Page 39 of Twisted Fate
Sophia moans, her hips moving against my hand, and I chuckle low in my throat, groaning as I free my cock and give myself one long, slow stroke before forcing myself to pull my hand away. I’m already too close to the edge, and the floor of this tent isn’t where I want to come tonight.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m reminded of the boundary I set, that I told her I wouldn’t fuck her until I was ready for an heir, thatIwould decide when and where and how we consummated our marriage. But I’m too far gone now, my cock throbbing with need, Sophia’s wet pussy wrapped around my fingers and begging me for more.
I’m choosing this moment, aren’t I?I think, as I slide my fingers up, finding the swollen bud of her clit and rubbing my fingertips over it.And if I want to get her pregnant tonight, I fucking will.
I feel pre-cum leaking from the tip of my cock just at the thought, as I let go of Sophia’s hair and use that hand to press gently between her breasts, pushing her back onto the bed as I rub her clit with my two fingers. She gasps, moaning as she falls back, and I grip her knee, pushing her legs fully apart as I lean in and yank her panties all the way to the side.
She cries out when my mouth touches her, her hips bucking up against my lips as her hand tangles in my hair. I slide myfingers down, pushing them into her greedy pussy as I lash my tongue over her clit, savoring the taste of her as she drenches my mouth.
“Oh god,” she gasps, already riding my tongue as if she’s close to her climax. “Oh my god, Konstantin,fuck, fuck, please?—”
“That’s it,devochka,” I murmur, sliding my lips along her folds before rolling my tongue over her clit again. “Get my mouth all wet, baby. You taste so fucking good, Sophia.God?—”
I reach down with my free hand, stroking my cock once more, the shaft slick with pre-cum now. Sophia’s back arches, her hips bucking against my mouth, and I know she’s already close.
I curl my fingers inside of her, thrusting, just as I wrap my lips around her clit and suck. The moment that I draw her throbbing flesh into my mouth, sucking on her the way I’m dying for her to do to my cock, my tongue still fluttering against her swollen clit, she fucking explodes.
“Konstantin!” She shrieks my name, writhing on the bed as I throw one arm over her stomach, pinning her down as I devour her perfect pussy. Her cry rises up over the howl of the wind outside, her body clamping down around my fingers as she comes hard, riding my face through her climax as she screams out her pleasure again.
I pull back as I feel her climax ebb, knowing I need to get inside of her soon if that’s where I want to come. I don’t know how much control I have left. But God help me, I need to feel her fucking mouth around my cock.
I rise up, pressing one knee into the mattress as I start to move forward to straddle her chest, eager to feed my cock between her full, reddened lips. Sophia’s eyes widen as she sees my cock for the first time, her lips parting as she lets out a soft gasp that makes me throb—and then she freezes at the same moment that I do.
We both hear the same noise—a scuffing outside, a movement that sounds too deliberate to be the wind. It sounds like footsteps, and I freeze, my body pulsing with unfulfilled desire even as all of my senses go on a different kind of high alert altogether.
Sophia pushes herself up slightly, her cleavage on full display as the neckline of her dress drapes downward. My cock throbs, and I grit my teeth, reaching down to shove myself back into the open fly of my pants as I push myself off of Sophia.
“Stay here,” I mouth to her as I move to grab her discarded gun from the floor. She starts to sit up, as if to stop me, but I’m faster. I grab the gun, unholstering it quickly, and move toward the entrance to the tent.
The wind is loud, the clouds of dust buffeting the tent making it hard to hear anything else—but when I listen carefully, I can hear it, the sound of someone slicing through the closure at the front of it.
I start to raise the gun. Out of my peripheral, I see Sophia moving off the bed. I turn to tell her to stay put, again, and as I do, the flap of the tent flies open, sending a wild gust of wind and choking dust into the tent as a figure bursts inside.
The attack comes from the left—a figure lunging out of the swirling dust, knife glinting in the dim light. I pivot, raising my gun just as I get a glimpse of the face in front of me—the guide who brought us here.
I grit my teeth, stepping back as my finger slides toward the trigger, but the attacker is fast. He knocks my arm to one side as he lunges forward, and I jerk my finger back just in time before I shoot off to the side of the tent. His other hand comes up, the glint of his knife catching the lamplight and inching toward my throat as we grapple in the swirling dust.
It’s almost impossible to see clearly as the storm follows him into our tent. I see Sophia moving toward us, a blurry shape inthe billowing dust, but I can’t spare the attention to stop her or try to figure out what she’s going to do. This attacker is skilled, their movements suggesting professional training. This is no random robbery—this is an assassination attempt.
Much like the one at dinner last night.
Someone wants me dead.
Anger floods me at that, a bitter rage that I’m fighting for my life even here, thousands of miles from home, on my supposed honeymoon where I’m meant to be getting some goddamn rest and relaxation.
I swing out with my free hand, landing a solid punch to his solar plexus. The attacker gasps, doubling over for a split second before he retaliates, swinging up into my jaw with a hit hard enough to make my teeth clack together and my eyes water. I reel backwards, and I feel him strike at my wrist, making my fingers go briefly numb and sending the gun spinning out of my hand.
There’s the cold, sharp scrape of metal against my throat as I stagger back, still grappling with my attacker. I feel the knife start to bite into my skin as I scrabble upward with my hands, seeking out his face, his eyes?—
A deafeningcrackfills the space of the tent, making my ears ring, and I blink as I feel something hot and thick splash over my hands as the attacker goes limp, tumbling to the floor of the tent. In the swirling dust, I can see Sophia standing there, the gun held in her hands with the easy stance of someone used to handling it.
Shaking myself free of my shock, I grab the flapping opening of the tent, yanking it closed against the force of the wind. Blood smears across the fabric as I fight with the ties, trying to get them together to block out the storm. A second later, Sophia is at my side, leaning down to pull the lower ties together as we get the tent secured.
When the storm is safely outside once again, howling and beating against the canvas with no way in, Sophia turns to me. She’s covered in dust, as am I, a thick drift of it coming up to our ankles—but we’re both alive.
She swallows hard, looking at me. “I think someone wants to kill you,” she says, with perfect seriousness, and I have to choke back a laugh.
“You think?” I look down at the dead body between us, and then back up at her. Her face is calm and composed, and I’m once again struck by how indifferent she seems to this sort of thing. How calmly she handles it all.
