Page 25 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

“It is.”

“Then it is.” I shrugged. “Unless you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“We’ll see.” Misha muttered it under his breath, but we all heard the promise.

She laughed. The sound caught her off guard, and she covered her mouth with one hand. “Then I guess we’re doing this.”

“You are willing tonight?” Misha pushed to his feet, his body leaning toward her. “Or would you like to go home?”

Her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip. “I’d like to stay.”

I’d seen Misha move faster than a striking snake, but that had nothing on how quickly he pounced on Peyton and pulled her into his arms, kissing her with enough passion to set the carpet in every room of our penthouse on fire.

10

VIKTOR

Control. Where the fuck had I left it? Like a stray puppy who’d gone off to explore, I was forced to hunt all the way to my core for the control Peyton snapped with nothing more than a look.

I’d read through her messages again and run our night together through my internal filter to pick out what she had preferred and compared it to the things she’d mentioned she wanted to experience.

She made a sound into Misha’s mouth that went straight to my core and dropped to my cock.

By the time he released her and her eyes found mine, they’d gone glassy and entirely too knowing.

I held out my hand. “Come with me.”

She pulled back from Misha slowly and put her hand in mine.

The playroom was at the far end of the penthouse, past the master suite and hidden behind a door that looked like every other one on this floor, unremarkable from the outside but housing a world of pleasure.

Peyton stopped in the doorway the same way she stopped when she first stepped out of the elevator.

The room was large and dark-paneled, lit by recessed lighting that I had long ago calibrated into a warmth that ensconced the room and gave it a velvet tint of softness.

A king bed dominated the far wall, covered in deep charcoal sheets. A cabinet stood beside it, its contents organized with everything from restraints to toys that defied imagination.

Peyton had asked about a few of them in our messages, her curiosity keeping me awake for two nights as I plotted and planned exactly what I’d do to her in this room.

“Welcome to the fun room.” Misha walked past me and picked up one of the play whips that dangled from a loop on the cabinet handle. “Where would you like to start?”

She opened her mouth, her face flaming in that adorable way of hers. Whatever she’d planned to say disappeared when Leo stepped up behind her and pressed his lips to the side of her neck.

“Breathe.” He whispered a kiss over her skin. “Tell us if you want to stop.”

“I don’t. Don’t stop.” She tipped her head against his shoulder. “I want to try everything.”

“Everything will take a while.” Misha popped the whip against his palm. “We should get started.”

I stripped her slowly. That was the privilege of the first move, the unhurried removal of everything between her skin and the air.

Leo kept his hands at her waist, steadying her, while I reached for the hem of her white shirt and drew it up over her head in one smooth motion. Everything else followed just as slowly.

Misha watched from my left, his shirt half-unbuttoned, still in a way most people found unsettling.

She stood in nothing but black lace in the low lighting. I swept my thumbs over her cheeks, then down lower, brushing over her nipples. Her raw gasp was almost too much.