Page 19 of Twisted Fate

KONSTANTIN

S leep evades me for a long time, long after I go back into my room, chased away by thoughts of Sophia. Her scent lingers in my nostrils—violets and sugar—and the memory of her body so close to mine on the deck feels like a physical touch, still nearly brushing my skin.

I wanted to kiss her. God , I fucking wanted it. It would have been so easy to cross that line, to take what she's offering. To lose myself in her body, in the desire that I saw in her eyes. But I can't afford that kind of distraction, not with everything hanging in the balance.

The room is warm, almost uncomfortably so, and I strip off my clothes, tossing them over a chair as I retreat to the bed naked.

It does nothing to help my situation—my cock, already on the verge of hardening at the slightest thought of Sophia, is stiff in an instant, taking full advantage of the freedom.

With a frustrated growl, I wrap my hand around it, stroking roughly as I stride to the bathroom and grip the edge of the sink, avoiding my reflection as I jerk myself off quickly.

It doesn’t take long. I can’t shake Sophia from my thoughts, either.

All I can see is her descending into that pool, the water lapping at every inch of skin that I want to trace with my fingers and tongue.

I come hard, shooting jets of hot cum into the sink as I stroke hard and fast, groaning through gritted teeth as the pleasure races through me.

It doesn’t satisfy me, not really, but it takes the edge off enough that I might be able to sleep.

Still, my dreams are fractured, filled with her. I wake up before the sun rises, achingly hard again, and wrap my hand around my throbbing cock once more to ease the relentless need.

I try not to think of her as I run my hand up and down the rigid length, as I come hard, spattering my hand with hot cum, but it’s impossible not to. All I can see in my mind’s eye is her rising up out of the pool like Venus, dripping water and moonlight.

I grab a tissue, cleaning up halfway, and throw off the covers, sitting up.

I move to the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair in frustration.

Two years was too long to neglect my love life.

I should have had a girlfriend, a woman I saw regularly—hell, even just a handful of one-night stands.

I haven’t fucked anyone in far too long, and now it’s come back to bite me in the ass.

I check my watch—4:23 a.m. Too early to start the day, too late to hope for actual rest. With a sigh, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and head for the main room, careful to be quiet.

The last thing I need is another encounter with Sophia like the one on the deck last night. My resolve is already dangerously thin.

The main room is dark and silent, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight through the linen curtain separating my room from the outdoors. I stride to the kitchenette, making myself a cup of coffee, and take it out to the patio, intending to at least get some enjoyment out of my early rising.

I pause as I hear a soft rustle from Sophia's room, followed by what sounds like muffled words.

I freeze, listening. Is she awake? On the phone, or—I can’t help but try to listen more closely, my blood heating again at the thought of what else she might be doing in bed.

But then I hear it again—a whimper, not words… and not a pleasured whimper, either. She sounds frightened.

Like she’s having a nightmare.

Before I can think better of it, I unlatch the gate and cross her patio to the curtain at her doorway, listening more intently. I can hear her making soft, pained sounds that send a piercing sensation through my chest, and the sound of her rolling back and forth in bed, clearly restless.

My jaw tightens. I should leave her be. Going into her room, even to comfort her, crosses a line that I’ve clearly drawn. But something in me resists the idea of leaving her to her distress, a protective instinct that I didn’t know I possessed, awakening in my chest.

I knock softly on the doorframe next to the curtain. "Sophia?"

There’s no response. Just another whimper.

I hesitate, then push the curtain back, easing it open just enough to see inside.

With the curtain partially open, the room is bathed in that same soft moonlight, enough to make out Sophia's form on the bed.

She's tangled in the sheets, her dark hair spread across the pillows, and I hear her distressed moan.

"No," she murmurs, turning her head from side to side. "Please, no..."

Something twists in my chest. I should go, should close the curtain and leave her to her nightmares. But I can't make myself turn away.

I step into her room, aware that I’m crossing a line. My heart thuds behind my ribcage as I approach the bed cautiously. "Sophia," I call out, louder this time. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

She doesn’t respond, clearly lost in the nightmare. I edge closer to the bed, reaching out to gently touch her shoulder, shaking her lightly. "Sophia. Wake up."

