Gives You Hell [III]
Figure Eight was suffocating. You had your step-brother to thank for that. And you thought you could borrow something— call it a favor, brush it off for your friends. But Rafe made it damn sure you wouldn’t try it again.
tags: dark!rafe cameron, stepbrother!rafe cameron, smut, rated 18+ extreme non-consensual themes, toxic step-sibling dynamics, drug use, verbal degradation, incest, blackmailing, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT THEMES
finally got around to finishing the first half of obx so dark rafe requests are welcomed! :)
the last part to my mini fic! pls leave your comments and thoughts. i'd gladly appreciate it!
Another evening had settled quietly over the Cut, a few days since you helped JJ with the repairs. This one came softer, slower. The kind of night that wrapped around you like a damp breeze. There were no fireworks lighting up the sky, no chaos or thrill—just the usual. Low voices, faint music drifting from inside John B’s house.
While being inside, you could hear JJ’s voice bouncing between Pope and Kiara. Your friends stood and were circled around an old map that was placed on the table. You could hear their voices arguing in about routes, shortcuts, and how to slip through town without being noticed.
There still wasn’t a concrete plan you were aware of. But as you could only assume from the conversations, the group was still strategizing in the logistics phase. It was something about running supplies though old channels while trying to avoid accidental security sweeps in the town. You couldn’t ask for the entire blueprint yet; however you were somewhat curious because they usually had this kind of thing figured out normally by now.
Normally the team would have it down to a science. John B was great at navigating and leading. Pope would do the math. Sarah could point out some blind spots related to the family or the neighborhood. But this time. But something was definitely slowing the plan down.
Eventually you could conclude that the Twinkie was part of the problem. It had been creating sputtering sounds for a few days already. Much more had been losing power when the meter hit over 45, backfiring on hills, and eating way too much gas faster than usual.
JJ mentioned something about the carburetor acting up again. But he initially had already tried to take it apart, yet to no avail. Pope said something about needing to replace a part, but even if the guys could fix it, there essentially wasn’t enough fuel to get to the destination without risking the Twinkie to suddenly stop in the middle of the road.
In addition to it, the old fishing boat also needed an oil change. Just too many machines, not enough working parts nor gas. And more importantly, none of you had enough money to cover all of it.
“You think we can just push this until the morning?” Kiara asked, seeming to understand the situation that was left for the group.
“No shot,” Pope immediately answers, “Security is lightest around midnight. No boats would be running yet with patrols. If we wait any further long we might risk getting flagged when the marina picks up and moves in the morning.”
JJ cursed under his breath. “Even if we had the fuel, we’re stuck unless we get the oil too. John B’s boat isn’t gonna move an inch without it, and if we don’t bring the goods in by tonight—”
“—We miss our window,” Pope finished grimly.
Silence fell around the group for a moment. You glanced around at the scattered tools, half drawn maps, and the state of the Twinkie out the front of the house. The tone or urgency in their voices steadily crackled louder than the chirps of cicadas outside. And everything started to feel like fraying at the edges.
No one was panicking. But you knew all were close to it.
In that moment, you knew what was missing from the equation. One that could entirely help solve and arrive at productive conclusions.
A car. Just one, fast and working. To make a quick run out and back before the rest of the world woke up.
And you knew exactly where to find one.
The thought came into your mind before you could even stop it. You weren’t the biggest fan of the idea. But it made too much sense. Rafe had his truck parked in the driveway usually at night. It remained untouched, gleaming like it had never felt first roads or desperate errands.
He was probably partying right now, or God knows where else.
You could already picture the keys. It was probably tossed on top of the kitchen counter or wedged into the side table drawer he always forgets to close. He always gets careless and smug when he’s high. And for the first time you were counting that he was.
“I think I could get a car,” you mumbled. All eyes turned to you. JJ paused. Pope looked skeptical. Even Sarah blinked in surprise.
“You?” Kiara echoed. “How?”
“Just leave it to me.” You shrugged like it was simple, “Just… be ready to move when I get back.”
Sarah leaned in slightly, brows furrowing. “Wait, from where?”
You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.
The look Sarah gave you said she knew anyway. And maybe that’s what scared her more than the plan itself.
“Are you sure about this?” She asked with a voice quieter this time.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
Before you even knew it, you were already on your feet rushing to the house. Because if you would wait too long, you’d lose your nerve. Or worse, Rafe might come home.
