Page 79 of Sexting the Bikers
His grin widens. “I knew you were causing trouble.”
We crouch, shoulder to shoulder, the air close and heavy with earth and old wine. For a moment I let myself lean into him, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and gasoline beneath the dust. Relief and fear tangle tight inside my chest.
Footsteps slow, then fade. Dog looks at me, expression softening. “You good?”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Better now.”
The clamor outside drifts off, boots echoing down the basement corridor until silence settles over the cramped duct. Dog’s body is pressed against mine from thigh to chest, the stale air alive with his heat and the faint scent of gasoline and sweat.
“How the hell are we getting out of here?” I whisper, forcing calm into my voice even though my heartbeat feels too loud.
“Let me think,” he mutters, turning his head just enough that our foreheads almost touch. We wait, breathing the same thin air. His pulse thumps against my ribs; every inhale brushes his shirt against the torn silk of my dress.
The darkness presses in, amplifying every sensation. My fingers grip the cold metal of the duct, but all I can really feel is him—warm, solid, so close I could count the rise and fall of his chest. A shiver drags down my spine that has nothing to do with the chill.
“Dog…” I begin, voice catching. His gaze searches mine in the dim light, only a sliver of moonlight seeping through a seam in the metal. “What if we don’t make it out alive?”
His hand comes up, rough palm cupping my cheek, thumb brushing a stray strand of hair away. The touch is gentle, absurdly tender in the middle of this filthy, suffocatingcrawlspace. “We will, princess,” he says with quiet certainty. “But if something happens, I need you to know?—”
I never hear the end of the sentence. His mouth covers mine, warm and insistent, chasing the tremor from my lips. The world narrows to the taste of him and the thunder of my own pulse. I lean into the kiss, pulling strength from it, from him, from the promise that neither of us is alone in this fight.
His mouth moves from mine, trailing down the line of my jaw, lips and teeth pressing urgent, hungry marks into the sensitive skin of my throat. The heat building between us blurs everything—the danger outside, the ache in my knees, the taste of fear still caught in the back of my throat. All that matters is Dog, the way his hands move across my body with a need that matches my own.
“Dog…this is insane,” I whisper, voice trembling with want even as my mind tries to remind me how reckless this is. My fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to the broad strength of him as he nips at the skin just above my collarbone, marking me with little blooms of color.
“I can’t stop,” he breathes against my skin, his voice ragged. He unbuckles his jeans, the metal clink echoing in the cramped space, and pushes my dress higher, baring my thighs to the cold air and his burning hands. His fingers pull my panties aside and find my folds, slipping between them, seeking and stroking until he circles my clit, slow and purposeful, making my hips jerk in response.
He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest as he presses kisses down to my breasts. His tongue flicks over a tight, aching nipple before he closes his mouth around it, sucking just hard enough to make me gasp. I arch into his mouth, all thought vanishing, my hands tangling in his hair as his fingers work me with relentless focus.
I bite my lip, trying to stay quiet, but it’s useless with the way he’s touching me, the way his mouth laves at my skin. My legs fall open wider as he presses another finger inside me, curling just right, thumb rolling my clit until I’m gasping his name.
His lips are still at my breast when he lifts his head, breath coming hot against my skin.
He kisses me, fierce and desperate, and I lose myself in the wet heat of his mouth. My hands tug at his shirt, fingers skating over the muscle of his back. His breath comes harsh against my lips as he grabs my hips, shifting us so I’m straddling him, thighs pressed tight to his sides in the cramped dark of the cellar.
Dog works his jeans down just enough, cock springing free, thick and hot against my bare skin. His hand slides between us, fingers teasing over my clit again as he aligns himself, the blunt head rubbing through my slick folds, making me whimper with anticipation. I brace my hands on his shoulders, digging in for balance, dizzy from want and adrenaline.
He grips my hips, and with one long, slow thrust, pushes inside me. He curses softly, muffled against my neck, hands flexing on my waist as he buries himself to the hilt. My body clings to him, greedy and aching, the burn of him filling me so good I can’t think.
We move together, each thrust tight and hungry, his cock sliding deep, hitting every spot that makes me tremble. His mouth finds my breast again, teeth and tongue lavishing my nipple as his fingers find my clit, circling in time with his rhythm. My hips rock against him, faster now, and I lose any hope of staying quiet.
He kisses me hard, swallowing my gasps, his hips thrusting up as my thighs squeeze around him. The pressure builds fast, everything inside me coiling, tightening, his cock driving me closer to the edge with every hard, deep push.
“Fuck, Katya,” he groans, voice breaking as my walls pulse around him, clenching tight, drawing him in even deeper. He holds me down, grinding up into me as I come, waves of pleasure crashing over me, stealing my breath. I collapse against his chest, shuddering, lips pressed to the hollow of his throat as he keeps moving, chasing his own release.
A few more thrusts, desperate and rough, and he buries himself to the root, coming with a muffled growl against my skin. We cling to each other, bodies shaking, sweat cooling in the darkness, hearts pounding loud enough to drown out the world.
25
DOG
She’s shaking in my arms, face buried in my neck, her breath ragged against my skin. I’m still inside her, the last aftershocks rolling through us both, her body clenching around me like she never wants to let go. Our foreheads touch, sweat and tears mixing between us. I wrap both arms around her, holding her as tight as I dare, feeling the quiver in her shoulders.
She’s crying real, silent tears. My chest squeezes. I cup her jaw, thumb brushing her wet cheek, forcing her to meet my eyes. “What’s wrong, Katya?” My voice cracks on her name.
She tries to pull away, but I won’t let her. “Why did you come for me, puppy?” she whispers, voice raw, broken. “You know it’s suicide. You could have just…not come.”
I shake my head, tightening my hold, my heart thundering. “Couldn’t,” I murmur, voice thick. “You know that. I couldn’t just let you disappear, not when I knew what they’d do. Not when I knew you were alone in this hell.”
