Page 34 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

So am I.

The jet touches down smoothly at JFK just after 10 a.m. local time. Laurel is already gathering her things, insisting that she can take an Uber or the subway back to her apartment.

“No,” I say, voice flat, final. “My driver is taking you.”

She opens her mouth to argue. “Don’t you have a meeting or something? I…”

I cut her off with a look. “I do have a meeting, but I don’t care. You’re not catching a ride alone.”

She exhales through her nose, clearly unhappy, but doesn’t fight me further. Good.

The black Escalade is already waiting on the tarmac. I slide in after her, giving the driver her address. She stares out the window the entire drive. I stare at her.

Brooklyn comes into view. Her neighborhood isn’t a war zone, but it’s not safe enough. Not for her. Too many blind corners, too many entry points for anyone with bad intentions.

I step out first, come around to her side, and open her door before the driver can. She takes my hand, steps down, glances up at me with that mix of confusion and something softer.

I grab her suitcase from the trunk myself. And we walk up the cracked concrete steps together. The doorman, older, half-asleep, nods vaguely at us.

I catalog the flickering bulb over the stairwell entrance, the lack of visible cameras. Anyone could walk in.

At her apartment door, she turns, keys already in hand.

“So… I guess this is it,” she says quietly.

I frown. “What is?”

She swallows, eyes flicking away, then back. “What happened in Paris… stays in Paris, right?”

The words land like a slap. What the hell is she talking about? I step closer, crowding her against the door. My hand finds her throat, and I bring my lips to her ear.

“If this is you saying we’re done seeing each other,” I say slowly, voice low, “then you’ve never been more wrong.”

Her eyes widen.

“This just started,” I continue, thumb pressing lightly against her racing pulse. “And I have no intention of ending it anytime soon.”

I tighten my grip, just enough to make the message unmistakable.

“This is only over when I say so.”

Her breath catches as she stares up at me with those wide hazel eyes, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

I kiss her hard, claiming, swallowing the tiny sound she makes. When I pull back, she’s breathing fast, dazed.

“Lock the door behind you, Laurel,” I order.

She nods, and without saying a word, slips inside.

Chapter Eleven

Laurel

I should have known a man like Leonid doesn’t give up easily.

No matter how hard I try to make him see reason, he refuses to back down. He insists we must continue seeing each other, and the worst part is, I kinda want us to. No, scratch that, I need us to keep seeing each other.

I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time I close my eyes, I feel his hands, his mouth, the way he stretched me and made me come apart. I want more. But I have to listen to the voice of reason.