The area was definitely darker now. Shadows had pooled in between the grown trees that stretched along the pavements. The sky dimmed into a shade that was a dark and heavy hue of indigo just before midnight. And so that warmth and color of John B’s porch lights disappeared from behind you with each step you took forward.
The closer you were approaching the house felt sharper. Each step had your heart beat racing, making you more aware of your surroundings like hearing the gravel of the ground crunch louder than usual. Your chest also grew tighter.
By the time you had reached the outer gate, you didn’t realize that your palms had profusely sweat.
Sarah had mentioned earlier that Rafe wouldn’t be home. She said he most probably had left before dinner, and had hopped into Topper’s Jeep. He had muttered something about meeting his friends at a house, likely for a party. And you immediately thought of the time this could give, potentially a few hours at most if the universe was forgiving.
You glanced to see that the lights inside the house were dim. Most of the usual lights like in Wheezie’s room you considered were normal. Rafe’s room was completely out and you could only assume he wasn’t in the house like Sarah had mentioned.
You moved slowly and carefully onto the front steps, easing the door open. It made a creaking sound just slightly.
Your body froze for a second. Your breath stuck in your throat.
But nothing moved. No voices. No footsteps. No Rafe.
You took your chance and slipped inside like a stranger in the house.
The Cameron house always felt colder at night as you would always mention. The walls themselves resented your presence. But you made sure to move quickly as you let your eyes adjust. Your feet tried as much to step faintly over the floors you’d memorized.
The side table in the living room. It was the one with chipped edges and a drawer that never quite shut. And it was honestly your best bet.
So your fingers curled around the vintage metal handle and eased it open very slowly.
There the keys were.
It was attached to a single worn-out leather strap. The one you recognized from countless times hearing it jingle in his pocket. The one he tossed without care when he came home high or hungover.
You grabbed it. Then paused.
The wallet was gone from your pocket long ago. No evidence. No lingering mistake. But you could still feel the echo and weight of it. The risk, the rush, the invisible line you kept crossing when it came to Rafe. The invisible line that only he drew and acknowledges yet somehow still affects you.
You glanced behind and over your shoulder once. Just to be sure that there wasn’t anyone that could catch you.
Still nothing.
Then you immediately stepped back, making sure to swiftly shoved the keys into your pocket. Consequently, exhaled through your nose as you crept back to the door.
The wind outside was cold. It hit your face as you closed the door behind and stepped off the porch. But you didn’t hesitate this time. You followed the small gravel path toward the side of the driveway where Rafe’s truck parked.
The color of his car is almost as dark as the sky. And his soul too probably.
You slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door quietly. The keys clicked into the ignition. The engine started smoothly. It definitely wasn’t anything you’d driven before. Your fingers gripped around the wheel with both hands and a heart pounding. The pulse was loudly thudding against your temple and ears.
This was the stupidest thing you’d ever done
You turned the headlights low. Backed out slowly.
And drove into the night, toward The Cut, toward your friends Toward whatever trouble this would earn you later.
Because for now, it was worth it.
You just had to make it back before he did.
The drive back to The Cut felt different. Especially when it was driving behind the wheel of Rafe’s truck. The leather design around the steering wheel felt sticky against your fingers. Meanwhile, every vibration of the engine hammered through the skin of your arms. The car was smooth and fast, you hated to admit it.
You passed the familiar streetlights. Ones that were flickering outside the gas station and the crooked sign pointing toward the marina.
By the time you reached back to John B’s place, you felt your system even out a little bit. Your heart beat became just a little more stable as the anxiety died down. You pulled the truck into the edge, just enough where it wouldn’t be easily noticed from the main road.
The lights inside the house glowed warmly from your view. You could see silhouettes moving around, probably Kiara and Pope setting something up.
JJ was the first one to emerge onto the porch, probably from hearing the engine. He spotted the truck and his brows shot up.
"No way," he said, stepping closer as you climbed out. "Is that…?"
You tossed him a look. "Don’t ask. Just help me unload this."
The truck bed wasn’t full, but it had enough fuel, a couple of sealed containers of oil, some replacement parts, and even a bag of ice with a few drinks Kiara had requested. You grabbed two of the heavier jugs, and JJ fell into step beside you, still visibly stunned.
"I can't believe you got his truck," he muttered.
