The kiss between you was no longer just about provocation. It was too stuck fire. Too much saved desire. Exploding right there, with the smell of oil, rubber and broken promises.

Kellan held his waist and opened the back seat door with a pull.

“Come in.”

“Do you always give orders like that?”, you teased.

“Only when I’m about to beg.”

You went up. He came right behind, closing the door with a deaf thud that echoed through the chest of the two.

The stuffy car, the windows fogging little by little.

You mounted on his lap, your hands on your shoulders, your mouths devouring each other as if the world had stopped.

“You drive me crazy...”, he murmured, dragging his lips down his jaw to his neck.

“Say that to all the girls who beat you in the races?”

He gave a hoarse laugh, his fingers squeezing his thigh.

“You’re not ‘all’. You’re the only one.”

The kiss came back, slower now. Exploring. Bites on the lips. Languages in duel. The choppy breath mixed with smiles between the sighs.

His T-shirt went up and you ran your hands through the marked abdomen.

Tattoos. Scars. Heat.

He moaned low when his nails slowly went down his chest.

“You like that, don’t you?”, you teased.

“I like you, princess. I like it even when you hate me.”

His hands went up under his blouse, touching his skin as if he memorized every inch.

“This here...”, he said, leaning his forehead against yours.

“...It’s better than winning a race.”

“You’re declaring yourself, Royal?”

He laughed. But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he kissed you again. Stronger.

“Not today. Today I just want to hear you moan my name.”

And that’s what you did.

There, in the back seat.

With the engines sleeping and the heart of Kellan Royal, for the first time, really waking up.