The world always saw Rafe Cameron as sharp edges and stormy skies—intimidating, reckless, impossible to pin down. But here, in the quiet of his bedroom, with the dim glow of his bedside lamp casting soft shadows, he was just yours.

You lay on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back. His other hand was cupping your face, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone, his touch so gentle it almost hurt.

“You know,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, “I think I counted them all.”

“Counted what?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Your freckles,” he said, smirking slightly. “Pretty sure I got every single one memorized by now.”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth spread through your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

Rafe hummed, turning slightly so he could press a soft kiss to your temple. “No, I’m serious.” His lips brushed over your cheek, lingering. “One here…” Another kiss, this time near your nose. “And here…” He shifted, trailing his mouth over the bridge of your nose, making you giggle. “Here too.”

“Rafe,” you whined, squirming, but he just tightened his grip around you, rolling so he was half on top of you, keeping you in place.

“Mm-mm, not done,” he mumbled against your skin, pressing kisses across your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere he could find another freckle. When he finally pulled back, he looked at you with something so raw, so real in his expression that your breath caught.

“They’re my favorite thing about you,” he admitted. “Well… one of them.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, heart thudding in your chest. “Oh yeah? What’s the other?”

Rafe smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “The way you look at me like I’m not completely fucked up.” His voice dropped, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “Like I’m worth something.”

You swallowed, cupping his face. “You are.”

His jaw tensed, like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just kissed you—slow and deep, like he was trying to believe you. Like maybe, just maybe, he already did.