"Borrowed," you corrected. "Temporarily."
"Still," he shook his head. "You got guts."
The others gathered by the porch as you returned with the supplies. Pope gave a low whistle. "Damn. You actually pulled it off. Sorry for doubting I guess"
You tried to play it cool by brushing it off. But you couldn’t deny that there was a feeling in your chest swelling something close to pride. Even Kiara gave a grin before taking the drinks and setting them aside.
"We’ll be able to finish prepping the boat before sunrise," she said. "Thank God."
Sarah came around the corner a few minutes later. Her expression was tight until she saw you standing there, safe and intact. It was obvious that seeing you was way more important than seeing the truck. Her eyes dropped to the keys in your hand. "You okay?"
You nodded. "Fine. Everything’s where it should be."
"He didn’t see you?"
"Nope. Still out. Should have time."
The group filtered back into the house, moving with a little more ease now that things were falling into place. The tension was still there, under the surface, but the panic had dulled.
JJ nudged you again. "Seriously. Thanks. I know this wasn’t exactly low-risk."
"It’s nothing," you said. Even though you knew, and probably the others, that it might cost almost everything.
Eventually an hour passed. Then two. You didn’t notice how fast time flew when everyone was doing everything they could under pressure.
The boat was finally stocked. The fuel tank filled. Plans whispered back and forth like code. Everyone too tired to overthink things. Things finally are flailing back as planned.
You found yourself leaning back against the truck door, arms crossed as you watched Pope check the inventory again.
Sarah came over and nudged your side. "We should start heading back soon."
You nodded, watching as JJ jogged up the dock with a grin that was more energy than you felt. He'd come alive again, in that loud and reckless way he always did once a plan was in motion. But the way he smiled at you was different. Grateful.
You tried not to let that mean anything.
Eventually the night wore thin. Sarah tapped her phone screen and grimaced once seeing what time it was past late midnight.
"He’ll be home soon," she reminded.
You didn’t need to ask who she meant.
The others packed the last of the gear. Hugs were exchanged and did quick goodbyes. Another plan set for the next time they’d meet.
You slid behind the wheel again. The truck now slightly accumulated some mud and dust from. While pulling away, the headlights catching in the brush, you finally took the time to deeply exhale.
The salt still clung to your clothes. Your hands were stained faintly with grease. Your eyes felt heavy from everything they’d witnessed tonight.
But your heart? It was oddly steady. It shouldn’t have been.
Because now all that was left was to return it. You didn’t know if this would be the easiest or the hardest part.
The streets were darker now. The island quieter like it was holding its breath alike you did with yours. Every turn back toward Figure Eight made your pulse tick up a little more. You kept glancing at the time displayed on the dash with silent prayers and hope that Rafe was still deep into whatever party he vanished to earlier.
The truck rumbled softly beneath you like it hadn’t just spent hours helping out a group Rafe loathed with his whole chest. You kept your fingers tight around the wheel but your thoughts were scrambling through every possible worst case scenario.
But mostly, you just pictured his face. That stare. The way he never needed to say much for you to feel the threat tucked behind his smirk.
Still, you were doing this. You were almost there.
The familiar neighborhood began to reappear. Even in the dim you could decipher the manicured lawns, soft porch lights, and cars that cost more than boats. And eventually, the house peeked into view with its silhouette large and looming in the moonlight.
You proceeded into the driveway feeling your stomach doing flips. The gate was still open. Lights were off in most of the windows similar to how you left it.
You rolled in slowly and carefully. You turned the headlights off for the last few feet. Meanwhile the truck tires whispered over the ground.
Finally home. Now to just park it and get out without anyone noticing.
As the engine finally dies down, your body instinctively takes the time to allow itself to exhale. The rush of adrenaline dipped but the tension remained. Didn’t disappear at all, merely just reshaped itself.
You moved out of the car with soft steps. It made crunching noises faintly against the ground as you walked. But with each step approaching the house nearer, your heartbeat also climbed up. It panged louder as it reached your ears, until eventually you had reached the threshold.
Return the truck. Slip the keys back. Quiet. Easy. You tried to convince and sooth yourself.
You stepped inside, soft-footed and quiet. The living room was empty and dim, shadows spilling across the hardwood.
Then carefully, you eased the drawer open just enough. The metal handle barely made a sound. You returned the keys back inside, ensuring to place them in the same corner where you found them earlier. Right as it was at the edge of a lighter and a crumpled receipt of whoever owned it in the house.
