Tannyhill was quiet, the only sound the distant crash of waves and the occasional creak of the old house settling. Everyone else was asleep.

Everyone except you and Rafe.

Your back hit the bedroom door, Rafe’s hands gripping your waist, his body pressing into yours, his breath hot against your neck.

“You’re such a bad idea,” you whispered, barely able to focus with the way his lips were grazing your skin, teasing, making you melt.

He chuckled, low and rough. “Yeah? Then why are you letting me do this?”

His knee nudged between your thighs, and you sucked in a sharp breath, fingers tangling in his messy blonde hair.

“Rafe,” you warned, but it sounded more like a plea.

He smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing. His hands slid under your oversized shirt, fingers trailing along your bare skin, setting fire to every inch he touched.

“You want me to stop?” he murmured, lips brushing yours.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Because when he kissed you—hot, hungry, all tongue and teeth—you knew stopping wasn’t even an option anymore.

You were his.

And tonight?

He was going to make sure you felt it.