Rafe steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his breath brushes against your neck. His fingers trace the delicate ink running down your spine, moving slowly, like he’s memorizing every line.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he murmurs, his voice edged with something between surprise and desire. “It’s… perfect.”

The party fades into the background—the music, the laughter, all of it dissolves until there’s nothing left but the warmth of his touch and the tension crackling between you. His hands tighten slightly, pulling you closer.

“You didn’t tell me you were into this,” you tease, voice softer than you intended.

Rafe chuckles, his breath hot against your skin. “Didn’t know you were, either.”

He leans in, lips grazing the back of your neck, barely there but enough to send a shiver down your spine. There’s something almost reverent in the way he touches you—slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second.

“You have no idea how much this turns me on,” he whispers, voice rough with something undeniable.

Your breath catches. The air between you thickens, charged with something electric, something neither of you resists. The tattoo may have caught his attention, but the way you stand there, letting him look, letting him touch—that’s what’s really driving him crazy.

When you finally turn to face him, his eyes are dark, filled with heat. He doesn’t hesitate. His hand moves up, fingers brushing along your jaw before he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss starts slow, testing, but within seconds, it deepens—quiet hunger simmering beneath it.

And in that moment, you realize—it’s not just the tattoo. It’s the way you let him see this side of you, the way you make him feel. It’s everything.