The room was dim, lit only by the dull orange glow slipping through the cracked blinds. It smelled like him—faint cologne, sweat, and something warm and familiar. His room had always felt like a secret—one only you were allowed to know. The door creaked closed behind you, shutting the world out. In here, it was just the two of you.

Rafe sat back on the bed, legs apart, shirt discarded, the silver chain he always wore catching the low light. His expression softened the moment he saw you—something in his eyes shifting from sharp to safe. There was always fire with him, always heat—but tonight, there was something else too. A quiet need. A softness only you got to see.

You knelt between his legs without hesitation, hands on his thighs, not because he told you to—but because you wanted to. Because you loved him. And you knew, no matter how rough he acted, how tightly he gripped control—he loved you back, more than he could say.

As your lips met his skin, he let out a breath that sounded like surrender. One hand slid into your hair, not yanking—just holding, like he needed to feel you. Needed to be sure this was real.

But when your eyes dropped, he stopped you. His fingers curled under your chin, gentle but firm, tilting your face up until your eyes locked. “Nah, baby… keep your eyes on me,” he said quietly, voice raw. “Wanna see you. Wanna feel you.”

And when you did—when your gaze stayed locked with his—it hit different. The moment turned heavy, full. It wasn’t just about making him feel good. It was about trust. Love. Power, yes—but only because you gave it to him, and he never took more than you offered.

His eyes flickered, wide and desperate. Not for release—but for connection. Like looking at you grounded him in something real. Like in this moment, he didn’t feel broken.

He whispered your name like a secret, whispered “I love you” like it scared him, like it mattered. You could feel his body tense beneath your touch, his free hand curling into the sheets, trying to keep himself from falling apart too fast. You had that effect on him. You always did.

And when he finally gave in, still holding your gaze like it was the only truth he had left, he pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you. Forehead pressed to yours, heart pounding against your chest, he breathed you in.

“Don’t ever stop looking at me like that,” he whispered.

You wouldn’t.

Not ever.