Page 47 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I laugh. “Tasha, I’m still not…”

“What?” She sits up straighter, gesturing at me with the glass. “Babe, this is the plot twist we’ve been waiting for. You have to go.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “One minute I’m stressing about getting caught by the school board, and the next I’m supposed to walk into some high-end kink den on his arm? Who even am I anymore?”

Tasha grins. “You’re the girl finally having the best time of her life. Stop trying to play by the rules for five seconds. Live a little. Be on the edge. I’m so happy Leonid came into your life, he’s literally dragging you out of that shell you’ve been hiding in since Jasper.”

I bite my lip. “What if I don’t like it? What if it’s too much, or I freak out, or—”

She shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Then you tell him. From everything you’ve said about the man, he listens to you. He respects your boundaries. If it’s too much, you walk out. Simple.”

I stare at the carpet for a long moment. She’s right. He does listen.

Tasha yawns dramatically. “Okay, I have to crash. Early shift tomorrow. But promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I will.”

She stands, stretches, then pulls me into a quick hug. “Love you. Go be a little reckless. You deserve it.”

“Love you too.”

After she disappears into her bedroom, I sit on the floor a while longer, phone in my hand. My thumb hovers over Leonid’s name.

Then I type.

Me: Okay. I’ll go with you to the club tomorrow night.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Leonid: Good girl. I’ll send details in the morning.

I exhale, set the phone down, and crawl into Tasha’s guest bed.

Saturday morning, after I get back to my apartment, I get a knock on the door.

I open it to find a delivery guy holding a large matte-black garment box tied with a red satin ribbon. I sign for it, carry it inside, and set it on the couch.

When I lift the lid, black tissue paper parts to reveal the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen: deep crimson silk, floor-length but slit high on one thigh, the bodice structured with a plunging neckline that dips almost to the navel, held together by delicate crisscross straps across the sternum.

The back is open, completely open, down to the dimples above my ass. It’s elegant, and definitely designed to be worn with nothing underneath.

Tucked beside it is a pair of black strappy heels.

A small card rests on top, in Leonid’s bold handwriting: Wear this tonight. I’ll pick you up at 10. —L

Later that night, the knock on my door comes right on time. My heart jumps into my throat, but a smile curls my lips anyway.

I smooth my hands down the front of the red dress one last time. The silk clings to every curve like it was poured over me. I curled my hair into loose waves, shaved every inch of my body, did my makeup soft but smoky, and slipped into the black strappy heels he sent. I look… powerful, and sexy too.

I open the door.

The second he sees me, his face changes, eyes darkening, jaw tightening, that slow, predatory smile spreading across his mouth. He’s in a black tux, obviously bespoke, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and narrow waist, no tie, top button undone. His dark hair is slicked back, accentuating the sharp lines of his face. He looks devastating.

“Laurel,” he breathes, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. His gaze rakes over me, hungry, reverent, like he’s seeing me for the first time all over again.

He closes the distance in two strides, cups my face with both hands, and kisses my cheek. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin.

The sweetness of the gesture catches me off guard. For a moment, I forget how nervous I am about tonight.