“Rafe,” I breathe, and it’s not a warning. It’s a plea.
He doesn’t stop. He presses closer, mouth still latched onto mine, a low sound vibrating in his throat that makes my entire body tighten. He grips my hoodie, pulling me into him as if he could climb inside my skin and stay there.
I fumble again.
The key scrapes uselessly. I should pull away. It would be quicker. But I can’t.
The taste of him—coffee and adrenaline and something faintly sweet from breakfast—fills my mouth. His lips are soft but relentless. I chase him when he shifts, refusing to lose contact even for a second.
My fingers finally find the right angle, and the lock clicks. Triumph floods through me so fast it’s almost ridiculous. Like I just hit a game-winner instead of opening my own damn front door.
I twist the handle, pushing it open with my shoulder, and we stumble inside together, still kissing.
The apartment is dimmer than the hallway, quiet, familiar. The scent of our detergent. The faint trace of Rafe’s cologne clinging to the air like he never really leaves.
He pulls away only long enough to yank his shirt over his head, curls springing up messier as he does, muscles flexing with the movement. Then he’s back on me instantly, mouth claiming mine again like he didn’t get enough of me last night. Like he never will.
I shut the door behind us blindly, still kissing, still moving, keys clattering somewhere to the floor. Then I grab him with both hands, my hold firm.
I lift him with a grunt, because he’s lighter than me and because I can’t not. Because he fits against me like he was built for this. Because he makes himself boneless and trusting in my arms like he knows I have him.
Rafe wraps his legs around my waist with no hesitation, hands sliding into my hair. His mouth is hot against mine, his skin warm, his breath shaking.
Fuck. He’s beautiful. Perfect.
My husband. Mine in every way that matters.
I take two steps into the living room and then?—
“Holy shit.”
The words hit the air like a gunshot. I freeze so hard my muscles lock. My heart doesn’t stutter. It stops.
That’s Lindy’s voice.
Every atom in my body goes ice-cold at once, panic detonating so fast my vision sharpens. For a split second, I can’t even breathe. Rafe pulls back slightly, confused, his eyes wide and searching my face.
I stare at him, mind racing, mouth dry.
Lindy? Here? Now?
I’m panicking—but not too much. Because it’s Lindy.
Lindy is amazing and safe. She’s the family member in my life who’s always looked at me like I’m hers, no matter what. The one who would shove the whole world off a cliff if it meant protecting me.
She’ll keep a secret because she loves me. I can manage this. I can?—
Rafe wriggles, sensing my sudden tension, and I let him down because I have to. He lands silently, shirtless, hair wild and loose from his bun, lips swollen, looking at me like he’s trying to translate my expression in real time.
He mouths, “Who?”
I angle my head, finally letting myself look. Lindy is standing by the kitchen island.
Her eyes are huge. Her hands are half raised like she walked in mid-sentence and forgot how to finish it. She looks stunned but not horrified, which should have been my first clue that my sister already knows more than she should.
And then my gaze shifts, and the floor drops out from under me.
Because it’s not just Lindy.
