Page 13 of Sexting the Silverfox Daddy

Cassie

Night had settled over the kindergarten, and the place was finally still. The day's work was done, and I let out a long, slow breath, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders.

But my eyes—they kept wandering to the corner of my desk.

To those roses. Twelve perfect blooms, their deep red petals so rich they seemed to drink in the light, hiding secrets in their velvety folds.

Their sharp, sweet scent snuck into every breath, tugging at something soft and burning deep inside me.

My fingers grazed the card, his sharp, commanding handwriting practically searing my skin.

"To my rose, you deserve every beautiful thing. —G"

He had actually sent me flowers. Gennady Sokolov, the man who turned my world upside down, had done this.

That morning, when the delivery guy rolled up to the school with that bold-ass bouquet, I thought I was still lost in the previous night's wild, blurry dream.

My coworkers' stares—nosy, envious, judging—had hit me like a spotlight.

I mumbled some bullshit about a friend's gift, my face on fire, but there was no hiding the truth.

He wasn't just a friend, was he? After the previous night, everything had changed. We had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

All day, I had been floating in a warm, giddy haze. Those roses felt like a vow, a sign that he was out there, thinking about me, giving a damn about me. My heart raced just thinking about it, and I couldn't help myself—I grabbed my phone, needing to share that rush.

Me: Thx for the flowers. They're gorgeous. Still at school, working late, staring at them and thinking of you.

His reply came fast, like he had been waiting.

G: You're still at school? It's late, Cassie.

Me: Yup, prepping tomorrow's lessons. Plus, it's quiet here. Perfect for texting you.

G: You're making me wanna come find you right now.

My heart stumbled, heat flooding through me. He had wanted to come here?

Me: Then why don't you?

My fingers trembled as I hit send, bold and reckless. What the hell was I doing?

Minutes dragged—long, tense minutes—then his reply landed.

G: You sure, Cassie? If I show up, I'm not sure I can keep it together.

Keep what together? His words carried a threat and a promise, setting my skin on fire.

Me: Maybe I don't want you to keep it together.

I sent it, my pulse hammering. Was I really inviting him to the school?

G: Wait for me.

Short, commanding, and it lit me up. Memories of the previous night—his hands, his lips, that overwhelming rush—flooded my mind.

He was coming.

I was up, pacing the classroom, restless energy buzzing through me like electricity.

I caught my reflection in the corner mirror—a woman with flushed cheeks, bright eyes, her light blue sweater clinging to her curves, black A-line skirt swishing against legs that wouldn't stay still.

Beneath the professional shell, there was a fire, waiting to be sparked.

I ran a shaky hand through my hair, tucking stray strands behind my ear, and swiped on glossy lip balm, each move deliberate, like I was prepping for a secret ritual. My heart was pounding, counting down the seconds.

Twenty minutes felt like forever. Then—footsteps. Steady, deliberate, echoing down the hall, each one hitting like a drumbeat on my racing heart.

He was here.

My body tensed, hands twisting together, knuckles white, palms slick with sweat. The door swung open silently, and there he was, filling the frame. Gennady Sokolov.

He had ditched the coat, his deep gray shirt tailored to perfection, top buttons undone, showing off that damn sexy Adam's apple.

His black cashmere overcoat was slung over one arm, making his broad shoulders and long legs look even more dangerous.

The dim hallway light carved shadows across his sharp jaw, and those emerald eyes locked onto me, dark, hungry, like a wolf spotting its prey.

"I'm here, Cassie," he said, his voice low and gravelly, each syllable hitting my eardrums like a shockwave, making my skin tingle.

"You actually came," I said, my voice shaky with excitement and nerves, my feet moving toward him without my say-so.

"Didn't you invite me, Моя розочка?"

He shut the door, the soft click cutting us off from the world. He stepped closer, slow and graceful, like a panther stalking its kill. Each move cranked my pulse higher.

"I—" My throat tightened, but I forced myself to meet those soul-devouring green eyes, my voice trembling but raw. "I wanted to see you."

"Just see me?" His fingers slid down, lifting my chin with a firm, commanding grip, forcing our gazes to lock. His eyes swirled with something dark, magnetic. "Or," he said, his voice dropping to a husky growl, "do you want more?"

The previous night crashed over me—his scorching lips, his burning hands, the storm of sensation he had unleashed. My body betrayed me, trembling not from fear but from a deep, aching hunger.

My heart was pounding, but I held his gaze, letting the truth spill. "More."

A cruel, satisfied glint flashed in his eyes.

In a heartbeat, he yanked me into his iron-hard embrace, my gasp swallowed as his lips crashed into mine.

That kiss wasn't gentle—it was raw, possessive, his tongue prying me open, plundering with relentless hunger.

I was drowning, my arms wrapping around his neck, surrendering to the chaos.

"Fuck," he growled against my lips, his hot breath searing my skin. "I've been thinking about you all day—your taste, the way you shake under my hands, the way you come alive for me."

His words were gasoline, igniting the fire inside me. My legs went weak, heat pooling low as I felt him, hard and hot against me through our clothes. It was driving me insane.

"I've been thinking about you too," I gasped, my voice breaking with need. "Your hands, everything you did to me." Shame was gone, burned away by raw desire.

