The soft hum of the refrigerator breaks the silence of the kitchen, its cool light spilling onto the tiled floor. I’m standing there in nothing but his oversized shirt, the hem brushing against my thighs as I reach for a bottle of water. The hour is late, and the rest of the world feels like it’s asleep.

I don’t hear him at first, but I sense him. The subtle shift in the air, the way my skin prickles with awareness. When I turn, he’s leaning against the doorframe, shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

"Couldn’t sleep?" he asks, his voice low and rough from slumber.

I shrug, holding the water bottle close to my chest. "I guess I was thirsty."

His gaze drops, lingering on my bare legs before meeting my eyes again. "I can see that."

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, but I don’t look away. "What about you? Why are you up?"

"I heard you," he admits, stepping into the kitchen. His movements are unhurried, but there’s a purpose in the way he crosses the room.

When he’s standing in front of me, the small space between us feels like it’s charged with electricity. He reaches past me, grabbing the water bottle from my hands and taking a slow sip. The way his throat moves as he swallows is mesmerizing.

"You know," he starts, his voice dropping an octave, "there’s something else I’m craving."

I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "Oh? What’s that?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The cool bottle presses against my back, making me gasp, but it’s quickly forgotten as his lips find mine.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. His hands roam my body, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, his fingers brushing against bare skin.

"You’re making it hard to focus," I murmur against his lips, my hands sliding up his chest.

"Good," he replies, his voice a husky whisper. "I don’t want you thinking about anything else."

Before I can respond, he lifts me onto the countertop, his body pressing between my thighs. The cold surface sends a shiver through me, but his warmth quickly replaces it.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs, his lips trailing down my neck. "Like you were made for me."

I let out a breathless laugh, my fingers tangling in his hair. "You’re such a cliché."

"Maybe," he admits, his teeth grazing my collarbone. "But you love it."

He’s not wrong.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs as he pulls me closer. The need in his touch matches the fire building inside me, and I can’t help but surrender to him, right there in the quiet of the kitchen.

The water bottle clatters to the floor, forgotten, as he lifts me again, carrying me out of the kitchen and into the darkened living room. The city lights filter through the windows, casting shadows that dance across our skin.

"I’ve wanted you like this all night," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

"Then take me," I reply, my voice full of promise.

And he does, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. The world outside disappears, leaving only the two of us, tangled together in the glow of the night.