Page 28 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

He captures my wrists in one big hand and pins them above my head, caging me beneath him. His eyes lock on mine.

“Tell me how you feel,” he growls.

“Great,” I gasp. “I love… having you inside me.”

He groans, hips snapping harder. “You feel so fucking good.”

“More,” I beg against his lips.

His mouth crashes down on mine, swallowing my moans. Then he slams in deep, once, twice, and I arch, crying out against his lips. My nails rake down his back, hard enough to leave marks.

He freezes instantly, buried to the hilt. “Too much?” He resumes, harder now and faster, each thrust driving the air from my lungs.

I shake my head frantically. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

A dark smirk curves his lips. His free hand slips between us, fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles.

Pleasure coils tight and fast. I’m whimpering, panting, hips bucking wildly.

“Come for me,” he orders against my mouth. “Let me feel you.”

The command shatters me. I come with a broken cry, his name torn from my throat, walls pulsing around him, body shaking. Stars burst behind my eyelids.

Leonid’s rhythm falters. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate. A low, guttural groan rips from him as he slams in one last time and comes hard, hips grinding against mine like he’s trying to fuse us.

We stay locked like that, breathing ragged, sweat-slick skin pressed together. He kisses me, slow, lazy, tender now, forehead resting against mine.

I can’t believe what just happened. My first time. With Leonid Volkov. My student’s parent.

No. I’m not going to think about it right now. That’s tomorrow’s problem.

Chapter Nine

Laurel

I wake to the soft, rhythmic clack of a keyboard.

My eyes flutter open. Morning light spills through the tall windows, gilding the room in pale gold.

Leonid sits beside me in bed, shirtless, laptop balanced on his lap. The sheets are pooled around his waist; his broad back and tattooed arms flex subtly with each keystroke. He turns his head and catches me watching, and a slow, warm smile curves his mouth.

“Hey,” I whisper, voice still thick with sleep.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses me, deep, lazy, and slow. His lips taste faintly of coffee. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” I stretch a little, feeling the pleasant ache between my legs. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little.” He closes the laptop and sets it on the bedside table. “Around midnight, my assistant messaged about something that needed my attention. I’ve been working since.”

Before I can respond, he captures my mouth again. This kiss is deeper, hungrier, his tongue stroking mine in a rhythm that makes me whimper into him. My body responds instantly, heat pooling low, thighs pressing together.

His hand slips beneath the sheet, sliding between my legs. Fingers brush my wet entrance, teasing, circling.

“How sore are you?” he murmurs against my lips.

“A little,” I gasp, hips bucking up into his touch. “But… don’t stop.”

He chuckles, then withdraws his hand completely. I almost cry out in protest.