Page 47 of Twisted Fate

KONSTANTIN

I blink at her, startled. I’m not sure where to look first. She looks like a vision, backlit by the candlelight, and the scent of the food finally reaches me.

Steak and shrimp, I think, and as I walk toward the table, I can see that’s what’s served, along with what looks like a salad dressed with crumbled cheese, dried fruit, and a creamy vinaigrette.

The drinks are different—a glass of wine for her, and what looks like a rum cocktail for me.

“What is all this?” I look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Can you cook?” I glance at the kitchen, but there’s no sign of it having been used. It rarely is. I have a full set of cookware and dishes, the finest money can buy, but I’ve maybe put them to use twice in all the time I’ve lived here.

Sophia laughs, walking toward me. Her heels click pleasantly on the wooden floor, and as she wraps her arms around my neck, her perfume wafting over me, all I can think is I could get used to this.

“Absolutely not,” she says, the laughter echoing in her voice. “I ordered takeout. From La Mer. I will confess, I did make the cocktail, though. I got into your liquor cabinet for it.” She purses her lips playfully. “Forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive.” I lean in, my hands resting on her waist as I kiss her. It all feels so foreign—coming home to a wife, a meal, a ready-made drink, and I’m not such a fool as to think that a woman like Sophia is going to do this every night. But for tonight…

The barest graze of my lips against hers, and I can feel my cock twitch, already rising to the occasion. Sophia arches against me, deepening the kiss briefly, and she lets out a soft laugh as she feels my burgeoning erection press against her core.

“Not yet,” she teases. “First, there’s dinner.” She disentangles herself from me, glancing back toward the spread on the table.

"I thought after everything that happened at the resort, we deserved something special for our first night back. But I didn't want to go out."

I lean down, capturing her mouth with mine, unable to resist. She tastes like wine—she must have already had a glass—and something sweet underneath. When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed.

"Thank you," I murmur, and I mean it.

Sophia has already plated the entire meal.

We sit down, her next to me on the left, so that she can enjoy the ocean view from the windows as well, and I take in the perfectly prepared meal in front of us.

Rare steak, bearnaise sauce, shrimp and scallops grilled in garlic butter, the crisp salad, and a side of perfectly grilled asparagus.

She reaches for her wine glass, taking a sip. "How was your meeting with your father?"

I consider how much to tell her. "Tense," I admit finally. "He wants to meet with Genovese and Slakov. Set a trap."

Her eyebrow rises slightly. "That sounds risky."

"It is. But necessary." I take a bite of the perfectly cooked steak. "It’s a rare thing that we agree on, although I’m not as sure as he is that they’ll take the bait. But we’ll see. He’s sending his right-hand man, Damian, to set up the meeting. If they refuse, then we’ll look into other options.”

Sophia nods, taking a bite of her salad, her expression thoughtful. "When is this meeting?"

“A week from now. If they agree.” I let out a hum of pleasure as I take a bite of a scallop. “Mm. I forgot how good La Mer is. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out to dinner, actually, since before the honeymoon. I usually got some kind of takeout, but nothing like this.”

Sophia smiles. “Well, I’m glad I thought of it, then.” She pauses. “Should we be worried about an attack? With the meeting being planned?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. At least, not if they agree to the meeting.

We’ll be cautious, all the same. But I think they’ll hesitate to try anything again so soon, here in Miami.

They’ll be waiting for a response, especially after what we did to Elia.

” I reach out, touching her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you. ”

Sophia raises an eyebrow. “I can take care of myself,” she says with a smirk, and I chuckle.

“Oh, I know.” I curl my fingers briefly around hers. “Believe it or not, it’s one of the things that I like about you.”

Our conversation flows easily after that. We talk about nothing important—the city, places she enjoys going to or ones she hasn’t tried yet, music we both enjoy. It feels... normal. Like we're just a couple having dinner, not the heir to a crime empire and his mysterious bride.

In this moment, with candlelight reflecting in her eyes and the Miami night spread out below us through the windows, Sophia feels like a refuge.

A bright spot in a life that, for me, has often been dark and without much light.

I find myself laughing more than I have in years, genuinely enjoying her company. I feel?—

My chest tightens as I resist putting a word to what I feel. But regardless of the fact that I’ve never experienced it before, I know what it is.

