The lights shift. A new song starts up, and the audience roars again, the sound so big it becomes physical.
I’m smiling before I can stop myself.
Pride blooms hot and immediate in my chest. It’s so intense it almost hurts. I want to reach out and grab him, like a stupid instinct, like possession would quiet the ache of watching him be adored by strangers.
But I don’t. I stay where I am. Quiet. Unseen. The way I have to.
Except my body still remembers the last time I saw him tonight.
The dressing room.
The narrow hallway behind the stage that smelled like old paint and electricity. His bandmates shouting and laughing when he spotted me, the way their faces lit up because they know that I’m part of this orbit even if no one can understand why.
Rafe’s eyes had locked on mine the second I walked in. All the noise around us had disappeared as he’d crossed the room so fast I barely had time to breathe, palms framing my face like he needed to confirm I wasn’t another hallucination born out of exhaustion.
“Fuck,” he’d whispered, and then his mouth was on mine, tasting like mint gum and tequila—like he’d taken a shot to steady himself, preparing for me.
I’d kissed him back like I was starving.
Eli had wolf-whistled. Drew had laughed. Miles had muttered something about getting a room.
Rafe didn’t even look at them. He just tugged me toward the adjoining bathroom like the rest of the world didn’t exist, like the door closing behind us was an immediate promise.
He’d pressed me back against the sink, mouth at my throat, hands urgent. “You came,” he’d breathed against my skin.
“I said I would.”
“I didn’t believe you until I saw you.”
The rawness of that had hit me harder than any physical touch. Like even after all this time, even after vows and rings and promises, my presence still feels like something he’s afraid he might lose.
“You look so good,” I’d managed, hands in his curls, dragging him closer.
“Not now,” he’d muttered. “If I start thinking, I’m done.”
Then he’d dropped to his knees like it was inevitable, like we’d both known exactly where this was going the second he saw me.
Two minutes was all it took for him to suck me dry and rock my world.
Less, maybe.
The memory of it makes my stomach tighten now. Makes heat curl through me like my body’s trying to relive it by force. He’d made me come apart fast—no mercy, no time to overthink, like he wanted to take the edge off me before I had to stand out here and watch him belong to everyone else.
After, he’d stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blown wide and satisfied. “Happy anniversary,” he’d murmured against my lips.
My hands had trembled when I held his face. “You’re insane.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” I’d admitted, breathless. “God, I do.”
He’d kissed me again, deeper. He’d tasted like me. He’d licked into my mouth like he wanted me to remember the claim, the proof.
My refractory period had shattered every record known to man. I’d been hard again before we even left the bathroom.
Rafe had laughed softly into my neck, holding me tight. “Later,” he’d promised. “All of this belongs to you later.”
Now, watching him onstage, I can feel the weight of that promise in my body like a physical thing.
