The motorcycle growled beneath him. The night was sharp and cold, mist swirling under the streetlights, but Rafe Cameron didn’t care. He only cared about you.

“You don’t have to,” you said, arms crossed, voice trembling just enough to betray the thrill underneath. “I don’t want—”

“Don’t want?” Rafe cut you off, jaw tight, eyes flashing like fire in the dark. “Don’t want?” His hands gripped the handlebars so hard the metal creaked. “You don’t get to say no to me.”

Your stomach dropped. That tone — low, dangerous, commanding — it made your knees weak even though you were telling yourself to run.

“I’m serious,” you said, taking a step back. “I’m not—”

“Get on,” he snarled, the word sharp, clipped, like it was all teeth and hunger. His gaze held yours, molten and impossible to escape. “Right now. Or I’m taking this bike and leaving without you. And you know you’ll regret it.”

You hesitated. Every fiber of logic screamed no. Every heartbeat screamed yes.

Rafe growled, like a wild animal, that low rumble vibrating in the air. “I don’t ask twice.”

Something inside you snapped. You wanted to argue, but the heat in his eyes was relentless, consuming. You stepped closer — half in defiance, half in surrender.

He didn’t wait. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you down onto the seat behind him. Your protest caught in your throat. He held you tight, chest to back, breath hot on your neck.

“You feel that?” he hissed, voice harsh and raw. “That’s me. Holding on. Waiting for you to stop fighting and admit you want this as much as I do.”

“I—Rafe—”

“Shut up,” he growled. “Just hold on.”

The engine roared beneath you, tires screaming on the wet asphalt, wind slashing at your face. Every curve, every sharp turn, pressed you closer into him, and you couldn’t help it — the thrill, the danger, the fury in his touch was addictive.

He leaned over your shoulder, teeth brushing your ear, whispering, “You can fight me all you want… but I’m not letting you go. Not tonight. Not ever.”

You tightened your arms around him, breathless, heart racing. And just like that — the cold, the wind, the night — all disappeared, leaving only raw heat, leather, speed, and the feral growl of Rafe Cameron behind you.