I’m falling in love with my wife. And it feels… inevitable. Like, no matter what I did, this woman would have somehow found her way to me.

It doesn’t feel like my father was responsible for bringing us together, even though that’s the reality. It feels like something else. The word fate tingles at the back of my mind, no matter how foolish I feel for thinking it.

She’s like no other woman I’ve ever met—beautiful, and brave, and capable, and strong.

She’s a match for me in every way. She’s not afraid of darkness or blood, unflinching at violence.

She’s witty and intelligent. In bed together, we’re explosive.

She’s the kind of partner that I didn’t think existed for a man like me.

I set down my fork, my appetite for food vanishing, replaced by something else that I can’t deny any longer.

I told myself all day that I needed to curb my desire, to douse the wildfire of hunger that I feel for her, but now, surrounded by her perfume and her laugh and the sound of her voice, I feel like a starving man, despite the meal I’ve just eaten.

I stand up, and Sophia looks up at me, blinking with surprise. Before she can say a word, I reach out, my hand closing around the back of her neck as the other grips her elbow, pulling her to her feet as I drag her mouth to mine.

Her fork clatters to the table, and she gasps against my lips, giving me full access to her mouth. My tongue sweeps against hers, tasting wine, and I groan as I pick her up, carrying her past our place settings to the empty end of the table, where I set her on the edge of it.

“Konstantin, the food—” she gasps as I break the kiss, and I shake my head.

“I’ve had enough of dinner. I’m ready for dessert.”

Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she grips the edge of the table, and I reach down, pulling her ass to the edge of it as I slide her skirt up her thighs.

When the tight leather reaches her hips, I slide my hands up her inner thighs, spreading her legs wide. Sophia lets out a soft, gasping moan.

“Right here?” she breathes, and I lean in, hooking my fingers in the lace of her panties as I drag them down her hips.

“Right here,” I confirm, and ball her panties in my hand, tucking them into my pocket. I’ll have a use for those later, I’m sure, although right now the thought of fucking my hand when I have the warm, wet, perfect pussy on offer right in front of me seems impossible. “I want to taste you.”

Sophia moans, her head falling back as I graze my lips over her already-damp folds. “You’re already wet for me, volchitsa ,” I growl, and she lets out a soft laugh.

“I was wet as soon as you kissed me,” she confesses breathily.

“Good.” I dart my tongue between her folds, spreading them with my thumbs as I lick up to her center, swirling my tongue around her clit.

She lets out a helpless moan, leaning back as her hands squeeze the edge of the table, her legs hooking over my shoulders as I bury my face in her, devouring her like the sweetest dessert.

She tastes like honey on my tongue, her arousal slick and flowing as I draw her clit between my lips, sucking and fluttering the tip of my tongue over it until she’s breathless.

She cries out as I push her toward the edge, her back arching, her hips rolling against my mouth now as she loses control. My cock is iron-hard, straining against my fly, throbbing with the need to be inside of her, but all I’m focused on is her. Her pleasure. Her orgasm.

I want to taste her as she comes on my mouth. I want to feel her thighs fluttering against my face, drink down her arousal as I feel her shatter for me. It’s exquisite—and I never want this feeling with her to end.

“Konstantin!” She cries out my name, her back bowing, and I feel her body contract, taste her climax as she lets out a ragged moan, hips bucking as she comes. I suck on her clit, drawing out the pleasure for as long as I can, breathless with my own arousal as she comes hard on my tongue.

When I feel her start to relax, I stand up, reaching for a napkin to wipe my wet mouth and chin. Sophia starts to reach for me, her gaze fixed on the thick, hard ridge in my suit trousers, but I shake my head, batting her away.

For some reason, I have the urge to draw this out.

To savor the feeling of arousal, the need to bury myself inside of her.

Maybe some part of it is me fighting to regain control over my desires, but a larger part of it is that I simply don’t want it to end.

I’m craving the feeling of arousal more than the release of an orgasm, right now.

I want the high that Sophia gives me, that craving need.

“We’re going out,” I tell her decisively, taking her hand and helping her off the table. Sophia blinks at me, reaching to adjust her skirt and pull it down her thighs.

“Where? And—” she glances toward my trousers, where I stuffed her panties into my pocket. “I need fresh underwear.”