Just like before.
That was it. Finally done. No trace. No proof.
You let the drawer slide shut and turned away, your breath slow and quiet as your feet padded back across the kitchen. The house remained still. Silent. The kind of silence that dared you to believe you were safe.
You tiptoed toward the stairs with each step cautious and calculated.Your fingers skimmed the railing as you moved up. You could feel the wood beneath your skin. For a moment relief crept in. Maybe this time— just maybe— it actually worked. Maybe he hadn’t—
And then a flicker of movement.
You thought the hallway would be empty. It seemed like it, still cloaked in darkness. There was barely the faintest leak of moonlight from a nearby window at the end. You’d already taken a few steps almost close towards your room. Your breath tried being soft with pulse steadying. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then something shifted. Just barely. A shadow that you hadn’t made out of and realized too late.
You froze, breath caught in your throat.
One second passed. Then another. The darkness blinked, then came alive.
From the wall where the shadows thickened and pooled, Rafe stepped out. And then your breath caught
He barely seemed to show any hint of surprise to your presence. Didn’t have an expression like someone who’d just woken up or happened to stumble into the hallway.
You could see even from the smallest hint of light that his eyes were somewhat blown wide. Pupils were dark blue and slick. Locked onto where you stood with a sharpness that made your skin crawl.
Whatever he had taken or ingested had his body moving slower than his mind. Subconsciously you thought that made things worse. His shirt hung half-untucked with a stain around the collar. The form of his lips was somewhere in between a sneer and a smile. A smile that was lazy and cruel.
You opened your mouth. Trying to produce something out. Maybe to explain; maybe to lie; maybe to run.
Didn’t matter.
Rafe moved. Three steps. That’s all it took.
His hand shot out before you could even realize what was happening. You could feel him immediately grabbing the back of your neck. He fisted a ball around your hair so fast you barely had time to let out a gasp before you felt your spine had hit the hallway wall.
"And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?" he murmurs. The voice with a rasp that dragged over your nerves. His breath stank of whiskey and smoke and a whole lot of other vices. Along with it, his words were slurred at the edges but weren't really helpful in softening up the tone. "What? Creeping around like a little fucking rat?"
His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it pressed harder— possessive and punishing. It was like he already knew the answer and just wanted to hear you disgustingly squirm under it.
You tried to shove him back yet his grip only tightened. His fingers further dig into your skin.
"Let go of me, Rafe," you squirmed.
He tilts his head like a pet hearing a new sound. He seemed mockingly amused at where he has gotten you.
“Oh, now we finally got rules?” He mocks, “You think you get to touch my shit and walk away like some fucking saint?”
He barely gave you a second to breathe. His grip tightened further and proceeded to yank hard. The vision of the hallway tilted and your heels dragged against the floor as he hauled you down it like a ragdoll. His grip was uncaring, enough to bruise. Like you weren’t even real to him. Just something to play and punish.
"You want to crawl around behind my back like a little thief?” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Like you’re not already living off scraps in this house?”
He didn’t even look to his side, toward the stairs, or past any of the rooms in the hallway.
Just proceeded straight to his room.
You heard the door slam powerfully which made you flinch.
His room smelled initially like expensive cologne he wore with his sweater. Eventually you could also smell stale smoke and chemicals from all the coke he had been doing. It was dimly lit and filled with a mess of open drawers and dirty glass. The second you stumbled forward, he was behind you again, shoving you and the door with his boot.
“You think you’re clever? Sneaking out with my truck. With my fucking money,” he snapped, pacing behind you. “Acting like I wouldn’t notice. Like I wouldn’t feel it the second you touched my shit.”
You opened your mouth instinctively to try to defend yourself but he was faster.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” he seethes with eyes wild and face shaped in disgust. “You think I don’t know where you’ve been? Who you’ve been playing savior for?”
He stepped closer, chest nearly pressed to yours, forcing your back into the nearest wall. His breath reeked of liquor and smoke and something sourer.
"You reek of them,” he growled. “That dirtbag JJ. Their fucking boat. Their hands on you and all over my jacket, my fucking truck—"
His hands braced on either side of your head caging you in. His voice dropped to a tone low and sharp. “You think you can drag that filth back into this house and pretend like it doesn’t stick?”
