My phone buzzed on the hotel vanity. I twisted my damp auburn hair into a towel and padded over. I was completely naked save for the makeshift turban, and I paused to appraise my reflection, relishing every mark, every bruise, every ache.
The phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I frowned.
Hello, little fox.
It wasn’t Luka’s number, but he said he was working tonight. Maybe he used a different phone when working “cybersecurity”—whatever that meant. Or maybe he was just being…Luka.
I tapped out a reply.
Little fox? That’s a new one. Is that what “mila” means?
Three pulsing dots.
It suits you.
Why do you say that?
Because I’d hunt you like one.
A thrill fluttered under my ribs.
You can catch me anytime. I won’t run.
The message whooshed away, and my pulse thudded high in my throat.
I couldn’t believe I’d typed that. But after the weekend we’d had—after Luka’s hands and mouth and the way he’d said my name like it tore something open inside him…
The phone vibrated in my hand.
Oh, I do hope you’d run, little fox. The chase renders the capture so much sweeter.
A prickle lifted along my spine. Luka didn’t usually talk like that—too polished, too…poetic. But maybe this was him trying his hand at romance.
Since when are you a poet?
A pause. Then, three flickering dots resting at the bottom of the screen—gone, then back again. The anticipation was its own kink.
A shame you kept the collar on last night. I was dying for a go.
Frost razored down my spine.
I dropped the phone. It hit the tile with a slap and skittered under the sink. For a moment I just stared at it, towel sagging over my brows, heart pounding like I was being chased.
Who the fuck was this?
Questions tornadoed in my brain.
How did they know about the club? About the collar? How did they know who I was? How did they get my number?
I forced my hands steady and retrieved the phone. My breath stuttered once, caught between terror and disbelief, and I typed the safest reply I could think of.
Who is this?
The dots appeared immediately.