Page 49 of Twisted Fate

"That's it," I encourage, keeping my voice low, my lips against her ear.

"Take what you need. Come for me, Sophia.

Show me that this pussy is mine." She's close—I can feel it in the way she clenches around my fingers, in the erratic movement of her hips.

I keep the pressure steady, relentless, watching her face as she teeters on the edge.

"Konstantin," she gasps, and even in the chaos of the club, I hear my name on her lips. Her body goes rigid for a moment, then trembles as she comes, riding my hand through her orgasm. I feel her clench and flutter around my fingers, feel her clit pulse, and I wrap my arm around her waist, keeping her steady on her heels as I finger her through her orgasm. To anyone watching, we’re just a couple wrapped up in each other, lost in the pleasure of dancing and the heady sensuality of the moment.

I hold her steady, my hand still between her thighs as she comes down. When her eyes finally open, they're hazy with satisfaction, her smile lazy and content.

I withdraw my hand, letting her skirt fall back into place. I reach up as we keep moving together to the rhythm of the music, pressing my fingers against her lips.

“Lick them clean, volchitsa ,” I murmur. “Taste how good of a girl you were for me.”

I half expect her to bite me instead of obeying. But her lips wrap around my fingers, two at a time, sucking them between her lips as she moves to the music, her tongue lashing against my fingers in a mimicry of what she can do to my cock.

I feel myself throb, aching to be inside of her. I’m not sure how much self-control I have left, and it all but shatters when she licks the last of her arousal off of my fingers and turns in my arms, a feral smile on her lips as she wraps her arms around my neck and looks up at me.

I can feel her heart racing against my chest, matching the frantic pace of my own.

"Take me to that VIP section now," she says, her voice husky, just barely audible above the music. "I want to thank you properly."

The promise in her words sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I take her hand, ready to lead her away from the dance floor, when something catches my eye.

There’s a man standing at the edge of the crowd, watching us with unnerving intensity. He's unremarkable in appearance—medium build, dark hair, nondescript clothing—but there's something about the focus of his gaze that sets off alarm bells.

"Konstantin?" Sophia asks, sensing the change in me. "What's wrong?"

I pull her closer, shielding her with my body as I scan the crowd again. The man is gone, disappeared into the mass of bodies. But the unease remains, settling cold and heavy in my gut. For a moment, my desire has fled, replaced with a sharp awareness of the possibility of danger.

"We're leaving," I tell her, my voice leaving no room for argument. I wrap my arm around her waist, guiding her through the crowd toward the nearest exit.

"What happened?" she asks as we emerge into the relative quiet of a back hallway. Her voice is calm. It doesn’t surprise me now—I’ve learned that very little rattles this woman. "Did you see someone?"

"I'm not sure." I keep moving, pushing through a door that leads to a side lot, already texting the valet to bring the car around to the side. "But I don't want to take chances."

I help her into the car as soon as it arrives, tipping the valet well and then sliding in beside her. As we pull away from the club, I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched, followed. I don’t see any signs of it, but there’s a gut instinct that I’ve learned not to ignore.

"I'm sorry about cutting the night short," I glance over at her, taking her hand in mine after I shift, pulling out onto the street, and weaving into traffic.

Sophia squeezes my fingers in return, her expression serious. "Don't be. After what happened at the resort, we can't be too careful."

I study her face in the dim light of the car, struck again by how different she is from what I expected. Most women would be upset, frightened, demanding explanations. But Sophia is calm, collected. Understanding.

Too calm, that small voice at the back of my head reminds me. I saw her gauging the entrances and exits as we left, assessing the situation. Despite her explanations, something still doesn’t quite sit right with me.

But I don’t linger on it. I can’t, right now, with the Miami wind in my hair and the bright lights of the city all around us, my beautiful wife in the seat beside me, the scent of her still on my fingers and my lips.

As the car speeds through the Miami night, I can't help but glance back, searching the traffic behind us for any sign of pursuit. The streets are busy, filled with cars and lights and people enjoying the nightlife, but I don’t pick out one particular car following us.

We aren’t being tracked right now, so far as I can tell—but I still feel as if we were being watched at the club, and not in the way I was enjoying while I had my fingers buried in Sophia.

