more real, even more palpable.

I’ve never needed to come so badly in my life.

You could have just fucked her last night,I think to myself, running my clean hand through my hair as I stumble into my bathroom and turn on the hot water for the shower. It’s not as if there was any real reason to not fuck my gorgeous new wife other than my own stubbornness.

And that’s what it was—stubbornness. The desire to controlsomepart of this entire arrangement. My father might have picked my wife, but I can decide when I take her to bed.

I can refuse to allow my desire for her to rule me.

---