The air between you was thick, charged, like a storm waiting to break. You were pressed against the cool marble of his bathroom counter, the edge digging into your lower back, but you hardly noticed. Not with the way Rafe was looking at you—like you were something he couldn’t believe he got to touch.

His hands gripped the counter on either side of you, caging you in, but he wasn’t touching you. Not yet. He was close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, his pupils blown wide, but he was teasing, dragging it out, watching you squirm.

“You keep looking at me like that, baby.” His voice was low, rasping, as he tilted his head, his mouth just barely brushing yours before pulling away. His restraint was deliberate, calculated. “Like you’re begging for something.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, desperate to close the distance, but he grabbed your wrists, pinning them against the counter. His grip was firm but not rough—just enough to remind you that he was in control.

“Say it,” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want me, huh?”

You exhaled sharply, nodding, but that wasn’t enough for him. His teeth skimmed your pulse, not quite biting, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Words, baby.”