by Nikki Winter
“I...don’t...whine...” Harper gasped as he thrust two fingers inside her, twisting them until he rubbed the tips against a spot that made her skin feel as though it was changing temperatures with every breath she took.
Konstantine kept the pressure up on that spot, never once taking his eyes off her face. “You do. But I like to hear it.”
This time when she gripped his wrist it was because she could feel the orgasm he was so easily manipulating her into dancing up her spine. It spread a relentless heat to her pussy. “Ah...Koz...I’m about to—”
“I’m not stopping you, Sweets. Go ahead,” he cut in, reaching up with his other hand to pinch a nipple. The tug was all she needed to fall right over the edge.
“Now, don’t you feel better?” Konstantine purred in her ear as he flipped her over onto her tummy and raised her hips. “Instead of concentrating on all those irrational fears—”
“They are not irrational, you manipulative dickhead,” Harper growled, trying to inhale normally again.
“—how about I give you something really nice to distract you?” he continued as though she hadn’t interrupted him.
“No, no, no. You are not gonna keep...fuck!”
Pulling back from having just slammed his thick length into her, Konstantine chuckled as he pushed back inside. “That’s the idea, Sweets.”
He stuffed some pillows underneath her stomach, and they both groaned as it caused him to tap against her womb. Using the grip of his hands on her waist, he moved Harper to slam back against him. “You can try being logical tomorrow...that is, if you can even talk by then.”
She started to open her mouth to call him something aside from a child of God but could only manage a soft,“Oh.”
Her heart beat a staccato rhythm, skipping when she felt the head of his cock brush across that same button that had made her melt for him just minutes ago.
“I can feel it every time you tighten around me, Sweets,” Konstantine growled over her shoulder before nipping her nape. “This is all that matters right now, isn’t it?”
He fucked her harder, knowing by now that she needed the hammering motion whenever they connected, understanding she wouldn’t break from extra-hard loving.
“Yes...God...yes...” Harper moved against him, biting down on her lower lip to stifle the sounds pouring out of her.
His palm came down on her ass and she yelped. “Don’t,” he demanded. “I wanna hear you.”
She whimpered, and he pulled back until nothing but the tip of his cock remained, then once again surged inside with enough power that it shook the bed frame. “Koz!”
“That’s it, Sweets. Don’t hide from me...don’t ever hide from me...”
Her thighs clenched as sweat rolled between her shoulder blades. “I need...”
“I already know what you need.” He pulled her up until her back was against his chest, turning her head to capture her mouth with his own while his hand found its way to where they were connected and pinched down on her clit.
Harper came with a hoarse cry, her nails digging into the forearm wrapped around her waist as Konstantine grunted once, twice, and flooded her canal.
***
“Now what did we learn from waking me up with unnecessary bullshit?” Konstantine whispered to the back of Harper’s head as he pulled her into their previous spooning position.
“That you’re an unreasonable, controlling, sex-crazed demon who has serious narcissistic issues and the inability to take no as an answer?” she panted.
He ran a hand down her hip and pressed his lips to her shoulder, tracing nonsensical patterns on her skin, enjoying the soft texture and the sweet smell of it. “That would be right, Sweets. That would be right...”
***
Konstantine didn’t even reach for her when the sun finally burned through his closed lids enough that he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He knew the exact moment she’d slipped from the bed, had listened to the front door slam and the way she peeled out of her driveway.
His lips curled as he took a deep breath and rolled onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. Poor thing. She actually thought that would stop him...
Seven
Konstantine sighed. It went ignored so he sighed again and again and again until Ivan Vetrov snapped from the other side of the table, “I’m not asking you what’s wrong.”
Konstantine’s brows lowered. “Why not?”
“Because I want to sit here, drink a beer, shove a burger halfway down my throat and—”
“Think about all the ways you’d like to dirty up poor innocent little Miss Margo?”
He caught the glare from eyes and a face so similar to his own that he couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s son. Konstantine knew he’d hit the nail on the head. No matter how many different ways his father denied it, the man had it bad for Margo Davis. Konstantine had noticed at a very young age that there was something between Ivan and the woman with the sparkling brown eyes, the gorgeous smile, and the ability to make the best goddamn burgers they’d ever had.
The Manhattan native had one of the most successful businesses this side of East Village. The moment a completely cooking-deficient Ivan discovered her, he and Konstantine had occupied Margo’s at least four times a week from then on. Just a little over twenty-five years later, and here they were, in the same booth they’d always sat in, eating the traditional house special burgers with chili cheese fries and fried pickles. It really didn’t get any better than the fried pickles...
“I should hire someone to shave your head,” Ivan stated.
Gasping, Konstantine jerked back, running his fingers through his hair out of instinct to protect. “How dare you threaten my precious locks just because you’re losing yours?”
His father’s signature, blank stare never changed.
Konstantine sighed. “Okay, so your hair is just as thick and lustrous as mine. I’m still insulted.”
