Rafe is pacing like a caged animal, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides. His whole body is coiled, rage thrumming beneath his skin like a live wire ready to snap. You can feel it, thick in the air—his frustration, his fury, the sheer fucking intensity of him.

It’s his business again. Another deal gone sideways, another fuck-up that wasn’t supposed to happen. And when Rafe Cameron is mad, it’s never at just one thing. It’s at everything. The world. The air. You.

Even though you’ve done nothing but sit there, watching.

Then, suddenly, his eyes cut to you—sharp, burning.

“Fuck you.”

The words hit, but not like they’re supposed to. Not like he wants them to. Because instead of flinching, instead of throwing them back with the same venom, you just smirk. You tilt your head, meeting his glare head-on, and let the words fall from your lips, slow and deliberate.

“You better fuck me like you mean it.”

The second the words hang between you, everything shifts. The tension snaps—breaks—explodes.

And then his lips crash against yours.

It’s not soft, not slow. It’s desperate, punishing—like he’s trying to silence every ounce of frustration in the only way he knows how. His hands are rough when they grip your waist, pulling you into him like he can’t get close enough. His breath is hot, his body taut, every inch of him still humming with rage, but now? Now it’s different.

Now it’s all you.