It was always the same with Rafe.

A vicious cycle of late-night texts, stolen moments, and leaving before the sun could catch you.

You knew what this was. Whatever this was.

And yet, here you were again.

Pressed against the door of his bedroom, your breath shallow as Rafe’s hands skimmed under your shirt, his lips dragging along your neck. His touch was rough, impatient—like he needed this more than he needed air.

Like he needed you.

But that was a lie.

Because if he really needed you, he wouldn’t let you walk away every time.

“Missed me?” you breathed, a teasing edge to your voice, even as your body betrayed how badly you wanted him.

Rafe let out a low chuckle, hands gripping your waist tighter. “Don’t start.”

You smirked, but the amusement didn’t reach your eyes.

You knew how this ended. It always did.

In tangled sheets, in breathless kisses, in the illusion of something more—until reality crashed back in and left you picking up the pieces alone.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you murmured.

And just like that, he did.

Because that was the only thing you were both good at—falling back into each other, knowing it would never be enough.