Page 54 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

We collapse onto the settee, sweaty, shaking, tangled. He’s still inside me, softening slowly, arms wrapped around my waist, face buried in my neck.

I realize then that tears are streaming down my cheeks, not sad, but happy. My whole body feels raw, exposed, alive in a way I’ve never known.

He notices and thumbs the tears away. “Alright?”

I nod. “Hmm.”

He holds my gaze for a moment, before gently pulling the plug free, and then turns me so I’m lying on his chest.

“How are you?” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

I press my face into his throat, breathing him in. “Fantastic.”

He kisses my temple. “Did I scare you off yet?”

I laugh—shaky, breathless. “Hell no. I enjoyed every second of it.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he says softly, fingers tracing lazy patterns down my spine.

I smile against his skin, because I know, without question, that I’m ruined for anyone else.

Chapter Sixteen

Leonid

I grip the bastard by the hair and yank his head back hard enough to make his neck strain.

He jerks, weak and clumsy, trying to fight me off, but there’s no strength left in him. Not after what he’s already endured in this basement. His body trembles, breath coming out in broken, panicked gasps, the kind of sound a man makes when he already knows the end is near.

I could have done worse to him. Part of me wanted to. But I’d been careful with my hands. My knuckles can’t be bruised, because I’ll be seeing Laurel later tonight. Showing up with busted hands would raise questions she should never have to ask.

She has no idea about this side of me. And she never will. The irony almost makes me laugh. I’m standing here, about to end another man’s life, and somehow she still manages to slip into my thoughts.

I tighten my grip, grounding myself back in the moment. The man in my hold is a mess. He reeks of fear and his own body wastes. I’ve been hunting him for three months after he made an attempt on my life.

He thought he could take my place as the Pakhan of the New York Bratva. Thought he could remove me by planting a bomb under my car. What he didn’t know was that I already had eyes on his movements. I wasn’t anywhere near the car when it went up.

When his plan failed, he disappeared. Everyone else who conspired with him is already gone. He’s the last one.

I bring the blade up to his face, letting him see it, letting reality settle into his eyes. “Any last words?”

His lips move. At first, I don’t catch it, so I lean in closer.

“Go to hell,” he manages to rasp.

A low chuckle leaves my chest. “You first.”

I slash the blade across his throat. His body collapses away from me, lifeless, hitting the concrete with a dull thud, blood spurting out of his slit throat.

I straighten and glance toward Igor. “Make sure a picture gets sent around. Let them remember what happens when they come for me.”

Igor doesn’t even respond. He’s too busy staring down at his shoe with a scowl. “Couldn’t you be less messy?” he mutters. “Now my shoe is ruined.”

I shake my head slowly. Always vain. I turn and head up the stairs, walking out of the basement. Igor follows close on my heels.

My mind drifts back to Laurel again. I check my watch as we step out into the cool night air. It’s past eleven. What is she doing right now? Is she already in bed? Or is she still awake waiting for me?