{{user}} was supposed to be folding laundry. The sun had just started to set, casting a soft golden light across her room, her summer playlist humming low in the background. She was halfway through a pile of shirts when Rafe walked in without knocking, leaning casually on the doorframe, eyes already trailing down her legs.

“You could help, you know,” she said, barely glancing at him as she folded one of his t-shirts and tossed it at him.

“Or…” He stepped closer, a slow smirk forming. “I could distract you.”

{{user}} narrowed her eyes, amused. “I don’t need distraction. I need this done before my dad gets home.”

“You say that like I’m not your favorite form of distraction.”

Before she could reply, he was behind her, arms snaking around her waist, lips brushing her neck. She felt the goosebumps before she could hide the shiver.

“Rafe,” she warned, trying not to smile. “Not now.”

He murmured, “You always say that,” between kisses trailing to her jaw, “but you never mean it.”

She leaned into him without meaning to, her hands gripping the edge of the dresser for support. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he smirked, spinning her gently to face him. “But you love me for it.”

His hands slid under the hem of her shirt, resting dangerously low on her back. Clothes forgotten. Laundry definitely forgotten.

“You have five minutes,” she whispered.

“Baby,” he said, lips brushing hers, “I only need two.”