Page 91 of Sexting the Bikers
I look down, twisting the edge of the sheet between my fingers. “I don’t take any of it for granted. I just…I need to be sure. For all our sakes.”
Reaper leans over and kisses my forehead, slow and gentle. “You take all the time you need, sweetheart. We’ll wait.”
Bishop squeezes my arm, and Dog just grins at me, tired but real. “We’re not going anywhere, Katya,” he says, his voice warm. “If you want us, you know where we are.”
Their patience is a gift I never expected. I let myself relax into the pillows, surrounded by the three men who changed everything.
We’re quiet for a while, the kind of hush that settles in when you finally let yourself rest. I stare up at the ceiling, my heart still racing, my body aching in the best ways. Bishop lies beside me, tracing circles on my shoulder. Dog’s hand drapes lazily across my waist, his thumb moving up and down, rough and warm, making me shiver every now and then. Reaper’s pressed against my back, his breath slow and steady, his presence always anchoring.
Bishop is the first to break the silence. “Do you think anyone’s going to ask what happened up here?”
Dog laughs, low and satisfied. “If they don’t know already, they’re dumber than I thought.” His fingers slide over my ribs and I can’t help but smile, feeling lighter than I have in ages.
Reaper leans over, brushing a kiss against the side of my head. “As much as I’d like to stay here all night, people might start wondering where we wandered off to.” He sounds almost disappointed, but there’s a smile in his voice.
Dog just grins, stretching out beside me, looking pleased with himself. “Pretty sure they already have some idea, boss.”
I glance between the three of them, feeling a rush of affection and disbelief. My life has twisted into something wild and new, and for once, I don’t feel lost in it. I feel found. I tuck myself a little closer to Dog and let out a quiet laugh.
“Guess we might as well go face them,” I say, though I don’t really want to move. “Not sure I can walk just yet, though.”
Bishop leans in and kisses my cheek, gentle. “Then we take our time.”
When we finally make our way downstairs, the kitchen is alive with noise—pans clattering, voices carrying from the dining room, someone’s old country playlist humming through a portable speaker. The smells of coffee and leftover barbecue drift in the air. I cling to the banister for a second, trying to get my bearings, still feeling every echo of what happened upstairs.
I walk in with the guys, wearing Bishop’s too-big shirt and a pair of jeans I’ve rolled up at the ankle, the fabric soft and unfamiliar on my skin. The Ravagers barely look twice, but Donella catches my eye from across the counter and winks, a knowing smile pulling at her lips.
Heat crawls up my neck and I duck my head, biting back a smile as I slip past her. I know I must look ridiculous—this shirt hangs nearly to my knees and the jeans are cinched tight at my waist, but right now, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It feels like a claim, a comfort, a secret I can’t help but wear.
I glance back at the three of them—Dog grinning, Reaper trying to look serious and failing, Bishop with his hand on my lower back like he’s done it a hundred times before. My men.That thought nearly undoes me. I want to say it out loud, want to shout it to the rafters. For once, I’m not afraid of what anyone thinks. These men would burn the world down for me, and for the first time, I let myself want it. I let myself want them.
Donella calls out, “You missed dessert, but I saved you a plate, sweetheart.” There’s a glint in her eye, and I realize she’s not just talking about food.
Dog nudges me, voice low. “Hungry?”
I meet his gaze and feel myself grinning. “Starving.”
I slide into a chair at the crowded table and dig in, not caring that I’m still in Bishop’s shirt or that my hair’s a wild mess. The first bite is rich and sweet, melting on my tongue. For a second, I close my eyes, letting the sugar and warmth settle me, letting myself just exist in this moment, surrounded by the sounds of family and safety.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dog steal a forkful, grinning like a thief. Bishop catches my eye from across the table, his expression soft and content. Reaper nudges my knee under the table, silent and solid beside me.
Then Reaper’s phone vibrates and he steps away from the table, jaw tight as he listens, his answers clipped and quiet. The mood in the room shifts before he even hangs up. He disconnects, pocketing the phone, and raises his voice above the clatter and chatter.
“Okay, ladies. I just got a call from the scouts. The Russians are about here. Safe room! Now.”
Chairs scrape. Donella drops her spoon and immediately snaps into motion, her voice level as she gathers the women. “Okay, Reaper. Come on, ladies. Let’s move.”
The air tightens with tension, but no one panics. Everyone knows what to do. I start to fall in line, ready to follow Donella and the other women, but Reaper catches my arm, his grip firm but not rough.
“Not you, darling,” he says, voice low but steady. “You’re the star of the show. Just stand by me, and you’ll be fine.”
My pulse picks up. Part of me wants to argue—wants to be with the women, tucked away where it’s safe and predictable. But I know better. I should have known Reaper would have a contingency plan. He thinks ten steps ahead, always.
I look around as the women file out in a line, Donella giving me an encouraging nod before she disappears through the far door. I turn back to Reaper. He’s calm, already signaling to the guys around the clubhouse, each of them falling into position without a word.
My hands tremble, but I steady them on the edge of the table. If I’m the star, it means this isn’t just about running or hiding. Reaper wants me where he can see me, where he can protect me, or use me as a bargaining chip, if it comes to that.
He glances at me, eyes focused on me. “You stick close, Katya. No heroics, no wandering off. Understand?”
