Page 54 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

It wasn’t just the pajamas. I liked to talk to myself while cooking, full conversations, sometimes with sound effects if something went wrong.

I had a system for unloading the dishwasher that did not allow for compromise.

And that didn’t even account for my feelings about which way the toilet paper should face.

What if they didn’t put the toilet seat down?

I could hear myself trying to ask them to do that without bursting into embarrassed flames.

I organized my shoes by color but my books by author and my spices by frequency of use.

And none of this mattered to them. Rationally, I knew that, but reason had very little to do with my current spiral.

I put my face in my hands.

I was catastrophizing over sleepwear.

This was a new low.

I’d walked into this with the understanding that it was physical and uncomplicated.

But then Misha looked at me, his face soft and open, and I’d been a total goner.

I had something to lose that I hadn’t had when I posted on Intivibe. I’d been anonymous and brave in the anonymity.

Back then, the worst thing that could happen was an awkward first message or a conversation that went nowhere.

Back then, I could close the app, eat my cereal, and go to bed.

None of it followed me into the morning.

Now it followed me everywhere.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out without thinking, my stomach flopping at the Intivibe notification. I grinned and opened the message.

I have never wanted to fuck you against that office door more than I did when you said you’d move in with me. I’m rock hard just thinking about it.

The familiar heat rushed into my face. I pressed my lips together and tried to come up with a snarky response.

A gasp sounded behind me.

I wheeled around, my phone clutched to my chest.

Elena stood two feet behind me, her hand over her mouth. “Is that from Leonid Petrov?”

My stomach hit the floor. “How?” I lowered the phone to check my screen. Damn it. He’d signed it Leo, something he and the others started a week ago. I’d forgotten all about that.

“Elena–”

“Because I know what I saw, so don’t even try to tell me I’m wrong.” She set the folders on the edge of my desk. “And the app name… that’s the one you told me about.”

I was on my feet before she finished the sentence. I grabbed her wrist, not hard, but with the intention of holding her long enough to make my case.

My entire life might combust, but I towed her toward the bathroom down the hall. “How did you get up here?”

“Keycard.” She held up her lanyard. “I have a special access card from my boss. He said I needed to bring these up to you tonight so you’d have them in the morning.”