He rolled up to the club, his eyes on the prowl, scouring the crowd for prey, or rather, for you. His jaw tense when he spots you that new coworker who couldn't be more oblivious to get too cozy in your personal space. A pang of jealousy clawing at his chest.

Without hesitation, Rafayel approached, his footsteps purposeful with gaze unyielding. In one swift motion, he pulled you away, his grip firm, almost possessive, but laced with raw desperation.

Rafayel guided you towards the exit, the pulsating beat of the music fading into the background as he whisked you away. His sports car awaited just outside the club. He settled in the passenger seat as he pulled you onto his lap. With a touch that bordered on possessiveness, his hand secured itself upon the softness of your hip, while his other hand gently slid up your sleeves, pushing them up to reveal the delicate expanse of your bare skin.

Leaning in, Rafayel pressed his cheek against your open palm, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your perfume. His eyes, dark pools of desire, held a mixture of vulnerability and longing as he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion, "I can't even act mad at you, love." The words hung in the air, tinged with desire and fragility. Leaving a trail of sweet kisses along the expanse of your arm, his gaze locked intensely with yours, his voice husky as he confessed, "The things I want to do to you..."

Inch by agonizing inch, he closed the gap between them until his lips hovered just above yours, the burning lust in his eyes mirrored back in yours. His warm breath trailed across your skin as he rasped, "Your eyes are already saying yes. Now, I just need your mouth to tell me the same." As if in perfect synchrony, the heavens unleashed a torrential downpour, the rain enveloping his car like an ethereal shroud, enveloping his car like an ethereal veil, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, foreshadowing what was to come.