Page 60 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

Now I understood why he’d pointed out all of their rooms on our walk. “Thank you. This is perfect.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled, a slow, delicious thing that made my stomach flutter. “Would you like to join us for the night?”

It took a minute for his words to register and my thoughts to shift. I took my time examining the massive bathroom and the bedroom beyond. “I think I’d like a night to settle in.”

“Of course.” He lowered his head to kiss my cheek again. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Unless I changed my mind. I wouldn’t tonight, but soon, once the shock of moving in with them wore off, I might gather enough courage to slip into their beds. “Good night, Leo.”

“Good night.” He walked me to the door, then stepped into the hallway, his hands sliding into his pockets.

Even barefoot and in nothing but his slacks, he exuded raw power.

I still hadn’t gotten used to the sight of him, of any of them, but especially not as casual as they were in the penthouse.

I followed him into the hallway and stood on tiptoes to kiss him, a quick, chaste kiss that I hoped conveyed all my thanks.

He waited on me to back into the room and close the door before his footsteps faded as he walked away.

I expected to have trouble falling asleep, but I conked out as soon as my head hit the pillow and did not wake until my alarm shrilled the next morning.

I showered and rushed toward the kitchen, the smell of coffee putting wings on my feet.

Misha stood next to the counter, coffee in one hand and phone in the other, dressed for the office in his suit and perfectly tied tie.

“Morning.” I almost launched at the coffee pot, grabbing the first cup I touched from the cabinet above the machine.

“Morning.” He set his phone down and pushed an errant strand of hair off his forehead. “Did you sleep?”

“Yes, really well, actually.” I poured the coffee too fast, sloshing it over the rim and almost scalding my knuckles.

Misha grunted and moved to my side in a matter of seconds, tugging my hand beneath the kitchen faucet and running cold water over my knuckles. “No need to rush. We have plenty of time.”

“I’m just nervous.” It felt too easy to admit that to him. I pressed my lips tight to keep from admitting the rest of it.

“To be expected.” He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles, then lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my palm. “I’ll be riding to work with you today. I’m often the first one to leave the house, so do not be surprised that I’m with you more often most mornings.”

It was probably the longest stretch of words I’d heard him put together at once, and spoken in his low, richly accented voice, they did all kinds of fun things to my insides.

“I just need some coffee, then I’ll be ready to go.” I curled my fingers over his. “Thank you.”

His eyes held mine. “You’re welcome.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were on our way, Misha sitting in my passenger seat.

We’d argued over that, with him stating he was better suited to driving if something went wrong.

I’d admitted he was right but that I refused to give up my right to drive.

To my surprise, he’d consented to my demand. But the silence had begun working on me, and I couldn’t help the barrage of questions that had been building for months. Questions I’d been unable to ask. “Where did you grow up?”

He remained still in the seat, but I felt the weight of his gaze slide my way. “Russia. Same as Viktor.”

Right. I’d known that. Or heavily suspected it. Their looks and accents were undeniable. “Did you come to America together?”

In other words, how long had they known each other? Were they always friends?

I concentrated on changing lanes instead of spewing more questions before he had a chance to answer one.