“I’m insulted that you just used the word lustrous in a sentence, and yet I refrain from reaching across the table and smacking you for it.”
He smirked. “Because you know damn well Miss Margo would have your ass.” Margo had been the second woman to show Konstantine what it was like to have a mother. The first had been Elena Sweet. She was never one to go for Ivan’s bullying. What Konstantine couldn’t understand was what kept the two from carrying things further?
Ivan grunted from the other side of the booth and picked up his beer without a response. He found that funny. One of the most powerful men in America couldn’t work up the nerve to ask out a woman he’d been attracted to since Konstantine was still wearing pull-ups. His corporate raiding father was afraid of rejection.
Ivan had taken over Vetrov Corp. from his own father almost thirty years ago. He followed in Czar Vetrov’s footsteps and found himself vice president of his father’s corporation before he’d even hit his mid-thirties.
Soon after, he was in an arranged marriage between himself and a girl his parents thought had the proper breeding and a good familial history. Konstantine had never doubted for a moment that his father loved him, but he was well aware that if Ivan had been able to pick his own wife, his own family, he wouldn’t be edging into his sixties alone and unhappy. Anya—Konstantine’s mother—had left when Konstantine was very young.
He never stopped to think about the woman who’d abandoned him. She didn’t deserve his thoughts. She’d made her choice the day she handed over full custody of their son to her husband.
“I think Margo feels the same way about you, Pop,” Konstantine said softly, watching the small, pretty culinary genius mill about, interacting with her usual customers.
“Leave it,” Ivan replied so Konstantine did...for now. The older man looked away from Margo. “What was the sighing about?”
His lips twisted as he sat back. “I’m struggling with something.” It wasn’t a lie. Harper hadn’t answered any of his calls all day, and he knew better than to go by Sweet Treats.
Konstantine tucked in his lips before nodding slowly. “I see I’m going to have to put you in a home later in life.”
Ivan snorted. “I just don’t understand why you don’t simply tell the girl you’re in love with her.”
“Oh, because you can certainly throw stones from that glass house.”
“Learn from my mistakes, Koz.” There was a quiet undertone of regret in Ivan’s voice; his eyes had strayed back to Margo.
“Her children are grown and have their own families to worry about. She buried her husband ten years ago, and from what I saw he never really appreciated her. You can sit and watch her like a sad puppy or you can be the same ruthless, no-holds-barred man I’ve seen you become in conferences and simply ask. Her. Out.”
“I told you to leave it.”
“And I’m telling you to stop being so goddamned afraid to do something that will make you happy.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“And neither do you.”
Ivan relented, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “Take your own advice, boy.”
Konstantine remained silent.
“You want Harper? Back her into a corner. Make it so her only option is you.”
“You mean the same way you did with Kimura?” he questioned, mentioning the recent deal he’d helped Ivan with while in Japan a month ago.
His father smirked. “Precisely.” Eyes twinkling the same way they always did when he was about to plan out something major, Ivan drummed the table with his fingers. “You make it so she’s fighting not to say yes, yet she knows there’s no better deal on the table than you.”
“Valentine’s Day,” Konstantine said.
“What?”
“Valentine’s Day,” he repeated. “I need to make her go out with me on Valentine’s Day. It’s a reasonable excuse to get her to see me in a different light while remaining in the same comfort zone of a friendship. I can make her believe it’s casual while really showing her no one knows her better than I do.” As he spoke, Konstantine’s mind suddenly landed on something vital. Sixteen years ago, when he’d made that bet with Harper, the biggest reward had been the kiss, but the fact she had to go out with him on Valentine’s Day had just made things so much better. He’d moved too fast the other night when they slept together, but he could fix it now; make things manageable again. His head snapped up. “Softball!”
Ivan’s brows drew down. “I don’t get it.”
“I’ll explain it on our wedding day, Pop.” Standing, Konstantine grabbed his leather bomber and threw a couple of twenties down on the table. “Do us both a favor. Stop regretting shit you can’t change and work on the things that you can.” With that said, he hauled ass out of Margo’s and went in search of a cab, his brain already formulating a plan.
***
Ivan watched his boy go, a small smile forming on his face. Konstantine hadn’t always been the easiest child to deal with. Stubborn and more than a bit opinionated, the boy—now a man—had driven him up a wall on many days, but he couldn’t be prouder if he tried.
“Do us both a favor. Stop regretting shit you can’t change and work on the things that you can.”
His son’s words rang in his head as Margo finally decided to stop ignoring his stares and looked over his way. Twenty-odd years, and so many regrets—too many regrets. He slid out of the booth and started towars her, watching the way her eyes widened in her pixie-like face, saw the way her sienna skin reddened right around her sculpted cheekbones and knew she remembered the same thing he did—that one night they’d stopped ignoring one another, that one night he’d had her in his bed.
When he stopped before her, not paying attention to the curious glances others shot their way, Ivan heard the way she sighed, noticed how she leaned toward him. Speaking softly, he simply stated, “I need to ask you something.”
