Page 36 of Sexting the Bikers
She gasps as I press her legs apart, gently, reverently, her back pressed against the wall, bare thighs trembling slightly under my palms.
I pause, close enough to feel her heat, smell her arousal—rich, intoxicating, dizzying. My hands grip her thighs, and I look up at her one last time.
She nods, mouth parted, chest rising fast.
And then I lower my head.
I slowly kiss my way along her inner thigh, drawing closer and closer to exactly where she wants me—where I want her. Her legs tremble beneath my touch, breath quickening to short, urgent gasps that only fuel the fire raging inside my chest.
She’s already slick and warm, glistening beautifully in the dim light. My pulse quickens, a tight, urgent ache coiling low inside me. I need to taste her—need to hear her break and fall apart beneath my mouth.
With a low growl, I press my mouth to her core, letting my tongue slide slowly up through her folds. She moans loudly, hips jerking forward instinctively, but I grip her thighs tighter, pinning her securely against the wall.
“Fuck—Dog,” she breathes out, voice desperate, raw.
The way she says my name nearly undoes me. I tease her with long, slow strokes, savoring her taste, her warmth—her need. She threads her fingers through my hair, gripping tight enough to sting, her body arching helplessly under my mouth.
“You taste so fucking good,” I murmur against her, voice rough and deep. “So sweet, Katya.”
She whimpers, hips rolling forward, searching for more friction, more pressure. I give it to her without hesitation, circling my tongue firmly over her clit, finding exactly the rhythm she needs. Her entire body jerks, her thighs clenching, breath hitching in her throat.
“Yes—right there,” she gasps, pleading softly, breathlessly.
I devour her relentlessly, sliding my tongue inside her before returning to her clit, alternating gentle teasing with firm, determined strokes. She’s soaking wet, quivering in my grip, head tilted back against the wall, lips parted, eyes closed tight.
The sight of her unraveling—so wild, so undone, so completely mine—lights a fire beneath my skin, driving me to push her closer to the edge. My heart pounds, blood roaring hot in my ears as I suck her sensitive nub gently between my lips,tongue flicking rhythmically, savoring every desperate sound she makes.
“Please,” she whispers brokenly, voice shaking, thighs trembling.
She’s close—I feel it in the way her body tenses, in the rapid, uneven gasps tearing from her throat. I slide two fingers deep inside her, curling them gently forward, hitting that perfect spot. She cries out sharply, her hips grinding against my mouth, chasing release with reckless abandon.
“Come for me, Katya,” I growl against her heat, voice commanding, needy. “Come for me now.”
She comes apart, her thighs squeezing me tight. She shatters, moaning loudly as waves of pleasure pulse through her, hot and relentless.
I hold her steady, licking and sucking softly, guiding her through every tremor, every shudder, drinking in her sweet release like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
I feel it when it hits her deep. The way she gasps, the way her back arches hard off the wall, how she clutches at my hair like she’s afraid the ground will vanish underneath her.
And then she just…collapses.
Her legs give out, but I catch her before she sinks, wrapping both arms around her waist and lifting her effortlessly off the wall. She’s limp in my arms, breath shaky, forehead pressed against my shoulder, skin flushed and slick with heat. Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s holding on for balance—like she’s trying to remember where she is.
I hold her tighter.
“Easy,” I murmur against her temple. “I’ve got you.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, just breathes hard and slow against my neck, her lips brushing my collarbone. And all I can think about is how badly I want to make her feel that way again.
8
KATYA
Iwake slowly, blinking against the soft light slipping in through the half-drawn blinds.
The air smells like leather, old whiskey, and something warm and unmistakably male. I stretch, just a little, and wince as the dull ache between my thighs reminds me exactly where I am—and what I did.
Dog’s room.
