Page 2 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

“Hello?” My voice comes out smaller than I intended, swallowed by the vast foyer.

No answer.

Marble floors gleam beneath a towering chandelier of dark glass and gold droplets. Plush charcoal sofas and low glass tables fill the room, gleaming in the fading light. A floating staircase curves upward into shadow.

“Hello? Mr. Volkov?” I call again. “It’s Laurel Harper. I’m here for our meeting about Alexei.”

I move deeper, and my eyes sweep over floor-to-ceiling windows framing the darkening sky, sunset streaking the Hudson below. The space is breathtaking.

“You know, it’s rude to come into someone’s home uninvited.”

I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance.

A figure stands in the arched doorway that leads to what I assume is the kitchen or a hallway. A black robe hangs over broad shoulders, damp hair pushed back from his forehead as though he’s just stepped out of the shower.

Sharp cheekbones catch the light, a strong jaw shadowed with dark stubble, and his eyes lift slowly to meet mine. I’ve seen that face before. Not in person, but on my phone screen earlier today, in magazine photos and business headlines.

Leonid Volkov.

He holds a crystal tumbler in one hand, amber liquid catching the light. A cigar rests loosely between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward.

I notice the belt of the robe hanging loose and untied at his sides, the front gaping open completely. His skin is golden-tanned, tattoos snaking across his hard chest and ribs.

I quickly drag my gaze back to his face. “I’m sorry, I let myself in. The door was open, so…”

“You assumed you could come in,” he finishes for me, a slow smile curving his mouth. His gaze flicks briefly toward the door, then back to me. “You must be Ms. Harper.”

My pulse stutters at the way my name sounds on his tongue. I clear my throat. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Volkov.”

“Please call me Leonid.”

I nod once, too quickly, and open my mouth to say something, but my eyes betray me, sliding downward, despite every screaming instinct to look away, and that’s when I notice he’s completely naked underneath the robe. And I’m staring right at his cock.

God… it’s thick. Hanging between his toned thighs. The sight makes my throat go dry and my pulse roar in my ears. God… that cock is huge!

“So I’ve been told.”

I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth. Did I just say that out loud? Heat explodes across my face. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Oh my God.”

I clamp my mouth shut, and drop my gaze to the floor, praying the ground will open up.

“Look at me,” he commands. I force my eyes up… only for them to slide right back down to his cock again.

“Eyes up here,” he says, voice low and rough. “Unless you’d prefer to keep staring. I don’t mind.”

I quickly look up to his face this time, determined to keep my eyes there.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

My hands flutter uselessly in front of me as I try to explain. “And sorry about saying your cock is big. I mean—” I wince at how much worse that sounds out loud. “Not that it’s not big! It is! Very! Obviously! I just—”

“I’m going to go ahead and shut up now, and see myself out. I’m so sorry.”

I spin on my heel, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process. My heels clack frantically across the marble as I bolt back toward the foyer.

I yank the front door open, and I half-run down the flagstone path to my car, purse slapping against my hip.

I wrench the door open, practically dive inside, and slam it shut behind me. Fingers shaking, I jam the key into the ignition.