Page 6 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

My cock twitches hard, already thick and heavy again despite the release I just chased. I wrap my hand around it, grip firm, and stroke once, slow, watching her mouth on the screen.

Fuck. I imagine those lips on me instead. Her kneeling in front of me, her wide eyes looking up at me while she takes the head into her mouth. Soft tongue swirling, tentative at first, then bolder. She’d hum around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine, her small hands wrapping around the base because there’s no way she could take all of me at once.

I stroke faster, breath coming rougher.

My balls draw up, heat coils low and tight, and I come hard. Thick ropes spilling over my fist, splattering against the marble sink. My vision whites out for a second, muscles locking, a rough curse tearing from my chest.

When it’s over, I’m breathing like I just ran ten miles. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Then I look back at the phone. At her picture, the evidence of what I just did.

I just sexted my son’s teacher.

Christ.

I walk into the shower stall, turn it on and step under the spray. Water pounds against my shoulders as I wash off the mess, soap suds swirling down the drain.

This wasn’t how our meeting was supposed to go down.

She’s been pestering me for over a month, insisting we meet to discuss some troubling behaviors she’s noticed in Alexei. But I’ve always been too busy to meet with her.

I know it made me look like I don’t give a damn about my son. Like I’m one of those fathers who throws money at problems. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Alexei is everything. The moment he came into this world six years ago, something shifted. Igor used to be the only person I’d bleed for without hesitation. My little brother. My responsibility. But the second I had Alexei in my arms, the hierarchy was rewritten. He became the center. The only thing that matters.

I just… haven’t been able to show it lately. Too many fires to put out. But Laurel Harper kept pushing. Relentless in the sweetest, most infuriating way. So I finally carved out the time tonight.

I lost track while finishing my workout. Then I decided to take a quick shower. Then straight from the shower, I hoped to fix myself a quick drink before she arrived. I was doing that when security buzzed: “Ms. Harper is here, sir.”

I don’t like staff in the house when I’m home. They finish their shifts, and retreat to their quarters at the back of the property. Alexei was already tucked away in his room watching cartoons when I headed to shower, so I didn’t bother with clothes.

I told them to let her in, with the intent of throwing on something before letting her in. I didn’t expect her to let herself in and walk straight into the living room.

The little minx didn’t wait for an invitation. She just… walked right through the front door like she belonged here.

I shut off the shower, steam curling around me as I step out. My cock is already stirring again, half-hard just from the memory of her face when she walked in.

Laurel Harper. Sweet little teacher, chestnut hair swept into a neat bun, striking green eyes, and flushed cheeks dusted with freckles. Petite with slender curves. She stared long enough that I felt the heat of her gaze like a physical touch sliding down my body.

Inquisitive little thing. Most women would’ve averted their eyes out of politeness or fear. She didn’t. And that single fact has me thickening again, blood rushing south as I picture those soft lips parting in shock, then fascination.

I grab a towel from the rack and roughly dry myself off, scrubbing over my chest, my abs, lower—where the memory of her blurted words still lingers. “God, that cock is huge.”

Fuck. A woman I’ve known for all of five minutes has me acting like a horny teenager who can’t keep it together. I shake my head, a low chuckle escaping my lips.

I toss the towel aside and pull on black sweatpants and a plain gray T-shirt. The fabric clings slightly to his still-damp skin. My pulse is steady now, but the hunger hasn’t faded.

I head down the hallway toward Alexei’s room. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the air system and the distant murmur of cartoon voices drifting from his cracked door.

I push the door open quietly. The room is lit only by the soft blue glow of the nightlight shaped like a rocket ship and the TV flickering on low volume, some animated show about space explorers. Alexei is already under the covers, small frame swallowed by the massive bed, pajamas patterned with little planets and stars.

I cross the room, and sit on the edge of the mattress. He looks up at me, those serious brown eyes, so much like his mom’s, tracking my face without a word.

I reach over and ruffle his dark hair, the strands still slightly damp from his own bath earlier.

“It’s time for bed. Want me to read you a bedtime story?” I’m slightly disappointed when he gives a shake of his head. I pick up the TV remote and turn it off.

“Spokoynoy nochi, synok,” I murmur. Good night, son.

He stares at me for a beat, then answers in crisp, perfect English. “Good night, Dad.”