The music thumped through the crowded beach house, lights flickering off empty bottles and half-finished red cups. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing at something Kie had said, when you felt a stare burning into the side of your face.

Rafe.

He was across the room with his usual crowd, shirt halfway unbuttoned, sunglasses hanging from the collar even though it was dark out. You hadn’t spoken all night—hadn’t needed to. The tension between you two always spoke louder than words.

He made his way over slowly, the crowd parting around him like he owned the place. When he got to you, he didn’t say anything at first—just looked you up and down with that smirk that meant trouble. “You having fun?” he asked, leaning close so only you could hear him over the music.

You nodded, pretending not to care, pretending not to notice the way his eyes flicked to the exposed skin just above your low-cut top. “More or less.”

You caught his eye just as you lifted a tequila bottle for a shot. His smile turned dangerous.

He walked over, slow and casual, until he was right in front of you. “How about we make things interesting?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, you wanna play beer pong or something?”

“Nah,” he said, voice dropping. “I want a shot.”

You handed him the bottle, but he shook his head. “Not like that.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, making your skin erupt in chills. “Lay down on the counter.”

Your laugh caught in your throat. “You’re not serious.”

His hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing against your skin. “Dead serious. Let me take one off your stomach. Just one.”

Your heart thudded. People were watching, but Rafe didn’t care. He never did.

“What, right here? In front of everyone?”

He shrugged, grin widening. “If you’re scared, just say so.”

You narrowed your eyes, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you slid up onto the counter, tugging your top just a little higher.

The room reacted—cheers, whistles—but Rafe’s gaze didn’t leave yours for a second. He poured the tequila slowly, watching the drop settle in the curve of your belly button. Then, without a word, he bent down and licked it clean—slow, firm, and bold.

The whole room faded as your breath caught.

When he stood up, he wiped his mouth and smirked. “Tastes better on you.”