"Nah, babe, that one's too long—try this one," Rafe smirked, holding up a tiny black mini dress, one eyebrow raised as he checked you out.

Rafe wasn’t just helping you shop—he was taking over. The second you stepped into the boutique, he made it very clear that you wouldn’t be spending a dime. Every time you reached for your wallet, he just shot you a look. That smug, 'don’t even try it, princess' kinda look. His credit card was already out before you could protest, fingers tapping against the counter like he was bored. "Babe, you know I got it," he’d muttered earlier, slipping a gold bracelet onto your wrist like it was nothing.

Now, he was way too comfortable, lounging in one of the velvet chairs outside the dressing room, legs spread wide, eyes lazily dragging over you every time you stepped out in a new dress. He was enjoying himself way too much, smirking as you struggled to find one that didn’t expose the very obvious marks he’d left on your neck last night.

You could still feel them. The ghost of his lips, his teeth, the way he’d gripped you like he couldn’t get close enough. And now? Now you were in front of a mirror, trying to adjust a silk mini dress, tugging at the straps, desperate to cover the evidence. "Do you think—"

"—That you look hot as fuck? Yeah." Rafe cut in, tilting his head. Then his eyes narrowed, and that smug grin crept back.

He didn’t say anything at first—just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tilting his head as he studied you like he was waiting for something. Then he moved behind you, hands skimming your waist as he leaned down, lips ghosting over the bruises he put there.

"Why you tryna hide ‘em, huh?" His voice was low, rough, that teasing rasp that made your stomach flip. His fingers brushed your shoulder, pushing the strap aside just enough to reveal more of your skin.