Page 8 of Sexting the Bikers
He’s the kind of man you don’t trust with your heart, your wallet, or your secrets. And definitely not with your body.
“Name’s Dog,” he says, pushing off the cabinet and stepping closer. “And I don’t bite unless you ask nice.”
I raise a brow, unimpressed. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
He chuckles low under his breath. “Supposed to make you curious.”
And for a stupid, reckless second, I want to see just how far he’ll push.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Katya,” I say.
“Sounds foreign,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Didn’t my accent give it away?”
Then he says, casual as anything, “Where’s your phone?”
I blink, caught off guard.
He smiles wider, like he caught something important.
The question knocks the air out of me faster than a slap, but I cover it with a smirk. “Why? Gonna ask for my number?”
His grin flashes wider, a dimple cutting deep into his cheek. It makes him look younger, almost boyish—if the tattoos crawling up his arms didn’t tell another story.
“Maybe,” he says. “Might want to check on you later. Make sure you didn’t get lost.”
Flirting. Easy, harmless on the surface.
But under it—a hook.
Giving him my number? Letting him into that part of my world?
Dangerous.
Stupid.
I flash him a grin anyway, playing the game because it’s safer than showing fear.
“You don’t even know who I am,” I say, stepping just out of his reach.
“And yet,” Dog says, popping the beer open with a flick of his thumb against the counter, “here we are.” He lifts the bottle to his mouth, never taking his eyes off me.
Before I can say anything, my phone buzzes against my skin. Dog’s eyes flick down, catching the movement.
I reach into my bust, slipping it out slowly, watching his gaze darken just a little.
Good. Let him look.
I glance at the screen. Alexy.
I answer with a sigh. “Still alive.”
“That’s not funny,” Alexy snaps at the other end. His voice is low and tight.
“I’m upstairs,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Come find me.”