You tried to look away, but his voice followed, slicing into your throat like wire.
“This house. Everything you touch in here. It’s still mine.”
He leans his head closer to the side of your ear. “You don’t get to be the one to pick and choose when the rules apply to just you.”
Further he adds,“You don’t get to be dirty and pretend to be clean.”
Your stomach twisted into knots as Rafe was getting more aggressive. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.
Without any warnings, he grabbed your arm again and dragged you up. Your weight didn’t seem like anything for him. For whatever adrenaline or coke his body was fueled by right now. His grip was too tight with nails digging in. Instantly, he then shoved you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed.
You fell onto it hard as your spine caught on the mattress. He loomed over you seeing his chest heaving with eyes bloodshot and unreadable.
“I should throw you out,” he growled, leaning down closer. “But you don’t even deserve to be out there with them…”
“...You want to lie? Sneak around behind my back? You do it under my roof, you pay my fucking price.”
He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up harshly.
You could feel it. The heat in his skin, the way his pupils swallowed the blue of his eyes. The erratic breath. The tremble in his fingers masked by force.
Rafe definitely wasn’t sober. He was so fucking high out of his mind right now. Suddenly the danger felt sharper. Not just anger and chaos. He was high and unraveling. And you were the target.
“You like being dirty, don’t you?” He hissed. Then his hand released your face, only to shove your shoulder down into the bed again. Like he wanted you pinned there. Like keeping you still gave him control.
And for the first time, you didn’t just feel scared of him. You felt scared for him.
Because whatever he was on… it was eating him alive. And taking you with it.
“I’ll play your fucking game,” he threatens.
At first you weren’t entirely sure what his words meant. You thought it was just bluffs in order to shut you up or make him feel better than you. But then you saw him use one of his hands to reach for his belt while the other still tried to pin you down.
The sound of him unbuckling it was so faint but the terrors it sent down your spine was unnerving.
Before you knew it, he also was trying to pull your shorts down. The heat of his skin was so prominent even between the fabric. It had your head spinning and you didn’t even take any shit that he was taking. Your body started to feel high as well, slowly disassociating from what was happening.
“Rafe!” You called out hoping to snap him to reality.
“Shut the fuck up!” He immediately replies. “This might just get you to shut the fuck up. Know your fucking place for once.”
Furthermore, you could feel his warmth and weight pressing your body further into the mattress. He barely gave you a chance to breathe properly as you were sandwiched and stuck in between bedding and him. His hands gripped either side of your wrists like he was trying to anchor himself. But it might have also been to intentionally position you beneath him.
“You think I didn’t notice?” His voice was low, hot, cracked from whatever he’d taken. “You think I don’t know every fucking thing you touch or get from me?”
You struggled beneath him, but it was no use. He wasn’t just stronger, he was relentless.
Rafe was batshit crazy in a way that burned straight through his veins. His body caged yours against the sheets, and still it wasn’t close enough for him.
The pressure of his hips told you exactly what he wanted and intended on doing. What he was holding back from. Or barely trying to do so.
“Fucking walking around in my jacket like you belonged in it,” he muttered. “Like you didn’t know what it meant.”
His hand dragged down the sides of your body. His touch was slow and rough. He wasn’t thinking clearly. His pupils were blown wide, jaw clenched like he was keeping himself from snapping entirely.
You hated him for making you feel it. The heat. The ache. The way your skin lit up under his touch even when your head screamed don’t.
But you hated yourself more for not moving. For arching just enough to meet him halfway.
Rafe’s hand slid beneath the fabric, curling along the back of your thigh, pulling you tighter against him.
“You feel that?” he hummed while feeling his lips brushing your ear.
The bed creaked beneath you. The air further grew thick. Still, every drag of fabric that created friction between your bodies only made it worse. The fact that you both knew how this would end, even if you didn’t dare say it.
He stared down at you, hair falling into his eyes, chest heaving.
“Say it,” he demanded.
You swallowed hard. “Say what?”
His smirk twisted cruel. “ That you wanted this.”
You didn’t say anything.
But you didn’t pull away either.
And that was enough for him.
He further slides your clothes down easily as if you wanted it. You shiver at the touch when you could feel the cold breeze of his room combined with his fingertips. It was in contrast to the heat in between your thighs.
