Page 45 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I don’t stop.

I suck harder, hollow my cheeks, take him as deep as I can. His control snaps. His hand tightens in my hair, and he thrusts once, twice, then comes with a guttural groan, hot spurts flooding my mouth. I swallow greedily, but some escapes, spilling down my chin.

My body jerks, and pleasure crashes through me without warning. I come, thighs shaking, a muffled moan vibrating around his cock.

His thumb gathers the last trace of cum from my lower lip, then presses it back into my mouth. I close my lips around it instinctively, sucking gently, swirling my tongue. His eyes darken instantly.

“Did you just get off sucking me?” he asks, voice low and rough, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where some of his release had spilled.

I nod, cheeks burning, still tasting him on my tongue. “Yeah.”

“Such a naughty girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with approval.

Before I can respond, he lifts me, strong hands under my thighs, and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. My knees sink into the couch cushions on either side of his hips.

His mouth crashes against mine. I thought he might be grossed out by the taste of himself on my tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care at all. If anything, it makes him kiss me harder, deeper, tongue stroking mine like he’s trying to devour every last trace.

His hands are already tearing at my bra in one impatient tug. The panties follow. He growls against my lips.

“I’ll buy you more later. A dozen. A hundred. Whatever you want.”

I almost laugh at how needy he sounds, but he’s lifting my hips, lining himself up, and slamming into me in one brutal thrust. I cry out, head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders.

He fucks me into the couch, every stroke driving me deeper into the cushions until the world narrows to the stretch of him inside me, the slap of skin, the wet sounds of my arousal, his low groans against my throat.

I come again, shattering, clenching around him so hard he curses in Russian. He follows right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a guttural sound that vibrates through both of us.

After we finally catch our breath, he carries me to the bathroom. We shower together, then collapse onto my bed.

“How’s Alexei?” I ask, head on his chest.

Leonid exhales, fingers tracing idle patterns on my hip. “He was already in bed when I left. Kept asking for one more bedtime story. Then another. Then another.” A small, almost fond smile tugs at his mouth. “I think I read half the book twice.”

I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. “That’s good. Really good.”

He looks down at me, eyes softer than usual. “How is he in class lately?”

I think for a second. “He still doesn’t like relating to the other students much. Keeps to himself. But he’s not as aggressive as he used to be. He’s… opening up. Slowly. We just have to give him time.”

Leonid nods, expression thoughtful. “Time,” he repeats quietly.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “Fine. Two, then.”

He chuckles. “Shoot.”

I hesitate, tracing the edge of a faint scar on his shoulder with my fingertip. “Why do you hold back when we’re having sex?”

His body goes still beneath me for a beat. Then he exhales, rough. “Baby, I just fucked you so hard you melted into the damn couch.”

“Yeah.” I prop my chin on his chest so I can meet his eyes. “But I still feel like you’re… reining it in. That night in Paris, you said you liked it rough. I told you I didn’t want to be handled like porcelain. Yet I feel like you are.”

He groans. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Challenge me.”