Page 5 of Sexting the Bratva Boss (Text to Touch)

Eva

Martini—the club's signature cocktail. I carry at least thirty glasses of it from the bar to customers every single night.

I weave through the crowd with my tray, navigating between the elegantly dressed patrons. But half my mind keeps drifting to the silent phone tucked away in my pocket.

It's been thirty minutes now.

That mysterious man—the one whose words alone could set my body on fire—had gone eerily quiet after I sent him my work photo.

His last message still burned in my memory: good girl, good kitten.

now it's my turn to deliver on my promise.

But my desperate follow-up—who r u?—was left hanging there on the screen like a pathetic plea.

Over the past week, we'd been playing these dangerous, intoxicating games deep into the night.

His commanding words and explicit teasing had slowly dragged out this hidden part of me—the part that craved escape from my mundane life, that hungered for something wild and forbidden.

I'd actually started looking forward to his messages, craving that rush of adrenaline, that dance along the edge of propriety.

So when that message came through, I couldn't help but wonder—what if he actually showed up here? What if he walked through those doors at Platinum Plus and stood right in front of me?

Crazy, I know.

He could be anyone—some playboy who got his kicks toying with young girls, maybe just a bored liar who found this whole thing amusing, or worse, some creep who dressed up his sick games as harmless flirtation with desperate waitresses.

But the words that came through that cold screen were so damn hot, and I could feel this undeniable authority in his tone, this attention he paid to me that made me lose myself completely, even though I had no clue who he really was.

A commotion near the main entrance snapped me out of my thoughts. The smooth jazz kept flowing, but conversations throughout the room suddenly dropped to hushed whispers. Everyone was looking toward the door, and I found myself following their collective gaze.

Then my breath caught in my throat.

Oh my God.

It was him.

That man.

The same guy who'd made my heart skip just from one glance across this very room last week. The same face I'd pictured during all those late-night texting sessions, imagining his features as I brought myself to climax thinking about some stranger's dirty messages.

There he was again. Still wearing that impeccably tailored custom suit, moving with that same unhurried confidence.

Those blue eyes that had haunted my fantasies were just as mesmerizing and dangerous as I remembered.

His presence filled the space around him like some invisible force, turning the entire golden opulent hall into nothing more than his personal backdrop.

Heat flooded my cheeks—I could feel my ears burning. But instinctively, I straightened my shoulders, trying to present my best self.

I watched our club manager—this guy who usually strutted around like he owned the place—suddenly scurry out like some startled groundhog, sweat beading on his forehead, his face plastered with this grotesque mix of fawning and terror.

"Good evening, Mr. Yvannov! You—oh, I'll immediately clear out a—"

Mr. Yvannov?

I'd heard my coworkers whisper that name before.

Ruslan Yvannov. Owner of Platinum Plus. CEO of the Yvann Group. A business shark who dominated real estate, construction, and military contracting. A mysterious billionaire who lived in legend, controlling the fates of countless people in this city.

So this man who'd made me fall head over heels at first sight, who I'd fantasized about endlessly—he was my fucking boss?

Wow. The realization made my head spin.

But what made it even harder to breathe was watching him scan the room briefly before walking straight toward me.

He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell that intoxicating mix of whiskey and winter pine on him.

I felt my coworkers' stares burning into me—shock, jealousy, and schadenfreude all rolled into one.

They had no idea why Yvannov had singled me out, and honestly, my brain had gone completely blank too.

He didn't say a word, just locked those bottomless blue eyes on me, taking in every bit of my panic and the inappropriate attraction I felt for him that I had no right to feel.

He was so damn tall—definitely over six feet. The sheer presence of him was overwhelming. I couldn't handle it. My chest rose and fell rapidly as my breathing became shallow and quick.

"Sir, what can I get for you?" I finally found my voice, though it came out dry and scratchy, like it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

I watched him reach out and pluck a champagne flute from my tray. His fingertips brushed against mine—deliberately, I was sure of it.

I jerked like I'd been hit with electricity, nearly dropping the whole damn tray.

He stepped back half a pace, raising the glass, his lips curving into this faint, knowing smile. His gaze dropped to my trembling hands, like he was enjoying watching me almost lose it.

