Page 15 of Rebel
Bolt stared at her, his pulse pounding hard; he was sure she’d be able to hear it. He knew what saying yes meant. There’d be no walking this back, and no pretending this hadn’t happened. But the truth was in her eyes, raw and unguarded, and he was already too far gone to deny her—or himself. He nodded once, still silent, and when she stood and tugged him toward the bedroom, he didn’t resist. He followed her, knowing full well he was crossing a line Jace might never forgive—but unable to stop himself from wanting her more than he wanted the brotherhood his best friend gave him. Bolt wanted Rebel more than he wanted anything.
The bedroom was small, just a narrow bed, a dresser, and a single lamp throwing soft light across the wood-paneled walls. It should’ve felt plain and unremarkable. Instead, walking into that room with Rebel’s hand pulling his, it felt like the most dangerous place he’d ever stepped into.
She stopped at the edge of the bed and turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes burning with a mix of defiance and need. Bolt’s chest tightened with her every touch. She looked like sin wrapped in firelight, and she was looking at him like she’d already decided he was hers. He could do that too—be hers. Forever if she asked him to be.
“This is a bad idea,” he muttered, even as his hand rose to brush a strand of hair from her face. His knuckles lingered against her cheek longer than they should have.
“Then stop me,” she whispered. He couldn’t. God help him, he couldn’t.
Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him against her body. The kiss was softer this time, but no less consuming. His resolve melted, his hands mapping her curves as though memorizing every inch of the woman he knew he shouldn’t touch but couldn’t stay away from.
By the time they tumbled onto the bed, Rebel beneath him, Bolt had stopped trying to pretend this was anything but inevitable. Every breath she gave him, every sound that slipped past her lips, sank deep into his bones, branding him in ways he knew he’d never be able to shake.
Her fingers clawed at his chest, desperate and demanding, dragging him down until their mouths met in a bruising kiss. He devoured her, his teeth grazing her lower lip, tongue sliding deep, and the way she moaned into his mouth nearly broke his control.
His hand slid under her shirt, his calloused fingers spreading across warm skin. She arched into him, gasping when his thumb brushed the swell of her breast. He yanked the shirt up and over her head, tossing it aside without giving it a second thought. She wasn’t shy, not with him. Her bra barely contained her curves as she pushed against him as though daring him to take what they both craved.
“Jesus, Rebel,” he muttered against her throat, his lips grazing her skin before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. His hand went to her jeans, fumbling with the button, but she beat him to it, shoving them down her hips. He growled in approval and tore them the rest of the way off, leaving her in nothing but lace.
She reached for his belt, tugging at the buckle with trembling hands. “I need you,” she whispered, voice ragged with urgency.
Bolt ripped the belt free himself, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock. His heavy length sprang against his stomach, hard and ready, and Rebel’s eyes widened with hunger. She reached for him, fingers wrapping around his thick shaft, stroking him, and Bolt nearly lost it right there.
“Enough,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. His other hand shoved her panties aside, his fingers gliding over her slick heat. She was already soaked, readyfor him, and the needy little whimper she gave shot straight through him.
“Please,” she begged, arching up against his hand.
That was all he could take. The last thing he wanted to do was make Rebel beg him for anything—especially not something that he wanted to give her so badly. He lined himself up and pushed into her in one hard thrust. Rebel cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders, and Bolt groaned deep in his chest, the tight wet heat of her surrounding him completely.
“Fuck, Rebel,” he hissed, grinding deep inside her, his forehead pressed to hers. “You feel like you were made for me.”
She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “God, don’t you dare stop.”
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He drove into her hard and steady, each thrust rocking the bed, each groan and gasp filling the room until there was nothing but them—no stalker, no Dead Rabbits, no lines they weren’t supposed to cross. Just fire, skin, and need.
Rebel writhed beneath him, her head tipping back as he slammed into her, her cries spilling into the air. He shifted, angling deeper, and the sound she made nearly undid him. Her body tightened, trembling, her nails leaving marks down his back as she shattered around him, clenching so hard he had to grit his teeth to hold back.
“Bolt!” she cried out, falling apart beneath him.
He lost it then, pumping into her hard and rough, burying himself as deep as he could before spilling inside her with a guttural groan. His whole body shook with the force of it as his arms braced around her while trying not to crush her with his weight. For a long moment, there was nothing but their ragged breathing, the heat of their bodies pressed together, and the sweat cooling on their skin.
Bolt buried his face against her neck and inhaled her scent. “We’re fucked,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
Rebel’s lips brushed his ear, a shaky laugh tumbling out of her. “Then we’re fucked together.” And God help him—he didn’t want it any other way.
They lay tangled together in the heat of the afterglow. Rebel’s head rested on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his skin. Bolt stared up at the ceiling, fighting the war raging inside him. He had betrayed Jace tonight. He crossed a line that couldn’t be undone. But with Rebel curled up against him, her heartbeat steady against his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to regret a damn thing about what they had done together.
Her voice broke the silence, low and certain. “He wouldn’t want us to deny our feelings for each other.” Bolt shut his eyes, his arm tightening around her. Maybe she was right. Maybe Jace would hate him for it, but right now, that didn’t matter. Right now, all that mattered was that Rebel was in his arms, and he wasn’t letting her go—ever.
Bolt was beginning to believe that he and Rebel would be stuck in the little Minnesota cabin for the rest of their lives. Not that it was a hardship to be stranded in a remote cabin with his best friend’s sexy sister, but he was going a bit stir crazy, and to say that he was worried about Jace was an understatement.
They hadn’t heard from him since they left Huntsville, and he was going out of his mind with worry.
He was also worried about missing so much time from work. Every time Rebel asked him about going back to the FBI, he said that he still had some paid time off, and she’d leave it at that, but he missed having a purpose, and work gave him that. Heck,he was doing her brother a favor by picking her up at the police station, and he was so damn thankful that her brother stuck them together, but he wondered if she’d want to be with him if they weren’t in this predicament. Maybe Jace knew how good he and Rebel would be together, but that was impossible, right? His best friend would never agree with him being with his sister, and Bolt had dealt with the guilt of letting him down for months now. Not that he had a choice. The pull that he felt from Rebel wasn’t something that he had ever experienced before.
The snow had started to melt around the safehouse, soft patches of dark earth breaking through the frost. Two months had passed in that cabin, and somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling like just a place to lie low. Rebel had settled into a little routine. Quiet mornings with her tucked against his chest, long nights with her sexy moans cutting through the silence. Bolt hadn’t known what peace looked like before—but now he did. And it scared the hell out of him.
Every shadow that didn’t belong, every new noise around the cabin had his hand going for his weapon. Bolt knew well enough that peace was fragile and it usually never lasted. That night, the knock at the front door wasn’t just unexpected—it was violent, almost furious. Bolt was at the door in a heartbeat, body tense, gun half-drawn. And when he yanked the door open, his gut twisted.
