Page 8 of Rebel (The Royal Harlots MC #7)

That was all it took. His mouth moved down her throat, licking and nipping her sensitive skin, while her hands roamed his shoulders, his chest, desperate to feel more.

The world beyond the parking lot—the clubhouse noise, the risk of being caught by one of the guys or being found by the Dead Rabbits or her stalker—faded until there was only this.

They were reckless, greedy, giving in to everything they’d been denying.

Heat flared between them, urgent and undeniable, until there was no question of stopping.

“I need you,” Rebel whimpered against his lips.

Bolt’s control seemed to snap. His hands slid beneath her shirt, palms hot against her skin, pulling a shiver from her as he explored every curve like he’d been starving for her.

She arched into him, gasping as his mouth devoured hers again, rough and desperate, their teeth clashing before he softened, sucking her lower lip into his mouth as though he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, Rebel.” His voice was a rasp against her throat as he pressed her tighter against the truck, grinding the hard line of his body into hers. “I shouldn’t—” He started, and she could feel her heart sink at the thought of him turning her away now.

“Then don’t stop,” she cut in, daring him with her breathless plea.

He growled low, a sound that made her knees weak, and hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, clutching at his shoulders as he pinned her to the truck door, the metal cool against her back, his heat burning into her front.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, guiding his mouth down her neck. He left a trail of bites and kisses, claiming her in the open night where anyone could catch them. The thought of being seen, of crossing every forbidden line, only made the fire roar hotter inside her.

“Say it,” he demanded against her skin, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me you want this.”

Rebel pulled his face back to hers, their noses almost touching, her eyes blazing. “I want you, Bolt. I’ve wanted you from the second I saw you when you came to bail me out of jail.” God, that felt like years ago, not just hours earlier.

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed into hers again, his hips grinding harder, their moans swallowed in their kisses. The world narrowed to sweat, heat, and the dangerous rhythm of their bodies straining for more.

The clubhouse music echoed in the distance, the hum of crickets droned on around them, but at that moment, the only thing that existed was the reckless, forbidden hunger consuming them both. And as Bolt rocked her against the truck, deepening every kiss, Rebel knew there was no turning back.

Bolt’s hands slid beneath her shirt, his calloused palms skimming over her heated skin, pulling a sharp gasp from Rebel’s lips. The world narrowed to the press of his body against hers, the scrape of his beard against her throat, and the way his hunger matched hers beat for beat.

She hooked her leg around his hip, dragging him closer, daring him not to stop.

His low growl rumbled against her chest, raw and unrestrained, as though he’d been caging his need for far too long.

“Get in the truck,” he ordered, putting her back down next to the pickup.

She didn’t need to be told twice to get into the truck.

He was going to give her what she had been begging him for, and the idea of them having sex in the truck, while everyone else was inside the bar, made her even hotter.

He helped her into the pickup, and the truck’s cab became their battleground—her back arching against the seat, his weight pressing her down, mouths clashing like they were starving for each other.

Rebel’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him curse, and it seemed to only spur him on.

Every line they weren’t supposed to cross was long gone, erased in heat and sweat and reckless need.

She didn’t care about whether or not Jace would approve of the two of them together.

She didn’t care about the danger that they were both in.

All that mattered was Bolt’s breath against her skin, his hands gripping her like she belonged to him, and the dizzying promise of what came next.

It was almost as though the rest of the world didn’t exist outside the truck’s cab. But here, in the shadows of the truck, it was only them, teetering on the edge of something they couldn’t take back.

“I need you on top,” he breathed. He rolled her to the top of his lap, and she straddled him.

“Better.” He was giving her all the control, and while she had to admit that it made her hot, it also intimidated the hell out of her.

And when Bolt’s mouth crashed against hers again, hungrier, deeper, Rebel knew there was no turning back now.

His zipper rasped open, and the sound alone sent a shiver racing down Rebel’s spine.

She shouldn’t have looked at him the way that she was, but her gaze dropped anyway—hungry, defiant.

Heat pooled low in her belly at the sight of him, thick and hard as he fisted himself, giving her a show.

He stared her down as though he was daring her to stop him.

But there was no way that Rebel would do that now.

She wanted him more than she wanted her next breath.

Instead, Rebel leaned forward, caught his mouth in another reckless kiss, teeth clashing as his hand fisted in her hair.

Bolt groaned into her mouth, raw and unrestrained, the sound vibrating all the way through her chest. She was already tugging at his cut, shoving it off his shoulders, desperate to get closer, to feel him skin against skin.

“Rebel.” his voice was ragged, almost broken, like he was fighting himself. “This is wrong. You’re Jace’s sister.”

“Are you seriously thinking about my brother right now?” she shot back, breathless, her fingers dragging over his bare stomach, nails biting just enough to make him hiss.

That was all he seemed to need—his last thread of restraint snapped.

Bolt lay her across the bench seat of the old truck, caging her against the door as his body pressed hard into hers.

His jeans shoved down just enough, her shorts tugged aside with a rough hand, and suddenly there was nothing between them but the thrum of need.

The truck rocked under the force of their movements, their breaths fogging the glass.

Rebel clawed at his back, his name breaking from her lips in a gasp that was half a curse, half a plea.

He swallowed the sound with another punishing kiss, every thrust of his hips matching the fierce, desperate rhythm they’d both been denying since they first saw each other.

It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was everything she swore she wouldn’t do, and it was exactly what neither of them could stop. The world outside—her brother, the club, the danger—faded until there was only heat, sweat, and the violent crash of two people giving in completely.

The air inside the truck was thick with heat and the faint scent of leather, sweat, and sex.

She found her release and was quickly rewarded by Bolt shouting out her name as he found his own.

Rebel slumped back against the seat, chest heaving, her shirt twisted halfway up her ribs, her skin still tingling everywhere he’d touched her.

Bolt sat beside her, his forearm braced against the steering wheel, head bowed like he was trying to catch his breath—or maybe hold on to what little control he had left. His jeans were still undone, his cut hanging open, every inch of him radiating danger and temptation.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound was their ragged breathing, the distant thump of music from the clubhouse, and the low hum of cicadas in the dark.

Rebel dragged her gaze to him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her voice hoarse when she finally said, “Is this the part where you tell me that was a mistake?” She could feel that he wanted to say those words to her—not that she’d accept them.

Bolt turned his head slowly, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. “It was the best damn mistake I’ve ever made.”

Her laugh came out shaky, more a release of nerves than anything else, but it softened the knot of guilt that had threatened to strangle her.

She reached out, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand where it gripped the wheel, testing the waters.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand flipped, his palm opened, his fingers tangling with hers in a silent vow he didn’t have words for.

But reality clawed its way back in, sharp and relentless. Rebel shifted, tugging her shirt back down, heat crawling up her neck. “We can’t—” she started, but the words caught.

“We already did,” Bolt cut in, his tone low and certain. “And I’m not sorry.” That sent another rush through her, both terrifying and exhilarating. Because deep down, neither was she.

For the first time in forever, Rebel wasn’t thinking about survival, or Jace, or the men hunting her.

She was thinking about Bolt—about the fire he’d lit inside her and what it meant that she didn’t want to put it out.

And in the silence that followed, thick and charged, she realized one dangerous truth: she was his now, whether either of them admitted it out loud or not.