The room was still, heavy with heat and the scent of skin and sweat. It was past midnight, but with Rafe, the time never mattered. He was always the one leading—sharper, stronger, always one step ahead. I never complained. Not once. Because truthfully? I liked the way he handled things. Every single thing.

Especially this.

He knew my limits better than I did. And he didn’t just take control—he owned it. There was no guessing with Rafe. No hesitation. Just dominance wrapped in every move, every word that spilled from his lips like velvet laced with danger. Rough, yes. But never careless. Every touch was intentional, every reaction he pulled from me felt like he planned it before I even knew it was coming.

Tonight, he was merciless in the most perfect way. He had already teased and taken his time, pushing me far past the edge of what I thought I could handle. I was a mess—sensitive, shaking, every nerve lit up like a live wire. He made sure of that.

And still, he hovered over me, that look in his eyes—half amused, half wicked.

“You gonna behave now?” he asked, voice low, slow, taunting.

I couldn’t answer. I wanted to. But my body wouldn’t cooperate—my lips parted, breath short, every part of me already burning under the weight of him.

He tilted his head slightly, watching me fall apart without a single touch. Just his words alone were enough.

And then—with a sudden, dizzying shift—he flipped me onto my stomach. The motion knocked the air from my lungs. I gasped, pressing my cheek to the cool pillow, hips arching instinctively under his hand. He moved behind me with quiet purpose, one hand firm on my lower back, the other tracing my spine with that signature calm dominance.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, close to my ear.

It wasn’t just about control anymore. It was about the way he made surrender feel like the most natural thing in the world.