Page 27 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

“It’s cute.” His mouth seals over mine in a slow, deep kiss that steals my breath. I taste myself on his lips.

His hand slides between us, fingers finding my soaked entrance. He circles my clit once, twice, then slips two fingers inside, curling them just right. I whimper into his mouth, hips lifting, chasing the stretch, the pressure. He adds a third finger and kisses me harder, swallowing every sound as he works me open, slow pumps, thumb rubbing tight circles over my clit until I’m trembling, begging against his lips.

“What do you want?” he growls, voice wrecked.

“Your cock,” I gasp. “I want your cock inside me, please.”

He exhales roughly. “I’m going to try to be gentle. But if it’s too much at any point, say it, or scratch your nails down my back. Understand?”

I nod frantically.

“Words, Laurel.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “I understand.”

He kisses me again, then notches the thick head of his cock at my entrance. He teases me first, sliding the tip through my wetness, coating himself, pressing just enough to part me without pushing in.

Then he starts slow.

The stretch burns as he breaches me inch by inch, tearing through the resistance. I buck, crying out, nails digging into his shoulders. He freezes instantly, breathing hard against my neck.

“You good?” His voice is strained with restraint.

I nod, panting. “Yes. Just… a little uncomfortable. That’s all.”

I can see the effort it takes him to hold still, eyes squeezed shut for a second as if he’s fighting his own body.

He presses his forehead to mine, exhales shakily. “Tell me when.”

I nod again. “Keep going.”

He kisses me, soft this time, almost tender, then eases back a fraction before sliding in deeper. Slow.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, voice raw. “So perfect.”

I whimper, hips rocking instinctively, chasing more. He groans again, the sound vibrating through both of us.

I whisper against his lips, voice shaky, “Are you… all the way in?”

He stills, buried deep, breathing hard. “No.”

“Oh.”

His forehead presses to mine, eyes searching. “Talk to me. How do you feel?”

I swallow, trying to find words through the stretch and burn. “It hurts… but not so much. Just—full. Really full.”

He exhales roughly, restraint carved into every line of his face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not. Give me all of you.” I clench around him, desperate, no idea where the move comes from. My inner walls flutter tight.

Leonid groans, low and guttural, hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Naughty girl,” he rasps, voice wrecked.

He slips out slowly, agonizingly slow, and then pushes back in, inch by careful inch, until he’s seated completely. This time the stretch is deeper, and the burn fades into fullness, into something so good my toes curl.

He pauses again, letting me adjust, his breath ragged against my mouth.

Then, finally, he starts to move. Slow, shallow thrusts at first, letting me feel every drag, every push. I moan his name, hips lifting to meet him.