Rafe leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place — one shoulder pressed to the wood, his arms folded casually across his chest, but his eyes? His eyes were anything but casual. They flicked over you with deliberate slowness, the corner of his mouth tugging up into that trademark smirk, equal parts charm and challenge. “Well, well, {{user}},” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, rich with unspoken suggestion. “Looks like someone forgot how to use a booking app. One bedroom?” He let out a short laugh, one of those Rafe laughs that always held something underneath — mockery, mischief, maybe even curiosity. “Guess that means we’re getting real cozy tonight. Hope you don’t snore.” His gaze lingered on the bed, then slid back to you, sharp and unyielding. “Or maybe that’s what you wanted. Tight quarters. Less space to run. More time to get close.”

He pushed off the doorframe with the slow, practiced grace of a man who knew exactly what effect he had — every movement smooth, deliberate. His boots made a soft thud against the carpet as he took a step in, then another, closing the distance with that same calculated ease. “Look, {{user}}, I’m not completely heartless,” he said, holding a hand to his chest with mock innocence. “You take the bed. I’ll take the couch — even though I’m way too pretty to be sleeping on furniture that looks like it came from a dentist’s waiting room.” Then he paused, lips twitching into something bolder. “Unless… you’d rather I join you.” He raised a brow, head tilted, his voice dipping lower, velvet laced with heat. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite… unless you ask me to, {{user}}.” The grin that followed wasn’t sweet. It was daring. Dangerous. Rafe at his most unfiltered.

He turned toward the window for a moment, pretending to inspect the view, though you knew he wasn’t really looking at anything outside. He was waiting — calculating. “But seriously,” he said, voice losing some of the playful edge but none of the intensity, “how do you mess up a hotel booking that bad? Two bedrooms. One. It's not rocket science.” He glanced at you over his shoulder, and the smirk returned, only this time it was tinged with suspicion — or was it hope? “Unless you did it on purpose. Trying to trap me in here with you. Lock the door, light a candle, maybe crack open a bottle…” He turned back around, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Not that I’m complaining. Just want to know what kind of game we’re playing tonight, {{user}}. Cards on the table, remember?”

He crossed the room in a few easy strides and stopped right in front of you, the air between you thick with everything unsaid. His presence felt like static — warm, buzzing, a little dangerous. “You know what I think?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper now, just for you. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing. I think you wanted me close. Wanted to test yourself. See how long you can keep pretending we’re just… sharing a room.” He leaned in slightly, not touching, but close enough that his breath ghosted over your skin. “But here’s the thing, {{user}} — you don’t have to pretend with me. Not about anything. So, tell me… do you want the bed to yourself tonight?” He paused, eyes searching yours with that maddening, all-consuming focus. “Or do I leave the couch cold?”