The engine of Rafe’s bike purred beneath you, the wind whipping through your hair as you held onto him, nails digging into his jacket. Midnight air wrapped around you, thick with humidity, the taste of tequila still lingering on your lips from the party.

You knew this was a bad idea.

But bad ideas with Rafe Cameron always felt too fucking good to resist.

The bike skidded to a stop in front of his house, and before you could even process it, Rafe was off, pulling you with him.

“You should go home,” you murmured, but your voice was weak.

Rafe smirked, stepping closer, crowding you against the bike. His blue eyes were dark, hungry.

“You don’t wanna go home, Bunny.” His fingers traced along your jaw, tilting your chin up. “You wanna stay right here.”

He wasn’t wrong.

You should’ve left—should’ve walked away before this turned into another mistake. But instead, you let him pull you inside, his lips crashing against yours before the door even shut.

Clothes hit the floor. Hands roamed, desperate, needy.

“We could be so good, you know that?” Rafe murmured against your skin, his breath hot, teasing.

You laughed, breathless. “Then why do we keep fucking it up?”

Rafe’s smirk was wicked. His hands tightened on your hips, his voice dropping into something dangerous.

“Because it’s better this way.”

And maybe he was right.

Because as much as you two fought, as much as this shouldn’t work…

Nothing ever felt this good.