The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the moon casting shadows across your bedroom. The air is warm, thick with something unspoken as Rafe lounges on your queen-sized bed, his gaze locked onto you. His smirk is subtle, but his eyes give him away—dark with anticipation, waiting.

The music hums through the speakers, slow and sensual, as you step toward the pole. This isn’t just practice. Not tonight. Your hands glide along the cool metal before you move, your body flowing effortlessly to the rhythm. Every spin, every controlled drop, is deliberate—just for him. You feel the heat of his stare, the way he watches you like he owns you.

Rafe props himself up on his elbows, jaw tight, his tongue briefly swiping across his bottom lip. His fingers flex against the sheets, like he’s holding himself back. You smirk, teasing him with another slow, controlled movement, letting the music take you.

The space between you shrinks as you step closer. Your body still sways, moving in time with the beat, until you’re within reach. His hands find your hips, firm and possessive, pulling you between his legs. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low.

“You’re the only one who gets this show.”

A shiver runs through you as his grip tightens. The music still plays, but it’s background noise now. He tilts his head, brushing his lips along your jaw. “I think I need a private show like that every night,” he murmurs.

You chuckle softly, running your fingers through his hair. “Only if you’re lucky.”

But you both know—you’ll give him as many private shows as he wants.