Page 68 of Twisted Fate
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 wordfatetingles 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 asI 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.”
“To one of my nightclubs. I want to show you one of the Abramov businesses. And no, you don’t,” I tell her firmly, pulling her in toward me. She lets out a soft gasp as her body brushes mine, and she feels how hard I am. “You’ll go out just like this, without panties. I want that pussy wet all night, and available for me whenever I please.”
“Konstantin!” Her eyes widen, and she lets out a nervous-sounding laugh, but I can hear desire in it, too. Her hand slides down, palming the thick ridge of my cock. “Don’t you want to come?”
“Not yet.” I lean into her touch for just a moment, enjoying the sweet torture of feeling her palm pressing against me through layers of clothing, before I push her hand away. “There’s plenty of night left. I’ll be inside of you before the end of it, Sophia. But for now, I want to enjoy how hard you make me.”
She lets out another soft, breathless moan, and when she leans up to kiss me, my cock throbs at the knowledge that she can taste herself on my lips.
“Come on.” I break the kiss, leading her toward the door. “Let’s go.”
We take my convertible Corvette out, a sleek white car with cherry-red custom leather seats. I see the appreciative look Sophia gives it as I open the door for her, before circling around to the driver’s side and starting it up.
The Miami night is utter perfection, the air warm and thick like syrup, the salty breeze coming off the ocean and blowing through Sophia’s hair as we drive downtown toward one of my clubs, theFlamingo. The city is alive on a Friday night, all bright lights and crowds of bodies, flooding the sidewalks and restaurants, and clubs.
I hand my keys over to the valet when we arrive, coming around to help Sophia out of the car. She steps out, reaching up to take her hair down, and I feel that pulse of desire again as I take her hand and lead her around the line, past the bouncers and into the club. I can hear the murmurs from the lined-up people waiting to get in, the whispers ofIs that the owner? Who is that woman? Isn’t he gorgeous? Isn’t she?
