Page 22 of Twisted Fate

“Until it’s time for us to have an heir,” he repeats, taking a step back, “we need to maintain appropriate boundaries.” He glances at the fence between us, clearly not failing to see the irony of it.

“Boundaries.” I repeat the word, and he nods.

“Starting with tonight.” He angles himself toward the doorway leading back into his suite. “Goodnight, Sophia.”

It’s the second time we’ve parted this way. I watch him go, my chest tight with frustration, my body simmering with unwanted heat. I want him more than I should, and this endless back and forth is only making that more problematic, too. If he’d just fuck me, I could get it out of my system and focus on finding the perfect moment to complete my mission.

I stride back into my room—my separate room, because apparently my husband is determined to be the first man in history to refuse sex on his honeymoon—and pace the floor, my mind racing.

The plan, on its face, was simple. Meet Konstantin, marry Konstantin, kill Konstantin. The difficulties were meant to be things like the fact that my husband is special-forces trained, intelligent, and suspicious. I was meant to worry about keeping my cover, not about whether or not my husband would actually want to fuck me.

Getting close enough to him to kill is going to be difficult outside of that. But I can’t wait around for him to decide he wants a child. It could be years before that happens—Kane is unlikely to be that patient, and I certainly am not. I didn’t want to spend another year working for Kane—I certainly don’t want to potentially spend months or years playacting as Konstantin Abramov’s wife, waiting for him to come to my bed or for some other opportunity to present itself.

And he made it clear that even then, he intends to be businesslike about it. Cold and formal. My plan requires him to lose himself in lust and passion, and he seems adamantly against allowing himself to feel either of those things.

I know the potential for them is in him. I can feel it, every time he’s near me. But he won’t unleash it, and I can’t seem to find the switch to make him lose control.

Patience, I tell myself. It’s been all of a day since our wedding night. But I only have a week here.

Then we’ll be back in Miami, with all of his security, all of his reinforcements. Sure, they still won’t be standing over our bed, but it will make killing him much more complicated.

I stop in front of a mirror, studying my reflection. I’m aware of my looks—I’ve never been one to ascribe to false modesty. I yank the tie out of my hair, letting it fall down my shoulders, thick and dark and wavy. Most of my body is visible in the tiny black swimsuit I’m wearing, and I glance over it in the mirror. Full breasts, slender hips, a firm ass, legs for days. I’ve sculpted my body through endless hours of training in the gym, and it’svisible in every inch. Wide green eyes, a full mouth, a slender neck, sharp collarbones. Konstantin shouldn’t be able to resist me.

But he isn’t falling for any of it. Or rather, he is falling for it—I can see the desire in his eyes when he looks at me—but he's refusing to act on it. He's choosing duty over desire, control over passion.

It's… intriguing.

I've never met a man who could resist me when I was actively trying to seduce him. Most men are predictable, driven by basic instincts that make them easy to manipulate. But Konstantin is different. He's disciplined, controlled. He knows what he wants, and he's not willing to compromise.

A part of me—a part that has nothing to do with my mission—wants to see what it would take to break that control. To make him give in to the desire I can see simmering beneath the surface. To make him want me so badly that he forgets all about duty and appropriateboundaries.

I shake my head, banishing the thought and forcing myself to refocus on the reasons why I’m doing this. This isn't about my ego or my curiosity. This is about completing my mission so I can finally get the information I need about my family's killers. So I can finally put the past behind me and start a new life—a life that doesn't involve killing for Nicholas Kane.

If seduction isn't going to work, I need another approach. I need to get Konstantin alone, away from the resort staff and any potential witnesses. Somewhere isolated where I can complete my mission without complications.

I pull out my phone and start researching the activities offered by the resort. Safari excursions, hiking trips, a hot-air balloon ride, private dinners under the stars… there it is. A full-day safari excursion, just the two of us and a guide.

It’s not ideal, but I might be able to find a way to get Konstantin completely alone. I don’t relish the idea of taking out the guide, but if it’s necessary…

I need to finish this. If I can’t do it with sex, then some other means is needed. And maybe this excursion won’t give me the moment I need, but it might break down some walls between Konstantin and me. We’ll be almost alone, spending time together. It might chip away at his self-control, if nothing else.

I book the excursion for tomorrow, then sit on the edge of the bed, my mind still racing. I should be focused on planning the details of the kill, if I’m fortunate enough to find an opening, but instead, I find myself thinking about Konstantin himself. About the way he looked at me by the pool, that desire in his eyes warring with his determination to resist me.

Without thinking, my hand brushes against the side of my breast, my fingers skimming under the edge of my bikini top. My eyes flutter closed, imagining if he’d reached for me, if he’d given in to the kiss. My thumb skims across my nipple as it stiffens under the fabric, and I bite my lip, stifling a moan as my other hand slides down the taut plane of my stomach.

Is he in the other room, doing the same thing?He’d been hard out by the pool—even in the dark, the thick ridge standing out against the fabric of his pants had been unmistakable. He might be too stubborn to give in to his desire for me, but I can picture him in his bed on the other side of the wall, his fingers rapidly undoing his belt to free that thick length, his hand wrapping around?—

My hand dips beneath the edge of my bikini, tugging it to one side as my fingers slide through my folds. I’m already wet, so much so that I can’t pretend that it’s not from how close I was to Konstantin outside just now, how being that close to him makes me feel. Heat creeps up my neck at the slick sensation betweenmy thighs, even as my clit pulses with the need for me to slide my fingersjusta bit higher. I shouldn't be this turned on by a man who just rejected me, but there's something about Konstantin's control that makes me want to shatter it—makes me want to see what he'd be like if he finally let go.

I tip my head back, letting my fingers drag higher, up through my soaked folds. My fingers circle my clit, and I bite back a moan. I shouldn't be doing this. I should be planning, strategizing, figuring out how to complete my mission. But all I can think about is Konstantin—his broad shoulders, his strong hands, the way his eyes darken when he looks at me. The tattoos that I’ve barely seen, that I’m curious to see the rest of. That thick, solid length between his thighs that I can so easily picture. I feel myself clench, imagining all of that pushing inside of me.

If I’m being honest, I’m a little resentful that he’s holding out on me. It felt like a consolation, a stroke of luck that my final job—and my final seduction—was a man who I’d happily fuck even if he wasn’t a job. I was looking forward to finding out what Konstantin Abramov looked like naked, what he’d be like in bed.

My clit throbs against my fingertips as I circle it, rubbing faster. I drop my other hand between my thighs, slipping a finger inside of myself and wishing I’d thought to bring a toy. I add a second finger, arching into my own touch, and try to imagine that it’s Konstantin’s. I try to imagine how he might touch me—if he’d be gentle, or rough. If he’d maintain that iron control that he so prides himself on, or if he’d finally let go, overcome with pleasure.

I wonder if he’d care about making me come, or if hisboundariesextend to only getting himself off, the bare minimum required to make an heir, and then leaving me cold. He seems to want to make it sound like that, but I can’t quite bring myself to believe it.

My pace quickens as I gasp, my fingers thrusting faster as I make tight, quick circles around my clit. I picture Konstantin on his knees in front of me, shirtless, all that ink and muscle on display as he thrusts two broad fingers into me, his head lowering to lap at my clit as I spread my legs for him. I imagine him stroking his cock with his other hand, pushing himself close to an orgasm, holding it there until I come on his tongue and he can fuck me. I picture my hand wrapped in that dark blond hair, holding his mouth against my clit as I ride his face?—

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