Page 70 of Twisted Fate
She moans, the sound lost in the music, her hips moving in a rhythm that has nothing to do with the beat anymore. I thrust my fingers faster, curling them inside her, stroking that spot that makes her come apart.
We're still dancing, still moving with the crowd, but it's mechanical now—a cover for what's really happening. Her back is arched, every movement of her hips thrusting back onto my hand, completely surrendered to the pleasure I'm giving her.
"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 simplybe, to enjoy the pleasure of indulging in something I want.
