Page 32 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

When we finally return to the suite, I turn to him in the foyer. “I had a great time today,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

I start to turn toward my bedroom. His hand catches my wrist, pulling me back to him. “And where are you going?”

Before I can answer, he seals his mouth over mine in a kiss that steals every thought from my head. It’s deep, possessive, tasting of wine and want. His hands slide to my hips, lifting me off the floor. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct; I feel the hard length of him pressing against me through our clothes.

We don’t make it to the bedroom.

He backs me toward the living-area couch, never breaking the kiss. My back hits the cushions; he follows me down, settling his weight between my thighs. His mouth moves to my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point while his hands shove my dress up around my hips.

“Fuck, Laurel,” he growls against my skin. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

I moan, fingers tearing at his shirt buttons. “Me too.”

He yanks my panties to the side, fingers finding me already slick and swollen. He groans when he feels how ready I am, then frees himself with one rough tug. No condom this time; we’re both too far gone to care about anything but the need.

He notches himself at my entrance, pauses just long enough to look into my eyes, then he thrusts in, deep, hard, filling me in one smooth stroke.

I cry out, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t stop. He fucks me with long, powerful strokes, hips snapping, each thrust driving him deeper until I’m trembling, gasping, lost in the rhythm of him inside me.

The couch creaks beneath us. His mouth finds mine again in a messy, desperate kiss, and I come undone around him, walls fluttering, crying his name into his kiss.

He follows moments later, growling my name against my throat, hips grinding deep as he pulls out and spills on my stomach.

We collapse together, breathing hard, sweat-slick, tangled. His lips brush my temple, soft now.

“You’re sleeping in my bed,” he murmurs.

I nod, too wrecked to speak.

Chapter Ten

Leonid

I thought fucking Laurel would purge her from my system. Two nights of burying myself in her tight, perfect body, over and over until we were both wrecked and shaking. It should have been enough. Tasting her, one claim, and I could file her away like every other woman who’s ever crossed my path.

I was wrong.

She’s deeper than that. Embedded. In my head. In my blood. Knowing I’m the first man who’s ever been inside her, ever touched her like this, ever made her come apart, only makes the possessiveness worse.

It’s primal. I want her entirely for myself. No one else gets to see that shy flush on her cheeks, hear that broken little whimper when she comes. She’s mine now. I have no intention of letting her go anytime soon.

The realization unsettles me. I’ve never felt this way about any woman. Never wanted to keep one. Never cared enough to feel anything beyond mild satisfaction and indifference once the clothes came back on.

And yet here I am, sitting across from her on the jet back to New York, pretending to read the same contract clause for the twentieth time while my dick throbs painfully against my zipper.

She’s curled in the opposite seat, e-reader in her lap, legs tucked beneath her. That gourmandise scent of hers, warm vanilla and chocolate, keeps drifting across the space between us every time she shifts.

I’ve never liked chocolate. But around her? I crave it. Crave her. All I can think about is this morning, how I woke her with my mouth between her thighs, how she came on my tongue before I flipped her onto her stomach and fucked her hard from behind, her face buried in the pillow, moaning my name until her voice broke.

She raises her head now and catches me staring. She gives me a shy, hesitant smile, then drops her gaze back to the screen.

Her hand hasn’t moved over the screen in a while. She’s not reading anymore than I’m comprehending this contract.

Our eyes meet again.

Her cheeks bloom tomato red. She bites her lower lip, and I have to grip the armrest to stop myself from groaning out loud.

“Bedroom,” I order, voice rougher than I intend. “Now. Strip. Get on the bed.”