Rafe and you had known each other for a few months. It all started at a party, where you met and were just a little too drunk to keep things casual. Neither of you really knew what you were. Too much to be just friends, too little to be in a relationship. Maybe you were friends with benefits.

Since then, it had been the same at almost every party — drinking, dancing, and in the end sneaking off together into some private room. Sometimes you met up outside of that, but those moments were rare.

And today was one of those rare days. You were at home, lying in bed, reading something when suddenly a message lit up your phone — from Rafe.

‘I wanna hang out, pick you up in 10.’

That’s what he sent. Nothing more, nothing less. And you couldn’t say no to Rafe. You didn’t want to. Deep down you already knew this wouldn’t stay innocent. You quickly got yourself ready before stepping outside your front door to wait for him.

A few minutes later, he pulled up. You slipped into his car, the leather seats cool against your skin, his cologne instantly wrapping around you. He leaned casually against the wheel, one hand resting there, the other drumming against his thigh.

“You look good,” he said, voice low, almost casual — but the way his eyes scanned you gave him away.

You started driving around, music playing, Rafe’s hand resting on your thigh, drawing slow circles along the inside.

After a while, he pulled into a quiet street, far away from the lights and noise of Figure Eight. The car rolled to a stop, and he shifted into park, glancing at you with that look — the one that made your pulse race.

“Why here?” you asked, raising a brow, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

“So no one bothers us,” he muttered, his gaze heavy on you. Then, quieter, almost like a confession: “I just wanted you tonight.”

Your chest tightened. “Then don’t just sit there,” you whispered back.

That was enough. His lips crashed onto yours, rough and hungry, his hand sliding up your jaw as if he’d been starving for this moment. You kissed him back just as eagerly, fingers tugging at his hoodie.

It didn’t take long before you ended up in the backseat. His hands roamed over you with a desperation he didn’t even try to hide, tugging at fabric like it was in his way. Your laughter broke into a gasp when he pulled you closer, kissing down your neck, holy fuck.

The air inside the car was electric, every brush of his fingers and every press of his lips making your pulse pound. Your bodies were tangled, heartbeats racing, breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

And as the night pressed on, the car became your private world, every kiss, every touch, every desperate sigh weaving the story only the two of you could write.