Rafe’s lips moved against yours with an urgency that left you breathless. His hands were firm on your waist, pressing you against him as if he could mold you together. Your fingers tangled in his hair, but the intensity was overwhelming—his lips, his touch, the way he consumed you entirely.

You pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss as you gasped for air. Your head rested back against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Rafe didn’t move.

He just stared at you.

His blue eyes were dark, pupils dilated, lips swollen and slightly parted. But it was the way he looked at you—like he needed you, like letting go wasn’t an option—that made your stomach twist.

His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you closer despite the space you tried to create. His jaw clenched, his breath uneven.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his forehead pressing against yours. “I need you, baby. You don’t—” His grip tightened. “You don’t get it.”

Your hands slid up his arms, feeling the tension beneath his skin. He was desperate, clinging to you, like he’d lose himself if he let go.

Softly, you whispered, “I’m right here.”

That was all it took. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tighter, burying his face in your neck. Like he could never get enough.