Her reaction is instantaneous and startling. Her hand shoots out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength, and she jolts upright in bed, twisting as she throws her other arm upward, driving it toward my throat.

I grab it without thinking, blocking her strike as I free my wrist from her grip, grabbing hers more gently. My adrenaline has surged, my heart pounding in my ears, and I stare down at Sophia’s half-awake face, confusion flooding me.

That wasn’t the reaction of a spoiled heiress.

Her eyes are wide and unfocused, and I stay perfectly still, not wanting to hurt her or be hurt by her.

"Sophia," I say carefully, still holding her wrist and arm. "It's Konstantin. You're safe. You were dreaming."

Awareness floods back into her eyes, followed quickly by horror as she realizes that I’m gripping her arms. She jerks backward, and I let her go, watching as she scrambles away to put space between us.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammers, pushing her tangled, sweaty hair away from her face with shaking hands. "I didn't—I was?—"

"Having a nightmare," I finish for her, watching her curiously. "It's alright. No harm done."

She stares at me, her green eyes wide in the dim light, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

She's wearing a thin tank top and a pair of cotton shorts, and her nipples are stiff against the fabric. Her body is illuminated in the moonlight, and I have to force my eyes to return to her face, my cock swelling despite my recent orgasm. I’m viscerally aware of the edge of the bed pressing against my legs, the fact that Sophia is in the middle of it, tousled and gorgeous and so, so very accessible right now.

"What are you doing in here?" she asks, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious.

"I heard you making noise," I explain quickly, aware of how this all looks. "You sounded… distressed. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

She frowns. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s fine.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You have excellent reflexes.”

“My guardian taught me some self-defense.” She tilts her chin up, her arms still wrapped around herself. “In case of a… situation. He thought I should be able to protect myself. I didn’t realize it was you.”

I nod. It makes sense. “I’m glad he made sure you could protect yourself.

” I don’t bother saying the rest—that I could have easily overpowered her.

A few Krav Maga lessons don’t cancel out years of training under one of the best former Spetsnaz operatives I could find to teach me.

But I don’t want her to feel threatened.

"Do you want to talk about it? The nightmare?" I fight the strange—and unexpected—urge to sit down next to her, to reach out and pull her against my chest. That would serve nothing other than to further blur the lines between us. The desire confuses me as much as it would her. But I’m not a monster, I reason, and she’s clearly terrified.

She’s under my protection, as my wife, so of course I would want to comfort her.

It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

Sophia shakes her head, her hair falling in waves around her face. "No. It's... it's just memories. Things I'd rather forget."

I nod, not wanting to push her—although I can’t help but be curious.

What could have happened to her to give her nightmares?

She’s an heiress, educated in Scotland, given time to tour Europe at her leisure, a woman who has never done anything other than study art, go to parties, and do a little charity work on the side.

What secret is she hiding that makes her cry out in the middle of the night?

"I should go," I say finally, when Sophia says nothing else. "Let you get back to sleep. It’s too easy to be awake."

She nods, although I notice she doesn’t ask why I am. She waits until I’m nearly at the doorway before I hear her call out my name, “Konstantin.”

I pause, glancing back at her. “Yes?”

"Thank you," she murmurs softly. "For checking on me."

I nod, quickly retreating. I don’t want to linger in her room any longer than necessary.

The dark and the quiet and the intimacy of the moment all feel like a temptation, drawing tighter around me until I might not be able to resist. I go to sit on the patio of my own room, closing the gate that separates our suites behind me, and I watch the sun slowly climb above the savannah’s horizon.

It’s beautiful—one of the most stunning things I’ve ever witnessed. The sky is painted in pink and orange and gold, a seemingly endless expanse of it only made possible by just how much vast space there is out here. I watch it in silence, but all the while, Sophia lingers in my thoughts.

I wonder if she got back to sleep. If she’s dreaming now, and if so, of what.

I can’t help but wonder if she’s dreaming of me.

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