It was just another typical evening. You were curled up on the couch, barely paying attention to the show flickering on the screen. Outside, Topper and Rafe were hanging out on the porch, beers in hand, lost in their usual endless chatter about wild parties, crazy nights, and the kind of trouble only they seemed to find.

Rafe had been part of your life forever — like family, really. More like the protective older brother you didn’t always want but secretly appreciated. Annoying as hell when he was around, but honestly, you wouldn’t trade him for anything.

The sliding door creaked open and Rafe stepped inside. His eyes caught yours for a brief second before he made a beeline for the fridge, snagging two cold beers. As he passed you again, you threw him your best puppy-dog eyes. “Hey, could you grab my navy sweater from the top of the closet? I’m freezing,” you said softly.

He rolled his eyes, that familiar mix of irritation and reluctant affection flashing across his face. “Really? Can’t you get it yourself?” But even as the words left his mouth, he knew the answer. You had him pegged perfectly.

With an exaggerated sigh, he set the beer down on the table and stomped upstairs.

You knew he had the route memorized — down the hall, second door on the left. Once inside your room, he opened drawer after drawer, searching for the sweater. Then, his hand paused. His breath hitched just a little when his fingers brushed against something soft, delicate, and unmistakably feminine.

Lace, silk, and a splash of scandal.

There, in the drawer, lay your collection of thongs—black, red, white—each one more revealing than the last. He froze, knowing he should shut the drawer and forget what he’d seen, but that wasn’t how Rafe worked.

His fingers traced the edges of a crimson thong, the delicate fabric sending a shiver up his spine. Suddenly, his mind was flooded with images: you, wearing that silky piece, the way it would hug your curves, the warmth of your skin beneath it. His heart sped up, and a low growl slipped from his throat almost without thinking.

For a long moment, he just stood there, caught between wanting to back away and being drawn in by the forbidden allure of that private glimpse. His pulse quickened as he held the delicate piece in his hand, the quiet room filled only with the sound of his breath and the thumping of his heart.

Downstairs, you waited patiently, oblivious to the storm brewing just a floor above—Rafe tangled in a secret moment of curiosity and restraint, caught between brotherly loyalty and something more complicated he wasn’t ready to admit.