Page 60 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

He steps fully into the room, closing the door behind him. The street light from outside illuminates his face. He looks tired, travel-worn.

“What… you’re back.”

“Yeah, came straight from the airport.”

“You did?”

He nods once. “I told you we’d talk when I got back.”

I pull the sheet up to my chest like armor. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“You weren’t answering my calls.” He sets the hairbrush on the dresser, steps closer. “And you were upset. I didn’t want to wait until morning.”

I swallow. “You can’t just break into my apartment.”

“I have a key.” He says it calmly.

“You have a key?”

“You gave it to me two weeks ago. Remember? When you said you wanted me to feel welcome.”

Oh, I did. I remember. I was half-asleep, blissed out after he’d fucked me slow and deep on this very bed, and I’d handed him the spare without thinking.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” he murmurs, voice dropping to that dangerous velvet register. “Arguing with me. Ignoring my calls. Throwing things at me.”

For a moment I forget I’m angry. Forget everything except how close he is, how warm his hands feel, how much I’ve missed him.

Then reality crashes back. I shove at his chest, weak, half-hearted. “You had someone watching me.”

His expression doesn’t change. “I did.”

“Why?” My voice cracks. “I told you I didn’t—”

“Safe,” he finishes quietly. “I wanted you safe.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Leonid. I need you to trust me to take care of myself.”

He exhales through his nose, eyes never leaving mine. “I do trust you. I don’t trust the rest of the world.”

I shake my head, tears stinging again. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to decide for me.”

He leans closer, forehead resting against mine. “I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I can’t lose you,” he says, so low I almost miss it. “Not to someone who wants to hurt me by hurting you. Not to anything.”

The raw honesty in his voice cracks something open inside me.

I stare at him, really look. His eyes are tired. Shadows under them. Jaw tight with worry he won’t admit to. My anger fractures.

I reach up, cup his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He closes his eyes for a second, exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

Then he kisses me, slow, deep, desperate. Like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it.

When he pulls back, his voice is rough. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”