I turn off the main road onto a side street, and Sophia glances over at me as we slow down. “Where are we going?” she asks curiously.

“The beach. I want to wait a little while before we go back to the penthouse.”

I wait for her to protest, to say that she’s tired, but she doesn’t. She just reaches for a hair tie, putting her hair on top of her head and leans back against the seat of the convertible, a small smile on her lips as we drive down toward the shoreline.

As we get further away from the city, the streets get quieter, more residential areas that are sleepier at this late hour.

We drive along the coast for a little while, top down, letting the salt-tinged air wash over us.

Sophia’s hand rests on my thigh, the warm weight of it lulling me into a sense of peace that I haven’t felt in a long time.

Despite the worries over the attacks, despite the suspicious man at the club, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else at the moment.

I push the car harder as we reach a long stretch of open road, feeling some of the tension leave my body as the speedometer climbs.

There's a freedom in this—in the power of the machine beneath me, in the empty road ahead, the wind washing over us, the beautiful woman beside me.

I soak it in, allowing myself, for once, to simply be , to enjoy the pleasure of indulging in something I want.

I’ve been doing it more and more since that first night with Sophia. And after years of keeping myself on such a tight leash, it feels addictive.

Eventually, I slow, turning onto a private access road that leads to a secluded stretch of beach. It’s in the early hours of the morning now, after midnight, the night taking on that eerily quiet feeling that it gets at this time as I park the car on the sand.

I get out, walking around to open Sophia’s car door. “Come with me.” I take her hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

I lead her down to where the waves lap gently at the shore, finding a spot where the sand is firm. We sit side by side, watching the water as it stretches out to touch the edge of the night sky.

“I love it out here,” Sophia murmurs quietly. “The beach is my favorite place to come and think.”

I glance at her, surprised. “Mine, too.” The admission comes as a surprise, as well—I don’t talk about myself to anyone.

I hadn’t planned on opening up to her now—but if not now, when?

Things have changed between us. And if this is going to be the kind of marriage that I hadn’t dared to hope for, then I need to see if it can stand on those legs, too. Not just on desire alone.

"I used to come here as a teenager," I tell her, my voice quiet against the backdrop of the surf. "When things at home became too much. When I needed space to think."

She turns to look at me, her expression soft in the dim moonlight. There’s something else in it, too—caution, I think? Hesitation? I can’t be sure. But her voice sounds sympathetic when she speaks, "From your father?"

I nod. "He's always been... exacting. Demanding. And as his only son, his heir, I bore the brunt of his expectations." I pick up a handful of sand, letting it sift through my fingers. "There were times I hated him for it."

"And now?"

“Now I just want to be different from him.” I blow out a sharp breath.

“This life—our world, it doesn’t forgive weakness.

It doesn’t allow it. And I have no desire to be weak.

But I do want there to be less violence.

Less… pain, caused by what we do. I think we can find a straighter path forward and still be what we are. ”

“What do you mean by that?” she asks cautiously, and I turn to look at her fully.

“I want to legitimize some of our businesses. Clean up the Bratva. I want solutions that aren’t always bloody.”

Sophia makes a small, thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. “And what does your father think?”

I chuckle darkly. “He thinks that it’s weakness, of course. As turning my back on our heritage. But I see it as evolution. Adaptation." I pause, studying her reaction. "What do you think?"

She seems surprised by the question, as if she didn't expect me to value her opinion.

"I think… change is inevitable. Fighting it is like trying to hold back the tide.

" She gestures toward the ocean. "If you’re caught in it, you can adapt, or you can drown.

If you want to be the tide, then you need to be inexorable.

Relentless. And others will come along with you, or drown in your wake. "

“I’m not sure I want to drown anyone,” I say quietly. “I’ve had enough violence to fill a lifetime. But you’re right that change takes conviction. I’ll have to be firm in my decisions.”

She smiles, but there’s something hesitant in it, as if she’s deep in thought. I find myself wanting to reach into her mind, to know more about this woman who is like no one else I’ve ever encountered before. A woman who keeps surprising me, over and over again.