***
“You’re in my room again. Why are you in my room again?”
Konstantine looked up from the magazine he’d been so calmly glancing through while resting on Harper’s bed and answered her, “Because I’m done sitting around while you tiptoe about the house, avoiding me like I’m some lunatic waiting to get you sedated so I can take pieces of your hair and try cloning you.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Get outta my room, Koz.” Coming home had been her only option, and not seeing Konstantine’s rental car outside had given her a spark of hope that she could lock herself in her room for the rest of the night. Right now, she’d bet her last dollar the bastard had parked out back.
“No can do, Sweets,” he casually retorted. “I’ve got plans for us today.”
“I’m not gonna ask because I really don’t give a shit what you have planned. I just want—”
“Don’t care what you want,” Konstantine interrupted in that same goddamn casual tone. “You and I are going out to play softball with the neighborhood kids.”
Her head jerked up. “Koz, it’s fucking freezing outside!” Not to mention she was trying to stay away from him until she got her hormones under control.
“Which is why, like everyone else, you’ll be bundled up nice and tight.”
“I am not—”
“You are,” he stated flatly, waving a hand through the air.
Harper’s eye started to twitch. “Because I’m merciful, I’ll give you a ten-second head start to get out of my sight.”
Standing, he tossed down the magazine and folded his arms across his chest. “You want me outta your hair for the next two and a half weeks?”
Intrigued now, even as her stomach flipped—not liking the idea of him being anywhere aside from near her—Harper lifted both brows and signaled for him to continue.
“You play softball and win, I’ll stay with Owen and Janet, subjecting myself to God knows what visually and mentally, and never even bringing up what happened last night,” Konstantine finished.
Her eyes narrowed on him. “And if I lose?”
“You spend Valentine’s Day with me.”
Head dropping back, Harper groaned. “Not this shit again, Koz.”
“Yes, this shit again.” He moved past her and started down the hall. “Be ready in ten minutes, or I swear to God I will come back and you will not like me. I can’t force you into bed with me again—I’d never even think it—but you’re not gonna keep hiding from me.”
Harper mocked him under her breath in a tone that didn’t even come close to resembling his voice.
“What was that?” Konstantine shouted from down the hall.
“Nothing!” she yelled back, stepping into her room and closing her door. Flopping down on her mattress face-first, she grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, kicking her feet.
“Feel better now?” he called out.
“Shaddup!”
***
He was being an asshole and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. Backing Harper into a corner was liable to get him one of two places—the hospital if she came out swinging or right where he wanted them to be. Therefore, Konstantine took a chance. And as he watched her come waddling down the stairs, no doubt trying to readjust her body to the feel of long johns and several layers along with a parka, he knew it would be more than worth it to freeze his balls off playing with a few crumbsnatchers.
Konstantine stood and shook out his left leg, praying his cup stayed in the right place. It wouldn’t be hard to warm up after being outside for an hour or two, but he’d damn sure be fucked if he got hit in the groin with that ball.
***
She was getting really sick of this feeling, of waiting on edge, mild panic taking over. Harper could hear the slow chant of her name as she stepped up to the plate.
“Yo, Sweets!” Konstantine called out from the pitcher’s mound. Several of the kids on the field giggled.
Her eyes narrowed on him as he shouted, “You lose this game and you’re mine on Friday nig
ht!”
Her heart jumped at the words. Harper wanted to be his in every way imaginable, but those thoughts would lead her down a path that could destroy every single brick in their friendship. So instead of replying she held up three fingers and yelled back, “Read between the lines, Vetrov!”
With a loud chuckle, he wound up, and she got her bat into position. When he released the ball, she watched every millisecond of its progression towards her and, right at the last moment, she swung. With a smirk, Harper watched the ball fly back toward the field, shielding her eyes as it rolled effortlessly through the air, going and going and going until...it landed in the mitt of some kid she would swear on everything was Mitch Russo’s son.
“Jesus Christ!” Harper shouted, throwing down her bat.
“Yes!” Konstantine crowed, throwing his hands up in the air.
As their teams left the field—the very one she’d played on as a kid—he strolled towards her, hair escaping from his knit cap, those goddamn eyes twinkling. With a wide smile, he repeated the words that had made her stomach knot sixteen years ago, “Time to pay up, Sweets.”
Eight
Valentine’s Day...
“Sweets!”
Harper’s door vibrated with every knock from one of Konstantine’s freakishly large hands.
“The banging is excessive! Stop being excessive!”
“Stop taking all goddamned night to get ready and c’mon!”
“You can’t rush perfection!”
“I swear to God, Sweets...”
“Five minutes, man!”
“When I get my hands on you...”
Fed up now, she yanked her door open. “What?” Harper challenged. “You’ll. Do. What?” Living with Konstantine since she lost that goddamn game had been next to impossible. She chose not to examine whether or not she’d thrown the game subconsciously, but she did know that if he didn’t stop his domineering I-am-man bullshit she was going to throw him—from a window—and chuckle as he went splat all over the ground.