"You," his voice was deep, each word hitting my already frayed nerves like a stone, "will serve me exclusively tonight. I want a Martini."

I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just smiled and nodded.

He turned and headed toward his private luxury booth in the corner while I took a deep breath and walked toward the bar under the scrutinizing stares of my coworkers, moving stiff as a marionette.

"One Martini for Mr. Yvannov," I told Leo, the bartender.

Leo's hands paused mid-motion. He looked at me with this expression that mixed surprise and pity before starting on the drink. I leaned against the cold marble bar top, trying to get my emotions under control.

Why the hell had Mr. Yvannov specifically requested me?

That's when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. A new message from that mystery man.

Him: caught u, kitten. didn't know ur back looked that good too.

Below the text was a photo. A candid shot taken from behind me—I was leaning against the bar, my uniform clinging tightly to my back, highlighting the tense line of my waist and the curve of my ass.

The person I'd been sexting was here. He was in this very room, watching me right now!

My head snapped up and I frantically scanned the entire hall, trying to figure out where the photo had been taken from. Was it that lone guy drinking in the corner? Or maybe one of those businessmen laughing by the window?

My gaze inevitably landed on him.

Ruslan Yvannov.

He took a sip of his drink, watching me with casual interest. No—he had to be looking at the band behind me, right?

I immediately dismissed the thought. No way it could be him. Someone that powerful wouldn't waste time flirting with strangers over text messages.

I had to be losing my mind.

My phone buzzed again. I opened the message almost instantly, filled with this desperate need to know the truth, mixed with pure dread .

Him: answer me, kitten. did you slip that toy inside urself today like i told u to?

My brain just fucking exploded.

My face went bright red, heat spreading all the way to my ears. I instinctively clenched my thighs together at those words.

"Eva? You okay?" Leo's voice pulled me back to reality. "Your face is really red. You feeling sick?"

"I'm—I'm fine." I forced out what had to be the most pathetic smile in history. "Just a little warm in here."

"Warm?" Leo frowned. "The AC's cranked up pretty high."

Before I could figure out how to explain myself, my phone buzzed a third time. I didn't even want to look, but my fingers moved on their own, opening the message.

Him: dont need to answer. can tell by how ur squeezing those thighs together that ur already soaking wet for me. does it even matter if u have the toy in or not?

No.

Not now.

I slowly exhaled, biting my lip hard, trying to ignore the heat building in my lower belly.

"Jesus, Eva, are you sure you're alright?" Leo's voice was full of concern. "Your lips are white as a sheet. Maybe you should take a break?"

"No—no, I'm good." I shook my head, my breathing getting more labored. I had to get out of here. I had to escape his line of sight.

But then came message after message.

Him: put ur hand between ur legs. imagine it's mine touching u

Him: my fingers r sliding inside u now. feels so tight, doesn't it?

Him: next im gonna bend u over that bar and fuck u hard until u come screaming

I gripped the bar counter so tight my knuckles went white, but that familiar heat was already pooling in my core, making my legs weak.

I couldn't. I absolutely could not. My rational mind was screaming at me to stop. The air around me felt thick and suffocating, everything starting to blur at the edges.

"Eva!" Leo's voice snapped me back. "Mr. Yvannov's Martini is ready."

Like a sleepwalker, I mechanically picked up the drink and headed toward that corner booth.

Finally, I stood in front of him. He was still lounging back against the sofa, looking relaxed, but those blue eyes were sharp as a hawk's, like they could see right through every bit of my composure that was falling apart.

I bent forward to take the Martini off my tray and set it on the table.

That's when he suddenly leaned in, closing the distance between us, his voice dropping to barely a whisper, "You look even more beautiful in that uniform than you did in the photo, маленькая кошка, my kitten."

CRASH!

My tray hit the floor with a deafening clatter, glass shattering everywhere.

What?

What did he just say?

How was this possible?!

That mysterious man who'd made me fall for him at first sight.

The legendary club owner, the business mogul.

The stranger who called me kitten in the dark hours of night, who dominated me through a screen.

Three different people suddenly merged into one face in my mind.

I thought about all those late-night conversations, all those words that made my heart race and my face burn. It had been him all along.