He let out a low, primal growl and slammed me against the cold classroom wall. The icy surface clashed with his blazing body, trapping me. His muscles pressed into me, every heartbeat, every line of him searing through my clothes, lighting up my skin.

"You know what you're doing to me?" he rasped, his voice rough, eyes blazing with a fire that could burn the world down. "You've got me acting like some horny kid, can't think, can't focus, just wanna make you mine."

His hands roamed, hot and commanding, sliding up my waist, grazing my ribs, settling on my chest. His rough fingers found my nipple through my sweater, pinching just hard enough to make me shudder, a moan slipping out before I could stop it.

"Gennady," I whimpered, my voice raw, desperate, clinging to him like he was my anchor.

"Tell me, Cassie," he murmured, lips brushing my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. His hand slid up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher, cool air hitting my heated skin. "What do you want?" His voice was a devil's whisper, pure temptation. "Say it."

Reason was gone, obliterated by the screaming need inside me. "I want you!" I choked out, pressing closer, desperate for more. "Gennady, touch me like last night. Now."

He chuckled, dark and teasing, his hand finding the damp fabric between my thighs, pressing with perfect precision. "Here?" he asked, his voice a wicked caress as his fingers moved, deliberate and firm. "This is what you want?"

A jolt of pleasure ripped through me, my body arching, a broken gasp escaping. I nodded frantically, eyes unfocused, lost in the sensation. The school, the consequences—none of it mattered. Only him, only this.

His fingers worked with rhythmic precision, pressing, circling, each move pushing me closer to the edge. My breaths were short, frantic, my body moving with him, chasing the high. Moans spilled out, unstoppable, shame drowned by desire.

"So sensitive, Rose," he whispered, lips grazing my earlobe, his breath like fire. "Even through your clothes, I can feel you burning for me, melting for me."

His words pushed me higher, pleasure building like a tidal wave. My body was taut, every nerve focused on his touch, teetering on the brink of release.

Then—his phone. A sharp, jarring ring cut through the heat.

"Don't—ignore it," I begged, my voice desperate, still trembling on the edge, aching for release.

He glanced at the screen, his eyes sharpening instantly. "Fuck," he muttered, then looked at me, a flicker of regret in his gaze. "I have to take this."

The emptiness hit hard, frustration clawing at me. He stepped away, answering the call, and I fumbled to fix my clothes, trying to calm my racing heart.

"What?" His voice was cold now, all business. "Now? Fine, I'm on my way."

He hung up and turned to me, his eyes soft but firm. "I'm sorry, Cassie. Something urgent came up at work. I have to go."

Disappointment stung, but I forced a nod. "It's okay. Work's important."

He stepped close, kissing me softly. "I'll drive you home."

"No, I'm fine," I said, not wanting to be a burden.

"No way," he said, his tone final. "It's too late for you to go alone."

We grabbed my roses and headed out to his car—a sleek, black sedan that screamed money. I sank into the leather passenger seat, the soft music filling the quiet. I stole glances at his profile, his focused expression making him even hotter.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" I blurted out.

He glanced over, a soft warmth in his eyes. "Of course, Cassie."

We pulled up to my apartment, and he got out to open my door, a total gentleman. "Tonight was amazing," I said. "Thanks for coming."

"I should be thanking you," he said, brushing my cheek. "Sweet dreams, Моя розочка."

I watched him slide back into the car, the black sedan melting into the night like a ghost. His scent lingered, mixing with the roses' fragrance, and the disappointment faded, replaced by a warm, hopeful glow.

In my quiet apartment, I collapsed onto my bed, fingers tracing my kissed lips, still feeling his touch. In the dark, I smiled. Was this what falling in love felt like? That mix of longing and sweetness, terrifying but addictive.

Just as I was drifting off, my phone buzzed, lighting up the dark. It was him. My heart leaped, expecting another sweet message. But it wasn't Gennady.

An unknown number. The preview chilled me: Look at your perfect lover.

Dread crawled up my spine, freezing the warmth. My fingers shook as I opened the message. A photo loaded, and time stopped.

It was a dimly lit corner of some fancy place, crystal chandeliers casting a hazy glow. A blonde woman in a low-cut black dress, her curves practically spilling out, smirked with possessive confidence. Her red-nailed hand rested on a man's chest, fingers digging in.

And that man, turning toward the camera—it was Gennady. Same gray shirt, same undone buttons. This had been his "urgent business"?

My phone slipped from my frozen hands, crashing to the floor, the screen shattering like my heart. Pain exploded in my chest, sharp and relentless, like I had been stabbed with a thousand icy needles. Tears blurred my vision, the world warping into a mess of colors.

I scrambled for the phone, the cracked screen burning my eyes. The sweetness, the hope—it was all ashes now, replaced by rage and humiliation. My fingers trembled so hard I could barely type.

Me: Liar!

I blocked his number, hands shaking with fury, deleting every message, every memory that had made me smile like an idiot. Each word felt like a slap, mocking me.

Tears flooded out, unstoppable. The roses still sat there, vibrant and cruel, their beauty a lie. I had believed him. I had thought he was different, that I was special. His words, his gestures, those moments that had lit me up—they had felt real.

But I was just a fool. A naive, gullible fool.

I curled up, hugging myself, sobbing in the cold, empty night. My budding love—shattered, just like that.