“Let me guess: this is the part where you tell me a kiss would liberate both of us from the insomnia prison?”
Rafe's lips curve into a slow smile, his thumb tracing the inside of my wrist where my pulse hammers against his touch. “I'm thinking about how your skin would taste right here,” he murmurs, pressing lightly against the blue vein. “How you'd gasp when I bite down.” His eyes flick up to mine, pupils wide in the darkness. “How we'd both find better things to do than worry about not sleeping.”
“And Gage?” His name catches in my throat.
He shifts beneath me, the lounger creaking. His hair falls across his forehead as he leans closer, close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “Don’t worry about my brother. He isn't out here,” he whispers. “We are.”
“Yeah, Rafe, we are.” The corner of my mouth lifts. I lower myself inch by inch, hovering just above him. His eyes track my movements like I’m prey. When I finally settle against him, the cotton of his sweatpants does nothing to disguise the ridge pressing against my inner thigh. His breath catches—a sharp inhale that breaks into a hiss—and the lounger creaks beneath our combined weight.
And when his hands finally come up—one settling at my waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of my neck—my muscles go liquid, my weight melting against him.
His hand doesn't stop at my neck.
It slides forward, his thumb finding the hollow beneath my jaw where my pulse throbs wildly against his skin. His fingers curl around the column of my throat, the weight of them light as a whisper. Something primal flickers in his eyes—a question, a promise.
Rafe's voice drops to a rasp. “Look at me.”
My eyes find his in the dark—pupils blown wide, a thin ring of gray around black.
The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly. His feet scrape against concrete as he plants them, muscles tensing beneath me. He shifts, lifts—just an inch—and suddenly there's pressure exactly where I need it.
“Oh—” The word dissolves into air. My spine arches without permission, head falling back, exposing my throat to the night sky.
Rafe leans up. His teeth graze my nipple through Gage’s shirt, hard enough to send a bolt of electricity straight to my core. My hips jerk forward, a lightning response I couldn't control if I tried. I meet his gaze and slowly, deliberately roll my hips again, watching his pupils dilate as I press down harder against him.
His fingers tighten, drawing me down until our mouths crash together. The lounger creaks beneath us as he shifts his weight, his hips rising to meet mine. The fabric between us does nothing to dull the sensation—hard against soft, pressure exactly where I need it. My gasp dissolves against his lips as his tongue traces the seam of my mouth, demanding entry.
He kisses me like possession, hands everywhere—one splayed at my waist, the other bracing my jaw so I can’t look away, can’t even pretend I’m not right here, straddling him under the stars like every rule I ever made for myself was a joke. The lounger shudders beneath us, groaning in protest, but I don’t care if it snaps in half. I don’t care if Bishop emerges fromthe shadows or if Gage wakes up and finds me gone. I don’t care about anything except the drag of Rafe’s mouth and the heat of his body and the way his cock feels against my pussy.
He doesn’t let up, rolling his hips until I’m gasping, until I can barely keep myself upright.
“Rafe—” His name stutters out of me, a plea and a warning smashed together.
His mouth curves against my collarbone, teeth grazing skin. “That's it, baby,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against my jaw before he captures my mouth once more, like he can’t bear to not be kissing me.
It’s fucking addictive, this feeling. I could drown in it.
Stars burst behind my eyelids. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails leaving half-moons. The lounger creaks beneath us as my hips stutter, lose their rhythm. A current races up my spine, spreads like wildfire across my skin. My thighs clamp around him.
I can't—I can't?—
I pull away just enough to suck air into my lungs. His hand stays firm at my throat, grounding and possessive all at once, and my pulse responds like it knows exactly who’s holding it. I taste salt and smoke and something bright and bitter that might be his blood or mine; I don’t remember biting him, but there’s a faint copper tang on my tongue that wasn’t there before.
His thumb strokes the hollow beneath my chin, soft and almost reverent.
“Rafe,” I whisper.
“That was perfect. Exactly how I pictured,” he muses, letting his one hand slide down between my breasts and settling on my waist. “Though I don’t usually come in my pants like that.“ He sends me a sly grin.
His confession pulls a quiet huff of laughter from me. I shift slightly, the fabric of my bikini bottoms clinging, sticky againstsensitive skin. My smile freezes when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I look, I don’t see anything.
His forehead presses briefly to mine, intimate and deliberate, like he’s sealing something in place.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs again, the words vibrating through my bones.
And I let the rest of the world fall away—the loungers around us, the distant hum of night insects, the knowledge of Gage sleeping just inside. All of it dissolves like sugar in hot water.
Just for a moment. Just enough to remind myself why this is dangerous—how easy it would be to drown in him. To forget everything else that matters.
