Page 39 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

But when I walk up to my door, I freeze.

Leonid is already here. He’s leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed, suit jacket open, that same unreadable expression on his face.

“You seemed in a hurry to get away, Miss Harper.”

Chapter Twelve

Leonid

All day, Laurel was lodged in my mind like a splinter I couldn’t dig out. I barely made it through the morning meeting, half my attention on the quarterly projections, the other half on the app glowing on my phone under the table. Every time I tapped the screen, I pictured her: thighs clenching in the middle of a lesson, cheeks flushing.

I attended the PTA meeting because I promised myself I’d be more present for Alexei, and that I would no longer send assistants in my place. But the second I walked into that classroom and saw her at the front, I knew concentrating was going to be impossible.

She avoided my eyes the entire time, shifting in her seat, pressing her thighs together every time I triggered the plug. I could see the flush creeping up her neck, the way she gripped the podium. When she excused herself mid-sentence, I waited exactly a minute before following.

Fingering her in that bathroom, her skirt bunched around her hips, panties discarded, my hand over her mouth to muffle those sweet, broken sounds, was the only thing that kept me sane for the rest of the meeting.

Afterward, I dropped Alexei off with Igor, ignored my brother’s raised eyebrow when I said I had “somewhere to be,” and drove straight here. I got here first because I ran every red light.

“What… how did you get here so fast?”

I want to tell her that her car is no match for the one I drove here. I’ve already offered to replace it more than once; each time, she shut me down.

Instead, I step closer, crowding her against the door. “That’s a rude way to welcome a guest, don’t you think?”

We stare at each other. Her chest rises and falls too fast; I can see her pulse jumping in her throat.

“Aren’t you going to open the door?” I ask, voice low.

She hesitates, then turns, fumbles the key into the lock. The door swings open. I follow her inside, close enough that my chest brushes her back.

The moment the door clicks shut behind us, I’m on her.

I spin her around, pin her back to the wood, and take her mouth in a bruising kiss. She gasps into it; I swallow the sound. My hand dives under her skirt, finding her soaked. I groan against her lips as I push two fingers inside her, curling them immediately to that spot that makes her knees buckle.

“Leonid—” she moans my name like a plea, hips rocking into my hand.

I pump faster, thumb circling her clit, free hand braced beside her head to keep her pinned. She’s trembling, whimpering, nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.

I pull my fingers out abruptly.

She cries out, frustrated, eyes flashing like she wants to murder me.

I smirk. “I’d love to keep going like this, but I need to be inside you.”

I haven’t been inside her since Paris, and my cock is about to fucking explode if I don’t bury myself in her tight little cunt right now.

I unzip my trousers with one hand, shove them down just enough to free my cock. It springs out, thick, hard, tip already leaking. Her gaze drops to it instantly. Awe. Hunger. The same look she gave me the first time she saw it in Paris.

I’ll never get tired of that look.

I pump myself once, twice, and then notch the head at her entrance, sliding through her wetness, teasing us both.

She plants a hand on my chest. “Protection.”

I pause, breathing hard. “I think we passed that point, baby.”

I lean in, lips brushing her ear. “I’m clean.”