“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled low, stepping inside and kicking the door shut with his boot. No hello. No small talk. He was on her instantly.

One large, tattooed hand gripped the back of her neck, the other seizing her waist as he slammed her back against the door. His mouth crashed into hers—hot, demanding, all tongue and teeth. He tasted like rain, mint gum, and the faint bitterness of whatever he’d been drinking earlier. Y/N moaned into the kiss, fingers fisting the wet fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. The chill of his soaked clothes against her bare skin made her shiver deliciously.