The sky had opened up sometime between when you’d climbed into Rafe’s truck and when you’d pulled the passenger door open and stormed off into the night. Honestly, you almost preferred the rain to being stuck in that small space with him, arguing about everything but what really mattered. Because of course the two of you couldn’t discuss the reason you’d both avoided each other for so long. You both just avoided that and fell back into old patterns.

You weren’t even completely sure how you’d ended up in his truck. Somehow you’d run into each other and started talking. Politely, like the two of you were mere acquaintances. Like there wasn’t a whole messy shared history between you. When he’d offered you a ride home, you’d agreed because as usual you’d worn the wrong shoes for walking.

You were regretting that show choice again as you stomped along the side of the road, your heels sinking into the rain soaked ground.

“Would you get back into the damn truck?” Rafe yells out from the window. You want to yell back and tell him no. Tell him to go screw himself, but there was no way you were going to make it home in the storm without catching pneumonia.

Reluctantly, you grasp the door handle and climb back into the truck. He makes no move to pull back into traffic, and the two of you sit there, glaring at each other. Neither willing to be the one to break the silence or admit you’re wrong.

Rafe reaches across for your wrist, tugging it to his mouth. He presses a kiss against the soft skin, before slowly running his tongue along your wrist. A gasp falls from your lips, filling the silence of the truck.

Suddenly he’s lifting you from your seat, placing you on his lap so that your thighs straddle his. Your hands brace against his chest. You’re too scared to speak, in case when you do, it makes him stop. His hands skim up and down the back of your thighs, his fingers brush under the hem of your shorts. Gone is the angry glare of moments before, it’s replaced by an almost reverent gaze. Like he can’t believe he’s touching you again. Like you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

You bite your lip, and his thumb brushes across it, forcing you to release it from your teeth. You press a hot kiss against his thumb, your eyes on his lips. God, you missed those lips. Wanted nothing more than to pull the crease between your teeth.

“I missed you” he murmurs, his hand moving further up the back of your shorts. The combination of his touch and his words, makes you whimper.