Rafe didn’t even need to say anything as both of you could feel it once he dragged a finger in between the slit of your cunt. You were even surprised at yourself for feeling that way. Didn’t at all notice a pool of wetness forming for whatever sick tension triggered this reaction.
Rafe’s jaw ticked. It was against you to look at him eye to eye. Maybe out of shame or disgust. You couldn’t tell why anymore. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find something in your silence he could tear apart.
“You act like those Pogues care about you,” he spat. “Those little island rats you sneak around with. But they don’t. Not really. They’ll use you ‘til you’re empty. You think you’re one of them now?”
Your breathing was shaky. Unsure how to respond to both his question and actions.
But it seemed like he wasn’t waiting for you to reply anyway.
He merely continues what he was doing, slowly feeling him inch his fingers inside you. He smirks at his view as the length of his hand slowly disappears and reappears in between your thighs.
“Is that what this is?” he sneered. “A rebellion? Some pathetic little attempt to seek attention?”
You couldn’t meet his eyes, so you just stared at his throat. At the thin sheen of sweat glistening there.
You didn’t even realize that he already was midway of pulling his pants down. Your vision starts to blur now and you could only focus back and forth from his neck and bare thighs.
Within a second the coldness of his fingers disappeared from inside you. However, it was immediately replaced with something thicker. You didn’t have to have a big brain to know what it was. And you could only smack yourself at the head when you didn’t consciously realize that you had let out a low moan.
“I let you come back here. I let you slide my keys back like a coward. You think I didn’t know? I knew the second you touched my shit,” he says, “Ungrateful little shit.”
You feel the tip of his cock press against your slit. He doesn’t immediately shove himself in, but he does make sure you’re aware of everything right now. He made sure you painfully had the time to process this information.
You merely closed your eyes knowing you couldn’t do anything more. And even with a blind vision you could tell he was smug about all of this. Before you knew it, he had pushed himself inside you.
It wasn’t at all forgiving and patient. He was mean and aggressive with his thrust. You could feel the entire length and heat radiating from in between your inner thighs until the inside of your lower abdomen. You tried to bite down onto your lower lip, holding back a moan that was bound to escape past your tongue.
Rafe seemed to notice what you were doing and decided to pick up his pace and thrust faster. Despite it, he made sure he was reaching deep into your cunt, in between your soft muscles. “Y-You’re fucking embarrassing for liking this,” he moans. “You… s-should be ashamed… o-of yourself.”
“F-Fuck you,” you spat.
But he doesn’t even reply and just mockingly laughs at your statement like it was some joke. “Ah f-fuck you’re tight.”
“Stop.”
“Can’t believe you’re willing to let that dirtbag get in your pants.” “Rafe–” “F-fuck… Should I come in you?” “Rafe!”
“I bet those Pogues would love this shit won’t they?”
At some point, his hand broke away from you. You felt him fumbling under the covers or anywhere nearby your bodies. His thrusts became a bit sloppy and out of rhythm for a moment until he finally ended up digging into the pockets of his pants. It was up until you barely registered it that a bright screen lit up for a second.
His phone. You could see his jaw twitch in the dim light. He swiped it up with one hand, not even looking at the screen. Just locked eyes with you. “Smile for that dipshit won’t you? Give him something to jack off about if you’re that desperate.”
Rafe continues his pace while you try to pull your hands up to your face, palms facing the bright flash coming from his phone.
“You think they’ll still accept you when they see you’re a brother-fucker?”
You hated how Rafe toyed with your feelings. You barely could even register how you wanted to cry at his statement as it was overshadowed with the feeling of pleasure you didn’t ask for in the first place. The man had his way with words and made sure it stung.
“Now come on, smile for the camera, baby,” he teases.
“Please s-stop,” you cry out. “Don’t worry I’m almost there,” he moans, “I’m gonna fucking cum in you.”
“Rafe, don’t!” But like always, he doesn’t listen. No one but himself will get him to listen.
His hips further thrusted inside you. The space between your thighs and his body inched closer as he thrusted like an animal reaching its high. And eventually, he slows down and buries himself deep inside you before throwing his head back with a sigh of relief.
The small white beside his phone’s camera blinked and completely dimmed out. Without a second thought, you heard the click of the locked screen as he tossed his phone in the sea of sheets beside, landing with a soft thud.
You lay still on his bed feeling your chest rising and falling in uneven waves. The silence presses in. Everything felt too loud in your head, too blurred in your body. End.
