The air was thick with heat, the distant hum of the ocean blending with the slow bass from the speaker in the corner of Rafe’s bedroom. It was late—too late. The kind of hour where everything felt hazy, where bad decisions felt too good to resist.

Rafe was leaning back against the headboard, shirtless, golden skin glowing under the dim lighting. A cigarette burned between his fingers, half-smoked, half-forgotten—because his attention was completely on you.

You sat at the foot of his bed, legs crossed, his oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, exposing just enough skin to make his jaw clench.

“You just gonna sit there, Bunny?” His voice was slow, lazy—dripping with something dangerous.

You smirked, stretching out, acting unbothered even though your heart was racing. “You’re the one staring, Cameron.”

He took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke before setting the cigarette down. “Hard not to when you look like that.”

The way he was watching you—hooded blue eyes, jaw tight, fingers flexing against his thigh—made your stomach flip.

You moved closer, crawling up the bed, hovering just over him. “What do I look like?”

Rafe’s hands found your waist, gripping you, pulling you onto his lap like you belonged there. His voice dropped, low and rough.

“Like somethin’ straight out of a dream.”

His fingers slid under the hem of your hoodie, trailing over your bare skin, slow, teasing. You shivered, biting your lip.

“You been dreamin’ about me, Rafe?” you teased, tilting your head, playing innocent.

His smirk darkened, his grip tightening. “Every damn night.”

And tonight?

He wasn’t letting you leave.