Page 56 of Konstantin
Konstantin leans in, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. “You belong here. Right next to me. Don’t let them intimidate you.”
But that’s not what this is. I can’t afford the risk of being outed. I’ve been involved in too many cases related to the Mafia and other criminal organizations, and depending on who these men are, they might have crossed paths with me. If one of them has, I’m fucked.
I force my feet forward, and his hand slips through mine, giving me a surprising reassuring squeeze. He lets me go just as I slip into the chair beside him.
“Gentlemen, welcome. I know some of you have traveled a great distance to be here, and that is not overlooked.”
They nod solemnly while I uncap the pen on the table and open the leather-bound notebook waiting for me too. I start to write themoment one of them speaks, discreetly looking at every face and not recognizing any of them.
Relief washes over me. My cover is safe. For now, at least.
The meeting drones on, words like capital, expansion, and equity buzzing around the marble table. Countries are named. Figures are tossed into the air like poker chips.
Then I feel it.
His hand.
It lands on my thigh without warning, short-circuiting my brain.
I inhale sharply, trying to keep my expression neutral while my eyes are on the paper in front of me, pretending I can still take notes while every nerve in my body locks on to the man beside me.
Konstantin doesn’t so much as glance at me. His gaze is steady, fixed on whoever’s speaking at the far end of the table, like he’s actually interested in logistics and offshore accounts and political red tape. But his fingers move with purpose, creeping beneath the slit of my dress, dragging higher.
Every inch of exposed skin he touches burns.
I shift subtly, trying to push his hand away without drawing attention.
Big mistake. He tightens his grip on my inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh like a silent command.
Don’t move. Don’t fight me.
But a part of me doesn’t want him to stop.
The atmosphere in the room turns suffocating, like it’s pressing down on my chest. I’ve trained for danger. I’ve dealt with criminals. But nothing could’ve prepared me for this—being touched under a table in a room full of men who would probably gut me if they knew who I really was.
Then he slides my panties to the side, and I nearly choke on air.
His fingers brush my clit—featherlight, testing, teasing. My thighs tremble. My lashes flutter as I fight to keep from making a singlesound.
One breath too deep, one glance too quick, and they’ll all know. They’ll see it. The way he touches me. The way I react. The way I melt for him while I hate it.
I grip the edge of the notepad tighter. Words blur. My pen drags over the paper, illegible and shaking.
Then he pushes two fingers inside me, and I nearly drop the pen.
The pressure is slow at first. Gentle. But God help me, I want more. I crave it. My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek, biting hard.
Across the table, someone clears their throat. A man begins to speak again. The words swim past me like white noise.
Konstantin’s fingers thrust rougher. More insistent.
I move in my seat and try to push him away, but he only takes me deeper. Like a silent warning that he’s in charge.
I’m soaked. My body clenches. My thighs quiver violently under the table, desperate for release, for relief. He turns his head slightly, just enough to catch my eye, and the look he gives me is pure sin.
Oh God, this isn’t happening.
My body is screaming. And there is no hiding it anymore. I’m going to come in front of a room full of dangerous men, and I’m powerless to stop it.
