Page 20 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again and released a puff of air. The problem with having one friend in this city was that she knew me far too well already.

I weighed my options. I could lie outright, deflect, or give her just enough to keep her satisfied without letting the most explosive details spill out.

One look at Elena, and option three became my only option. “It went well. Better than. Like, life-altering.”

Her expression shifted, and she reached into the refrigerator for her daily salad. “All three of them?”

I nodded. My cheeks were going to sunburn if I kept blushing. “All three.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side, into a nook where we could talk undisturbed as more employees spilled into the room for their daily lunch break. “Tell me everything.”

I did my best, giving her details about the club, the VIP room with its ginormous bed. I even told her about the food they’d ordered and how they’d remembered the things I said in my messages. She fanned her face when I talked about how they’d taken care of me afterward, washing me and making sure I was comfortable with everything they did. That had been the part that scared me so thoroughly, I’d dashed out the door. I managed to tell her all of that without uttering a single name, and I wanted to pat myself on the back.

“They want to meet again.” I tried to take a bite of my salmon and asparagus, but it turned sour in my mouth. “They messaged me this morning.”

“And?” Elena leaned forward.

“I haven’t answered them yet.”

“Peyton.” She whined like I’d personally offended her. “You have to.”

“I’m thinking about it.” I pushed my food around on my plate. “If I say yes, I need them to understand there are rules. Boundaries. I can’t just…” I searched for a word that fit. “I can’t let this be casual. I’m not a booty call.”

I hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, but now that I had, I stood by it. I’d been down that road, and while I understood that this was nothing more than sex, I needed to put standards in place.

Elena pointed her fork at me. “You like them.”

“I don’t know them.”

“You know them better than you think.” She tapped one manicured nail against her water bottle. “You have been talking to them for weeks. You know their humor, their desires. The things that matter to them.” Her left eyebrow rose. “The question is whether you are willing to find out who they are outside a hotel room.”

“Well, that was the whole point of not being a booty call.” I tried to sound indignant, but it came out high and squeaky.

We finished lunch and I retreated to my desk, where I sat with my phone in my lap and my gaze locked on the closed door where the three of them had holed up for afternoon meetings. They wouldn’t be out for hours. Did I dare respond now, knowing they might feel their phones buzz and know I’d replied during business hours… when I knew they could not answer me?

I typed and retyped until I had a message I could live with.

Interested in meeting, but I need to talk first. We need to discuss ground rules and where things go from here. Let me know when and where.

I hit send before I could overthink it for the next hour and turned my phone face-down on the desk. Their response came two minutes later, from Misha.

Our house. Tomorrow evening. We’ll send the address.

Their house. Holy shit. Not a club or a hotel. Why did that feel even more intimidating? I fanned my face and wrapped up the rest of my work, leaving half an hour early–something they knew and approved of every week–to FaceTime my family in Wisconsin over dinner.

If not for that set-in-stone meeting, I’d have been tempted to join Misha, Leo, and Viktor tonight, but these weekly dinners were non-negotiable.

Mom would fly out and give me a stern talking to if I so much as called in five minutes late.

The whole thing operated on its own time zone, one that had nothing to do with the time difference and everything to do with Mom treating each call like she hadn’t seen me in years.

By the time I’d propped my phone on the fruit bowl and poured myself a glass of wine, she’d repositioned the iPad in her kitchen three times and hollered for Dad twice.

“She’s here!” Joey, my youngest brother, appeared in the frame, face too close to the camera. Seventeen and with the same green eyes, the kid had zero concept of personal space. “Peyton, tell Mom I don’t have to do dishes. I did them yesterday.”

My older sister swatted at him with a kitchen towel. “You wanted to swap days last week, then you reneged. You owe me.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of this.” I took a drink of wine and crossed my legs in the seat.