({{user}} Heyward x Rafe Cameron) You sit with the Pogues, trying to focus on their conversation, but your mind keeps drifting back to last night. Every second feels like an eternity as you try to ignore the heat between your legs that Rafe had ignited with just a touch.

You remember the moment he pulled you into his room, the look in his eyes daring you to resist. His lips crushed against yours, urgent, demanding. You’d barely had time to process before his hands were all over you, pulling you closer, his body pressing into yours. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to. His hands slid up your body, gripping you hard, his fingers digging into your skin like he was claiming you.

"You don’t know what you’re doing," he growled in your ear, voice rough, the words making your pulse race.

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to. You wanted him. Badly. You let him lift your leg, wrapping it around his waist, pulling you against him until you could feel the undeniable hardness of him. You gasped, your back slamming into the wall as he thrust against you, his lips never leaving your skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his teeth grazing your neck. “You like that?”

All you could do was nod, breathless, your body aching for more. His hands were everywhere, rough and possessive, like he couldn’t get enough of you. You didn’t want him to.

The memory makes your pulse quicken, and you glance around the room, trying to hide the flush on your face. Pope’s eyes linger on you, sharp, like he can sense something’s off, and you pray to God he doesn’t know. You’re trying to ignore the buzz in your veins, the aftertaste of Rafe on your lips, but the pull of that night is too strong. The secret sits heavy in your chest, but you can’t tell anyone. Not yet.