It was wrong. Still is. But somehow, it started feeling normal.

Sneaking around with my best friend’s older brother wasn’t just a reckless decision anymore — it had become a routine. A dangerous, magnetic habit.

Tonight was no different. Another sleepover at the Camerons, another quiet evening pretending everything was how it used to be — just Sarah and me, laughing, watching Netflix, scrolling through TikTok like we were still sixteen.

But under my oversized t-shirt, I wasn’t dressed for a sleepover. The black lace set I wore underneath was for him. For Rafe.

It started weeks ago. First with those stares he thought no one noticed. The ones that lingered too long. Then a “casual” brush of my hand, his fingers wrapping around my wrist a little too firmly. The smirk he wore when he caught me blushing.

Then came the first night. Now… it wasn’t the first. It wouldn’t be the last.

Tonight, I waited until Sarah’s breathing turned slow and deep — her signature knockout sleep. Midnight again. Like always.

I grabbed my phone, not for light — but for the dumb 60-second video still playing, casting flickering shadows against the walls as I crept across the hallway. My heart beat fast, but not out of fear. Anticipation buzzed just beneath my skin.

Rafe’s door was slightly ajar. He knew. He always knew.

When I stepped in, he was already sitting on the edge of his bed. Shirtless. Barefoot. That same dark look in his eyes — like he’d been counting the seconds.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

“I had to wait for her to stop talking about her skincare routine,” I whispered, grinning.

His eyes dragged slowly down my legs, then back up, settling where my shirt barely hit my thighs. He knew what was under it.

“Take that off,” he said, nodding to the shirt. His tone wasn’t a question.

I did. Slowly. His breath visibly caught for a second when he saw the lace, saw me.

We didn’t rush anymore. This wasn’t new. It was familiar — addictive.

When he pulled me into him, his hands were rough on my hips, mouth finding the hollow of my neck like he belonged there. I gasped as his lips met my skin — soft, then biting. His voice was a whisper against my collarbone.

“You keep showing up like this, I’m gonna stop pretending I care who hears.”

“Liar,” I breathed, threading my fingers into his hair. “You like the chase.”

He didn’t answer — just flipped me onto the bed in one smooth motion. His weight settled over me, and every inch of me burned beneath him.

This wasn’t innocent. It hadn’t been for a while.

And as his hands slid lower, his mouth finding all the places that made me weak, I forgot — again — that this was supposed to be a secret.

Because with Rafe, everything else faded.

There was only heat. Only touch. Only that familiar, dizzying rush that made it impossible to stop.

And honestly? I didn’t want to.