Page 21 of Sexting His Assistant

His eyes land on my face. Then the phone. Then back to my face.

I look down immediately.

Fine. Message received.

I wait three full minutes before checking again.

Daniil: I’m serious. Dinner tonight?

My thumb hovers. I should say no. I should say maybe.

Instead, because Luka’s currently discussing risk mitigation like he invented it and because my nerves are already too close to the surface, I type: Why are you so determined?

Daniil answers almost instantly.

Because eventually you’ll stop pretending you don’t want the attention.

My eyebrows go up.

That is, by Daniil standards, practically indecent.

I should be offended.

Instead I’m mostly amused.

At the table, one of the board members says, “We can delay another quarter.”

Luka says, “No.”

The man clears his throat. “That would reduce scrutiny.”

“It would signal weakness,” Luka says. “We should move now.”

My phone buzzes again.

Daniil: Unless you do want it.

Something reckless stirs under my ribs.

Not because of Daniil. Never because of Daniil.

Because Luka is three seats away looking devastating in a dark suit, cutting apart a room full of powerful men without raising his voice, and because I can still feel that one glance at my apartment door like a brand I was never supposed to notice.

I should put the phone away.

Instead, I unlock it again.

Daniil: Tell me I’m wrong.

I exhale slowly.

This is stupid. Petty. Pointless.

But perfect, maybe, for distraction.

I open the message thread and type with my eyes still half on the meeting, barely thinking, just wanting to shove my mind somewhere that is not Luka Kazan’s hands or mouth or voice.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I type. Me thinking about your mouth during a board meeting. Well, guess what? I want your mouth on my pussy first. Slow enough to make me ache, mean enough to make me shake. I want you holding my hips down while I grind against your face. I want you fucking me hard enough that I have to bite my lip to stay quiet, one hand over my mouth, your hand wrapped around my throat or tangled in my hair, telling me to take it.