Page 64 of Twisted Fate

His hips snap forward, and I let out a cry as he sinks into me, his swollen tip pushing past the tight ring of muscle as my ass is suddenly full of his cock. He pushes into me, inch after inch, filling me until I’m sure I can’t take any more. Not until he’s fully seated inside of me does his hand slide around to stroke my clit, and his hips start to move as he circles the swollen flesh with his fingertips.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice raspy with lust as he starts to thrust. “You take my cock so well,volchitsa. You look so beautiful with my cock buried in your ass. You’re going to be even prettier when you come on it, aren’t you, Sophia? My perfect wife. Take it—” his voice trails off into a rough growl ashe thrusts into me again, hips pressing against the full curve of my ass as he starts to fuck me harder.

I gasp, my body awash with sensation. His cock buried in my ass, pain and pleasure arcing out through my body from that point, his fingers rolling over my clit, the scrape of the rough pool deck across my belly and breasts with every thrust. Konstantin groans, and I can feel the pleasure building, feel my body tensing for another climax as I moan and gasp his name, the sensory overload threatening to send me over the edge.

“That’s it,volchitsa, come for me, come with my cock in your ass?—”

It’s those last, filthy words that tip me over completely. I cry out, arching back as Konstantin buries himself in my ass one last time, hips rocking erratically against me as I grind down onto his fingers, his hand still tangled in my hair as I hear him groan my name. I feel him come with me, hot spurts of cum filling my ass as I come hard on his fingers, hear him panting for breath as he fucks me through it, every nerve in my body alight with pleasure as we come together.

The water splashes at my legs, cool against my hot skin, as I moan his name one last time and collapse onto the pool deck. I feel Konstantin ease out of my ass, feel him climb up out of the pool next to me, and then he’s lifting me into his arms, cradling my naked body against his as he carries me toward an elevator at the end of the pool deck.

I curl against him without thinking, exhausted from the flight home, the sex… and everything else. I know it’s wrong in so many different ways to let myself take comfort in this, to let him care for me, but in this moment, I can’t bring myself to resist.

I breathe in his scent, woods and salt and chlorine and sweat, and I let my cheek rest against his chest as the elevator takes us down to his penthouse. I’m dimly aware of him carrying meupstairs, wrapping me in a towel before laying me down on the bed—and then nothing else, for a long time.

I fall asleep in Konstantin’s bed, and for the first time in years, I don’t dream at all.

17

KONSTANTIN

The morning light filters through the windows of my bedroom in the penthouse as I button my shirt, thinking ahead to my meeting this morning with my father. The events at the resort are still weighing heavily on my mind—four different attempts on my life. All different people, different methods, but I suspect they originate from the same person.

But that’s not all that’s occupying my thoughts. I glance over at Sophia, who is lying in my bed, curled up in the white and blue sheets, still sleeping peacefully. Her now-dry dark hair is spilling over her pillow, one bare shoulder exposed above the sheets, and in the soft light of morning, she looks utterly beautiful.

Something twists in my chest as I look at her, an ache settling thereow-dry that I can’t shake. I hadn’t expected anything to change on our honeymoon—I hadn’t expected anything more from her than how this started. But thingsdidchange, and now, looking at her, I can’t imagine them going back to how they were before.

She’s nothing like what I thought she was. I feel a rush of desire just looking at her, remembering what we did last night.I’ve fucked plenty of women over the years, but nothing has ever felt like it does when I’m with her.

I can’t imagine wanting anyone else. I stand there, watching her sleep, and for the first time, I’m glad to have someone to wake up next to.

I’ve never let anyone stay the night before here. Like I told Sophia before we arrived—this is my space, my haven. But I found myself wanting to let her in. To share something with her that I never have with anyone else.

I’ve had women here before, the few that I tried to have some kind of serious relationship with. But they never stayed over. I’ve never woken up next to anyone until Sophia—until that first night she stayed in my bed at the resort.

Now, I’m finding it hard to imagine waking up alone again.

A small sense of disquiet stirs in my chest, reminding me that I still have questions. That, for all her explanations, there’s still something that feels off. I want more answers—for her to tell me more about her past, about how she became the woman that she is. But I know that takes time.

I didn’t trust her immediately, or open up to her. There’s still very little that I’ve told her about myself, about the things I want and see for my future—for our future, now. I’m not accustomed to talking to anyone about what goes on in my head—about the plans I have or the things I hope for. I have no one in my life that I can trust with something like that.

Looking at my sleeping wife, I wonder if it’s possible that I might, now. If what started as an edict from my father might turn into something that I never expected to have in my life. That I never allowed myself to hope was possible.

She shifts, letting out a soft, sleepy sound, and the desire to rejoin her in bed throbs through me. But I leave her there, regretfully, the image of her curled up in my sheets with her dark hair spilling across the pillow staying with me as I headdownstairs. I grab my keys—when I stay at my penthouse, I drive myself—and shove my phone into the pocket of my suit trousers, heading out to the elevator that will lead down to the garage. If I hurry, I might have time to stop for coffee before my meeting.

I’m in luck. Traffic leaving the city isn’t as bad as I would have expected for a Friday morning, and I swing into my preferred coffee shop just in time to see the morning line thinning out. It gives my mood a boost—things seem off to a good start today, and I’m hopeful that they’ll stay that way. That my father will listen to me. That we’ll come up with a plan that works for us both, not just one that follows his idea of how we should handle it.

I’m not insensible to the fact that it’s Sophia who has me in such an unusually good mood. Three days of spending every possible moment in bed with her, working out two years of sexual deprivation with endless fucking have boosted my spirits considerably. I even smile at the twenty-something brunette who hands me my black coffee, leaving her stammering and blushing as I head back out to my vintage Porsche.

The drive to my father’s mansion is comfortably familiar, and despite the situation, I feel some of my remaining tension easing with the familiarity of being back home. As beautiful as the resort was—not counting the assassination attempts—and as idyllic as it was to be sequestered away in a room with Sophia, I feel as if I’m back where I belong. The Miami morning is already hot, the sun glinting off the water as I drive along the coast. I roll down the window, letting the salt-tinged air wash over me. It feels good to be home, despite everything that happened at the resort.

My father's security recognizes my car immediately, the gates swinging open as I approach. I park in my usual spot and head inside, nodding to the guards stationed at the entrance. Thehouse is quiet, most of the staff keeping to themselves when my father isn't entertaining guests.

I find him in his study, as expected. He's sitting behind his massive desk, papers spread out in front of him. He looks up when I enter, his gaze sharp despite the illness that's been slowly consuming him.

"Konstantin." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit."

I do as he says, settling into the leather chair. I can see the toll the past few months have taken on him—his face is more gaunt than when I left, the lines around his eyes deeper. But his gaze is as piercing as ever, assessing me as I sit down. I feel some of the tension return to my shoulders. A meeting with my father is never an easy one, and he doesn’t often agree with my opinions. He likes to be heard, not to listen.

---