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My father lets out a string of Russian curses that would make a whore blush. I don’t flinch. I’ve heard far worse over the years. “Sophia was with you?” he asks abruptly.

“Yes.” I pause. “She helped neutralize the threat. Both times.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Interesting.” My father’s voice holds caution now, the same feeling that I have.

“Interesting is one word for it. She claims her father taught her when she was a child, worried for her safety, and that her guardian picked up the lessons after he died. She says she went shooting in Europe as a hobby, to keep up her skills.”

“Hm.” My father is quiet for a long moment. “So you’re coming home early, then?”

I pause. “She wants to stay. She doesn’t want our honeymoon ruined by this.”

“And you’re going to indulge her?”

My jaw tightens. “You were the one who suggested I shouldn’t disappoint my wife.”

“No, by all means. I’m not suggesting you come home, son. You need the time with your new bride. But you also need protection.”

I grit my teeth. I’m not surprised that my father isn’t urging me to come home. Whatever he’s doing in my absence, he wants the remaining few days to finish it up. “I need security,” I say finally. “Discreet, so the resort doesn’t pitch a fit, but effective.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling the grit of the dust clinging to my scalp. "And I need you to run another check on Sophia. Deeper this time."

“I checked her background thoroughly before I proposed her as a bride.” My father’s voice is cutting, a clear warning in it.

“I’m not suggesting you did a poor job,” I say carefully. “Only that no one is perfect. Maybe there’s something that was missed.”

“You think she’s up to something? I picked her myself. She came well-recommended.” His voice is cold and hard. “What, son? You can’t control your wife?”

“I can handle her just fine.” An image flashes in my head from the night before—Sophia with her legs spread wide, her hot arousal soaking my chin, her cries rising over the howling storm.My cock throbs, and I grit my teeth. That’s not the way I should be handling her. Not according to the rules I set out for us both.

“I’ll send you security tonight,” my father says, effectively ignoring my other request. “They’ll be there tomorrow.”

I press my lips together, wanting to push the issue of Sophia. But I don’t. I can hear the resistance in my father’s voice, and I know it’s pointless. He’s not going to listen to me. Especially not when my concerns might suggest that he’s done something wrong, or missed something vital.

“Thank you,” I say flatly. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

The line goes dead. I let out a long breath, running my hand through my hair again as I toss my phone on the bed, wincing at the amount of dust. I head to the shower, stripping off my clothes as I go and leaving them in a dusty trail on the floor.

The hot shower feels like heaven as I wash away the dirt and sweat—and, to my dismay, the sweet violet and musk scent of Sophia that clings to me. The steam of the shower smells like her, like her perfume and her skin and her arousal, and my cock is rock hard in an instant, demanding attention. I brace myself against the wall of the shower, stroking hard and fast until I spray the tiles with my cum, groaning her name aloud as I reach my much-needed release.

What Ineedis to come inside of her. My softening length twitches at the thought, eager again already. I grit my teeth, trying to find my resolve from before. Nothing has changed. I had a moment of weakness, but it was a moment.

I can draw my lines in the sand again, and stay behind them this time.

When I’m dried off from the shower, I drag on a pair of boxers and collapse into the bed for some much-needed sleep, hoping I won’t dream of Sophia. I have no such luck. She pervades every inch of my dreams, her soft skin and high-pitched cries and the sweet taste of her filling every restlesshour that I sleep, until I wake aching and desperate for another release.

Ten minutes later, when I’ve stroked myself to another orgasm and come back from cleaning up, I glance at the clock. It’s almost time for dinner, and I focus on getting dressed, finding a pair of dark chinos and a black linen shirt.

Sophia is already at the restaurant when I arrive. I spot her immediately at the bar, her fingers wrapped around the stem of a glass of red wine. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in thick curls held back by a diamond clip, and she’s wearing a dress the same color as the wine, with large white flowers embroidered across it. The slit on the leg facing me is high, making the skirt fall over her leg nearly at her hip, showing me all that long expanse of tanned skin that I so nearly had wrapped around me last night.

One look at her, and I can feel my arousal swelling. I’m taking inventory of her, noticing her poise, the way she seems to have carefully chosen a spot to sit that gives her a view of every entrance and exit, the way her eyes are always alert, but my cock doesn’t care about any of that. All it wants is to get inside of her, and I’m half-hard by the time I reach her side.

She smiles at me as she turns to face me, and I have the unsettling feeling that she knew where I was in the room before I ever got to her. The smile on her face is genuine enough that it almost shakes my discomfort—almost, but not quite.

“Did you get some rest?” she asks as she picks up her wine glass, following the waiter with me at her side to our table. “You must have needed it.”

“I did.” I don’t bother telling her about my dreams, or how I woke up aching for her. I don’t need to put myself at a disadvantage. I think she’s already more aware of my desire for her than I’d like for her to be.

“Did you make your calls?” She takes a sip of her wine as the waiter walks away.

“I did. Security will be arriving in the morning. Discreetly, of course, in accordance with the rules of the resort.”