Page 24 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

“Uh… normal stuff.”

He tilts his head. “What’s ‘normal stuff’?”

I scramble. “I—I like… kissing. Touching. You know the usual.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “What makes you come? What exactly do you like?”

My face must give me away because his expression shifts. He goes very still.

“Is this your first time?” he asks quietly.

I can’t lie. He’s going to find out anyway. I nod, biting my lower lip so hard I taste copper.

He exhales roughly, drags both hands through his hair, and steps back half a pace. “What?”

He stares at me, jaw working. “All those messages. All those fantasies you typed about me splitting you open, about me fucking you until you scream. You’ve never…”

I nod again.

He lets out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “We can’t do this.”

My heart plummets. “Why not? Because I’m a virgin?” The words come out sharper than I intend. “You have a thing against virgins?”

“No.” He steps closer again, voice low and strained. “Because this is your first time. You deserve more than me. More than just sex. I can’t give you more, Laurel. I can’t give you gentle, slow, or romance. I like things a certain way in the bedroom, ways you won’t be able to handle.”

I close the distance between us in one step, press my chest to his, palms flat against the hard planes of his pecs. His heartbeat thunders under my fingers.

“I’m not asking for more,” I whisper. “I’m not asking you to treat me like porcelain. I want you to drill me. I want you to fuck me the way you want to. The way I’ve been imagining since the first time I saw you.”

He groans, low, guttural, almost pained, and his control snaps.

His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry, desperate. One hand fists in my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wants it; the other clamps around my hip, yanking me flush against him so I can feel every thick, hard inch of him pressing into my stomach.

I moan into his mouth. He swallows the sound, tongue stroking deep, claiming, tasting like wine and want. His teeth graze my lower lip, tug, then soothe with another slow lick. My hands scramble up his back, nails digging into muscle, trying to pull him closer, deeper, more.

He walks me backward until my spine hits the wall. His thigh wedges between mine, pressing up against my aching center. I gasp, hips jerking forward on instinct, grinding against the hard muscle there.

“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” I breathe, trembling. “I want it. I want you.”

His eyes are filled with want. His hand slides down and cups me through my dress. I whimper, hips rocking into his palm.

“Last chance,” he rasps, forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged. “Tell me to stop.”

I shake my head. “Don’t you dare.”

He groans and kisses me again, harder, hungrier, devouring. And I know there’s no going back.

Chapter Eight

Laurel

Leonid flips me around so my back is to his chest, his heat pressing against me like a wall of fire. His lips brush my ear, breath hot and ragged.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers, voice gravel-rough.

I nod, throat too tight for words. “Yeah.”