The only light in the room came from the flickering candles on the dresser, their glow dancing across the walls. The scent of salt and expensive cologne lingered in the air, mixing with the faint trace of vanilla from the cake you hadn’t even touched.

Rafe was leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable.

You rolled your eyes, shutting the door behind you. “You told me not to. So, of course, I did.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “That’s my girl.” His eyes flickered over you—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch.

You walked toward the bed, stopping just before your knees touched the edge. “So, what’s the plan, birthday boy?”

Rafe tilted his head, gaze darkening. “You really gotta ask?”

The air between you crackled, heavy with tension. He reached forward, fingers hooking into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you closer. The candles cast golden shadows over his sharp jawline, his lips slightly parted as if he was already imagining what came next.

“Tell me what you want, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “or I’ll just have to guess.”

And knowing Rafe Cameron—he’d make sure this was a birthday neither of you would forget.