Page 19 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

Silence stretched taut, all of our nerves going thin as pulled wire. An instant response flew from my fingers.

“Wait. Misha, please.” Leo held out a hand, but it was the please that stopped me.

Leo never said please.

Those who said it to me were usually begging for their lives. Even hearing it from Leo put a sour taste in the back of my throat. “Wait for what?”

“We need a plan to make sure she doesn’t run from us again.” Leo gave me a pointed look. “Any objections to changing the meeting location to our house?”

“None.” Controlled. Quiet. We had the advantage at home. Peyton would not be able to escape us as easily there.

I tamped down the hunt drive. Peyton was not prey. I did not want to hunt her to bring her pain. After how she reacted to us last night, I only ever wanted to bring her pleasure. So much pleasure, she would never dream of leaving.

Leo sent a message, and it popped onto the screen. We all waited for Peyton’s response.

I checked my watch. She had five minutes left of her lunch hour. Hopefully, she would reply and not leave us hanging for an answer for another agonizing half of the day.

Was this how the rest of the world felt? I hated it.

“Strategy.” I barked out the word. “We need to show her we’re interested. You brought her coffee this morning. That is allowed?”

“Yes. Anything that cannot be misconstrued as preferential treatment. Nothing that is sexual in nature.” He shrugged when I made a disgusted noise. “I’d rather not face a lawsuit. I’d much rather take things slow and win her over to the idea of us.”

Which was why I’d brought up strategy.

Being subtle ranked right up there with patience. I deployed them when necessary, even if they were not my favorite attributes. Hunting often required a shift in skills.

I simply needed to adjust to meet Peyton with a planned strategy that ensured she stopped worrying about our work situation and cared only about how she felt when we were together.

8

PEYTON

The timing was either perfect or terrible, depending on how I wanted to look at it. Both. It was definitely both.

Elena rounded the corner as soon as Misha left, her dark eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.

Thank God Misha had already stepped back before she spotted us, but the heat in my cheeks was a dead giveaway that whatever she’d interrupted was several degrees past professional.

She turned to stare at the doorway where Misha had disappeared. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No. He was just reminding me about an email I’d forgotten.” My voice came out steadier than it should have considering the current situation, and I straightened my blouse and picked up my coffee. “You know how they are when things are not done exactly on time.”

She didn’t know, but she’d likely heard me make enough random comments throughout the last few months to have an idea.

Elena made a noise that could have been agreement but sounded an awful lot like a disbelieving snort.

“Don’t.” I held up a hand to ward off the incoming barrage.

“I haven’t said a word.” She sniffed, but her smile stretched wide.

I rolled my eyes. “Your face is saying everything for you. I’ve told you already. They’re too handsome for their own good, and I get flustered around them.”

All still true.

Elena tilted her head. “I’m merely observing that your neck is a curious shade of red, and Mr. Petrov left the kitchen in a rather big hurry.” Her smile turned feline. “And you have yet to tell me what happened last night.”

Last night? Oh, God. I had promised her details. I had no choice but to follow through, and I’d not taken a single second to prepare how I’d do that without revealing that I’d been in bed with my bosses.