Page 23 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

What I couldn't understand even more was how those few lines instantly awakened my body.

The feeling of his touch, those moments trembling under his gaze—everything flooded back like a tide.

The feeling was both shameful and exciting, like having your most private secrets exposed, making me want to run yet unable to resist.

Damn it, my body was reacting beyond my control.

"Avery, you okay?" Lisa's concerned voice snapped me back. "Your face is really red. Do you have a fever?"

"It's nothing, maybe the AC's too high." I pretended to fan myself, trying to dispel the heat from my face.

Lisa didn't push further. I breathed a sigh of relief, stuffing my phone back in my pocket, trying desperately to convince myself to keep working.

Deep breaths, Avery, focus. I chanted internally, trying to summon my rational self. I just got made permanent, I couldn't be an irresponsible employee.

But this weak self-persuasion was powerless against that message. That message was like fire, burning in the depths of my consciousness. His voice, his eyes, his touch—I couldn't escape any of it. This was my first time experiencing such intense physical desire, addictive like a drug.

What was worse—even though I'd witnessed his cold-blooded side, even though I'd seen him execute those traitors without hesitation, I still couldn't stop wanting him. That fear and fascination tangled together, forming some twisted but powerful attraction.

I was screwed, completely screwed. And I didn't even want to escape .

I mechanically completed my work, smiling at guests.

But my thoughts kept drifting back to that message.

I imagined where he was, what he was doing, why he'd send such an explicit message during work hours.

Maybe he was sitting in some unimaginably luxurious office, whiskey in hand, thinking about what I looked like right now.

This feeling of being so desperately wanted by such a powerful man—I was addicted.

Twenty minutes later, the sky was darkening.

The crystal chandeliers lit up the lobby, casting warm, luxurious light.

Guests came and went, high heels clicking on marble floors in some enticing rhythm.

I stood behind the counter maintaining my professional smile, but inside felt like a deer was crashing around.

Another vibration. This time I'd learned my lesson—I didn't check immediately but snuck into the bathroom.

In that narrow tiled cube, fluorescent lights humming faintly, I could hear my rapid breathing echoing in the enclosed area. Fingers slid open the phone lock. The message on screen was even bolder and more direct:

D: why aren't u replying? how can u be so cold? last night u were calling my name so passionately, wrapping around me, and wouldn't let me go. tell me baby, are u wet for me?

Those words shot through every nerve like electricity, releasing dangerous chemistry in my blood. My breathing grew more rapid. My body was giving him the most honest response—that wetness making it almost impossible to look at myself in the mirror.

Damn you, Dmitri Belov. What the hell have you done to me?

"Fuck, Dmitri," I whispered to myself, my voice trembling as I pressed my back against the cold bathroom tiles. My hand was already sliding down my stomach, fingers trembling with anticipation. I couldn't help it. The memory of last night was burning through me, hotter than hellfire.

Dmitri, with his ice-blue eyes and that cool, controlled demeanor, had taken me apart piece by piece.

His voice, low and commanding, had sent shivers down my spine as he pulled me close, his hands rough but precise.

I could still feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, his cock hard and ready, pushing into me like he owned me—and fuck, maybe he did.

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers brushing the waistband of my panties. My cunt was already wet, aching for him, just like it had every night when we made love. I could still hear him whispering in my ear, those filthy, nasty words that made me melt.

"You feel so fucking good, Ella," he'd growled, his fingers digging into my hips as he thrust into me, deep and hard. "Take it all, Ella. You're so fucking good at this."

And he had. Oh, he had. I'd screamed his name, my nails clawing at his back as he pounded into me, his cock hitting that spot inside me that made me see fucking stars. I could still feel it, the way he'd filled me up, the way he'd made me his.

My fingers slipped under my panties, and I gasped as I touched my clit.

It was swollen, sensitive, and just the slightest brush made my hips jerk.

I bit my lip, trying to stay quiet as I thought about Dmitri's face—those sharp features, that smirk that made my knees weak.

I could picture him now, stripping off his shirt, revealing that perfect chest, those abs that made me want to run my tongue over every inch of him.

I rubbed my clit faster, my breathing coming in short, shallow gasps. I thought about his cock, thick and hard, sliding into me again and again, stretching me open, filling me up so completely. I could almost feel him, the way his hips moved against mine, the way he owned me with every thrust.

"Dmitri," I moaned softly, my fingers working faster now. My other hand grabbed at the hem of my dress, pulling it up as I pressed my legs together, grinding against my own touch. I was so close already, the tension building inside me like a storm.

I closed my eyes, imagining his voice in my ear again.

"Cum for me, Ella," he'd said that night, and I had, screaming his name as I came harder than I ever had before.

And now, here I was, hiding in the fucking bathroom at work, touching myself like some desperate slut because I couldn't get him out of my head.

My fingers moved faster, harder, and I let out a choked moan as I came, my body shuddering with pleasure. But it wasn't enough. Fuck, it wasn't enough. I wanted him. I needed Dmitri's cock inside me again, filling me up, making me his.

I leaned back against the tiles, catching my breath as I thought about him. His voice, his face, his fucking cock. I was already wet again, my cunt throbbing with need. Fuck it. I slipped my panties down and spread my legs wider, my fingers finding their way back to my soaked pussy.

"Dmitri," I whispered again, my voice ragged. "Fuck me."

And just like that, I was gone again, lost in the fantasy of him, of his cock pounding into me, of his hands on my body, claiming me. My fingers worked furiously now, and when I came this time, it was with a cry that I barely managed to stifle.

But it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough until I had him inside me again.

The emptiness brought by this realization was even more unbearable than the exhaustion after orgasm.

I collapsed on the cold tiles, exhausted, and could clearly feel the sticky mess between my legs.

The shame, along with the afterglow of desire, swept over me again like a tide. I couldn't go on like this.

I turned on the faucet, splashing ice-cold water over my burning cheeks and wrists again and again, trying to douse the flames that shouldn't be there. The woman reflected in the mirror had hazy eyes, flushed lips, and lingering color in her cheeks. I couldn't face anyone looking like this.

"Get it together, Avery!" I growled at myself, forcing myself to straighten my wrinkled clothes. Deep breath. Another deep breath. Keep going until that wild heartbeat settled somewhat.

Pushing open the bathroom door, the hallway's AC hit me like invisible hands caressing my still-heated skin, bringing some clarity. I forced my steps to look normal, ready to return to the front desk .

That's when Jimmy's familiar voice rang through the lobby. "Mr. Belov! Welcome!"

Dmitri was stepping through the revolving doors, every movement carrying that impossible-to-ignore elegant confidence. He wore a charcoal Italian tailored suit, that sculptured face cold and perfect, his sharp nose and defined jawline radiating lethal masculine attraction.

I quickly shrank back around the corner, heart practically stopping.

Dmitri? What the hell was he doing here?