The first time Rafe Cameron let you in his house, he didn’t say a word.

He just opened the door, stepped aside, and let you walk into the dimly lit place like you belonged there — like you hadn’t just climbed off the back of his bike wearing his hoodie and nothing underneath.

Your heart was still pounding. From the ride. From the way he’d pulled you close on the seat like he couldn’t stand distance. From the way his jaw clenched when that guy at the gas station looked at you for too long.

“You’re quiet,” you said softly, toeing off your shoes.

He shut the door. Locked it. Then again. Deadbolt.

“I’m trying not to do something I’ll regret,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.

You blinked up at him. “Like what?”

Rafe leaned in, hand landing on the wall beside your head. His eyes dropped to your lips, then lower. “Like pinning you right here. Against the door. And making sure anyone who ever looked at you like that knows you’re mine.”

Your breath caught. “Rafe…”

He smirked. Just a little. But there was tension in his body, like he was trying to be good. For you.

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was surprisingly gentle.

“No,” you whispered. “You’ve never scared me.”

He exhaled, chest rising and falling as he looked at you like you were the first good thing to ever happen to him. “That’s the problem, baby. I want you too much. And when I want something this bad… I don’t know how to be careful with it.”

You cupped his jaw, grounding him. “Then don’t be careful. Just be real.”

That was it. That broke him.

His lips were on yours before the sentence even finished, rough and hungry, all teeth and tongue and heat. He pressed you back against the door like he warned, gripping your thighs to lift you — like he couldn’t stand you not being close enough. His hoodie slid up, and his hands gripped bare skin like a prayer.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he groaned against your neck, voice wrecked, hands shaky.

“Rafe…”

“You don’t get it,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You could ask me for anything right now and I’d give it to you. My bike. My soul. The blood on my hands.”

Your eyes softened. “I only want you.”

That made him freeze.

The chaos in him quieted.

He kissed you again, slower this time, with reverence like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like every kiss was a promise — I’m yours. No matter what it costs me.

And as he carried you to his room, murmuring sweet nothings and dirty threats under his breath, you realized the truth:

Rafe Cameron was a storm.

But for you?

He’d always be a safe place to land.