Page 85 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

Her cheeks flush that soft pink I love, the one that starts at her throat and climbs. She shakes her head, eyes dropping to her plate for a second before lifting again. “You have a way with words, Mr. Volkov.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Just facts.”

She’s different tonight. No tense shoulders, no quick glances around the room checking for familiar faces. No pulling her hand back when I reach for it. She’s relaxed, really relaxed for the first time since we started this.

No more hiding. She’s here as mine. And fuck if that doesn’t settle something deep in my chest I didn’t realize was still restless.

I reach across the table and take her hand. Her fingers slide easily between mine. I lift her knuckles to my lips, press a slow kiss there.

“I love you,” I say against her skin.

Her eyes soften, glistening a little in the candlelight. “I love you too.”

The waiter approaches with the next course, but I barely register him. Yeah. I’m going to marry this woman.

The next morning sunlight slices through the half-open blinds, painting gold stripes across the sheets. Laurel is still half-buried under them, hair spilled across the pillow, when I walk in with the tray containing breakfast.

She’s sitting up against the headboard, phone in both hands, staring at the screen like it just bit her.

“So, I’m kinda popular now?” she says, voice caught somewhere between shock and bewilderment. “Have you seen this?”

I set the tray on the nightstand, lean over the bed, and kiss her. “Already seen it,” I murmur against her lips. “Ignore it. It’ll blow over in a minute. They’ll find something else to chew on by lunch.”

She turns the phone toward me. Grainy paparazzi shots from last night: us leaving the restaurant, my hand on the small of her back, her laughing at something I said.

Blogs already have headlines. Billionaire Volkov’s Mystery Woman. Who Is the Woman Who Stole His Heart? Comments sections exploding.

“They’re talking about us,” she says, eyes wide.

I slide into bed beside her and pull her into my arms so her back rests against my chest. “I’m sorry.” My chin settles on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to drag you into the media shit-show.”

She leans into me, exhaling. “It’s okay. I’m dating a public figure. It was always going to happen eventually.” A small, wry laugh. “It’s just… I’ve never been in the limelight. I had maybe two hundred followers on Instagram. Now?” She tilts the screen so I can see the notification count. “Over a hundred thousand. Overnight.”

I press my lips to her temple. “I’ll make it go away.”

She shakes her head. “No. Let it run its course. I chose this.” Then she reaches for the tray. “Being woken up with mind-blowing orgasms and now breakfast in bed? I could get used to this.”

“You should.” I pick up half a bagel, spread cream cheese and salmon, and hold it to her lips. “Eat.”

She takes a bite, chews slowly, eyes on mine. Then she catches my wrist, brings my fingers to her mouth, and licks them clean, tongue curling around the pad of my thumb.

The things this woman does to me.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. I glance at the screen: Igor. I answer, bringing it to my ear.

“Your face and Laurel’s are all over the internet. I take it you’re no longer playing secret lovers?” Igor says without preamble.

“Yeah.”

A pause. His voice drops. “You know what going public means. Enemies notice. Someone might decide she’s the easiest way to get to you.”

My jaw tightens. “I’d never let that happen.”

Igor exhales. “I know. Just… be careful. She’s not built for this world.”

“I know.” I end the call without another word.

Laurel watches me set the phone down. She picks up a forkful of scrambled eggs and holds it to my lips. “Everything okay?”