Rafe wore that damn ring like it was part of his skin. Gold, heavy, full of meaning—legacy, power, control. A gift from Ward. Or maybe more like a burden.

“Men of the family,” Ward had said when he passed it down, like the ring could carry all the weight of expectations Rafe was never ready for.

You knew the story. You’d heard it more than once. A symbol. A reminder. An anchor.

But truthfully? You didn’t give a shit what it stood for.

You liked the way it looked on his hand. How it caught the light when his fingers brushed your skin. How something so hard and cold could feel so hot when it was him touching you.

It looked expensive, sure. But it looked hotter when it was sliding down your thighs, catching against your hip bone as he gripped you tighter, like he needed you close enough to burn.

And it was hottest in that breathless pause— Right before his fingers found you, When he pulled the ring off and said, voice rough and low:

“Can you keep that for me?”

God.

You never answered with words. You just slipped it on, slow, letting him watch. And his breath hitched every time, like he was giving you something sacred—something no one else got to touch.

Then came the heat.

His hands, his mouth, his focus—all on you. The way he kissed like he needed to taste every sound you made. The way his fingers moved inside you, steady, perfect, deep— curling just right until your thighs shook and you forgot your own name.

The ring pressed into your palm as you clutched the sheets. A reminder that he trusted you with it. With him.

And he watched you fall apart like it was the only thing that mattered.

He didn’t say much. Didn’t need to.

His eyes told you everything. You weren’t just a hookup. You weren’t just a secret.

You were his.

And when he finally slowed down, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaky, hands still warm on your skin— He reached for the ring again. Kissed your knuckles first. Then slid it back onto his finger, like a promise.

Not one he said out loud. But one you felt.

A quiet kind of devotion. A moment that burned longer than the heat.

And even if neither of you said it— You knew. He was already yours.