Page 51 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

It’s beautiful, terrifying, and at the same time, overwhelming.

I recover enough to turn, and find Leonid watching me, not the scene. His eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on my face like he’s trying to read every thought flashing through my mind.

My gaze darts back to the glass just in time to see a woman on her knees, breasts bound tight with red rope, nipples clamped. One man eats her out from behind while another woman stands over her, trailing a feathered whip across her clamped nipples.

I’ve never considered myself a voyeur, but the sounds, the wet slap of skin, the raw, desperate moans, the low growls of pleasure, they all sink into my skin like heat. My thighs press together. I’m soaked. The ache between my legs is almost painful. I didn’t realize this part of myself existed.

“So none of those men or women can come up here?”

Leonid’s voice is velvet against my ear. “They wouldn’t dare. This is a private room.”

I swallow. “Yeah?”

“I thought I made it clear that I never shared what’s mine?”

The possessive edge in his voice makes my pulse spike.

“So I’m yours?” I whisper.

His thumb brushes my jaw, trails down my neck. “I thought I made that abundantly clear.”

I want to ask him does that mean I’m his girlfriend now? But I bite my lip instead.

He leans in, voice dropping to a growl. “We can leave anytime.”

“No,” I breathe. “I don’t want to.”

His gaze drops to my thigh, then lower. “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

I nod, cheeks burning.

He inhales, and his eyes flutter half-closed. “I can smell you.”

Heat floods my entire body. I’m trembling.

He reaches for his champagne flute, takes a sip, then grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into a fierce kiss. Cold, crisp bubbles flood my mouth as he pours the drink from his lips to mine. I swallow greedily, tasting champagne and him.

He sets the glass down with a soft clink, then slides his hand up the high slit of my dress. My legs part for him without conscious thought, needy, and desperate for his skin on mine.

His fingers find me bare. “No panties,” he growls against my mouth.

“The dress didn’t allow them,” I gasped.

“Hmm.” He slowly circles my clit, then slips two fingers inside me. I’m so wet they slide in easily. My hips rock forward, chasing more, a moan escaping my lips.

My eyes flick back to the glass wall, just in time to see a woman on all fours, back arched, getting pounded from behind by two men. How they are able to manage that position is beyond me.

Leonid’s fingers curl inside me, thumb pressing my clit.

I turn to him, panting. “You’re not even watching.”

He doesn’t even glance at the scene below. His eyes are on me, dark, possessive, burning.

“I don’t care about them,” he says, voice rough. “I only care about this.” His other hand finds my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, pulling me flush against him so I feel exactly how much he means it.

“About the way your pulse is hammering right here—” he drags his thumb down the column of my throat “—about how wet you are just from sitting here, watching them fuck.”

He curls his fingers inside me and I buck my hips, my mouth opening wide.