Co parenting riara masterlist
Welcome to my riara co parenting masterlist 💗
Luna first birthday
Why they’re not together
Going out for dinner
Rafe weekend to take care of Luna
Three Goblin Art
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oozey mess
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Cosimo Galluzzi
Peter Solarz

titsay

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Stranger Things
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Origami Around

tannertan36
$LAYYYTER

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roma★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
noise dept.
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Not today Justin
DEAR READER
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@drewiana
Co parenting riara masterlist
Welcome to my riara co parenting masterlist 💗
Luna first birthday
Why they’re not together
Going out for dinner
Rafe weekend to take care of Luna
MADISON BAILEY as IZZY Maintenance Required (2025)
as @anunholyred once said… Kie would walk Rafe like a dog in this outfit
maybe I'm the pervert
hi checking in on how you are. No rush for any writing.
Hiiii thanks for checking in very nice but busy
riara soon pls?
Yessssss in a bit be patient please 💗💗💗💗
when do u think part 2 will be out??? no rush ofc just excited
Hiiii sorry to everyone for the late update but I have been so busy lately with personal things and I haven’t been able to write anything but I’ll try my best to get yall the second part soon
and you can check yourself on her story btw
Finding out Fiona Palomo was a fucking Zionist because she read a Pro-Isnotreal book in a perfume ad while Gaza is in a stage 5 famine and almost 2 years into a genocide hurts me so much. I loved her since Obx 3 came out and now to find out that she’s a Zionist breaks my hurt.
She could have easily said no or not posted it but the fact that she filmed it AND posted it, shows me her priorities.
I will unfortunately no longer be supporting her, I still do like Sofia however, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to look at her the same because of Fiona.
Fiona, I hope you understand how many fans you hurt because of what you decided to do
She’s also a Scientologist too. There’s a Reddit thread about it. I honestly thought those were rumours but then I saw them.
I’m so upset. I genuinely thought she was a good person but to see that on her story.
I am holding out hope that she has changed her stance and that because of when this was filmed she isn’t a Zionist but I don’t know. If she isn’t great, if she is I’m done supporting her.
when do we get to read part two? i absolutely loved pt 1!!!!!
Sorry for the late part 2 but it should be ready in a few days I’ve been a bit busy
i love married riara/ coparent riara. i would love to see kie finding out she’s pregnant and telling rafe and then them during her pregnancy whether they’re together or not.
Part 1
Kiara had been feeling off for days something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The soreness in her breasts was the first sign, sharp and unignorable, making even the lightest brush of fabric against her skin a reminder that something was changing. Then came the nausea—little waves of queasiness that would sneak up on her, especially in the mornings, leaving her breathless and shaky.
But she told herself it was just stress. After all, she and Rafe had recently broken up.
It was a Tuesday when she finally broke.
The drugstore was half empty, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Kiara stood in front of the aisle feminine care and pregnancy tests stacked in careful rows hands shaking so badly she almost dropped her phone.
She grabbed the Clearblue box, the digital kind that actually spells out “Pregnant” or “Not Pregnant,” because she couldn’t deal with second-guessing faint pink lines.
At the counter, the teenage cashier barely looked up, scanning it along with the bottle of ginger ale and the pack of gum Kiara didn’t need.
The receipt felt heavier than it should have as she stuffed it into her tote bag, heart pounding so loud she swore everyone could hear.
Kiara walked out, heart pounding so hard she thought she might throw up right there on the sidewalk.
Back in her bathroom, she read the instructions three times, even though she already knew what to do.
She was still wearing Rafe’s old t-shirt — soft, faded, that familiar worn smell that she hadn’t washed out yet. It hung loose on her, making her feel smaller than she really was.
Her hands were trembling so bad she almost dropped the test.
She told herself: It’s probably nothing. Stress makes you late.
But the nausea, the soreness , deep down, she knew.
She set the test on the edge of the sink.
Looked away.
She thought about Rafe as a dad, something she’d never dared picture before.
Would he hold a baby the way he’d once held her?
Would his big hands look careful, cradling something so tiny?
Would the baby have his stubborn mouth, his impossible blue eyes?
She thought of what if:
If it was positive would she call him?
Would he come over, that stupid buzzcut messy from running his hand through it, eyes wide, scared and soft all at once?
Would he say, “It’s gonna be okay, Kie,” like he used to, back when they still believed it?
Would they figure it out — or ruin each other worse?
She thought of what if it was negative:
Would she feel relief?
Or would she feel empty, secretly, because as fucked up as they were, the idea of a piece of them hers and Rafe’s felt right in some twisted, perfect way?
She thought about her body: how it might change.
How there could be someone already tiny, invisible, hers.
How her life would never fit back into its old shape.
She thought about her parents.
The disappointment on their faces when they found out and the look of “we raised you better”.
Although she was a grown woman now in her early 20s and not some teenager.
So she stared at the corner of the mirror where the silver was chipped, a crack she’d always meant to fix. And her mind wandered the way it always did when she was scared bouncing between memories, regrets, and half-formed what-ifs that made her chest feel too tight.
She thought about the last time she and Rafe had been in this bathroom together:
him standing too close behind her while she brushed her teeth, his chin resting on her shoulder, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she’d teased, toothpaste on her lips.
“Can’t help it,” he’d murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw.
She blinked hard, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She wasn’t ready.
But maybe she wanted it anyway.
And when the timer on her phone finally buzzed,
Three minutes.
Longest three minutes of her life.
She paced in the tiny bathroom, feet sticking slightly on the cold tile. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. She felt hot and cold at the same time.
She didn’t look right away
She couldn’t.
Because once she looked, she couldn’t unknow
Finally, she turned.
Clear blue letters staring back at her.
Pregnant
Her chest squeezed so tight she couldn’t breathe.
Her knees almost gave out; she had to catch herself on the sink.
Pregnant.
With Rafe’s baby, their baby
just a word on a plastic stick
Kiara sucked in a breath so sharp it hurt her lungs.
She pressed her free hand to her mouth, eyes burning, vision blurring around the edges.
She didn’t cry at first.
Instead, she sat frozen, staring at the plastic stick like it was something that might explode if she blinked.
Her mind emptied out, replaced by a single thought, over and over:
“Holy shit.”
“Holy shit.”
“Holy shit.”
Then it hit her all at once:
The late nights with Rafe before they broke up, tangled in sweaty sheets, still loving each other even when they were already falling apart.
The nausea she brushed off. The soreness. The tiredness that never quite made sense.
And under it all, something deeper:
A spark of something that terrified her more than anything hope.
Because this wasn’t just a mistake. It was his.
It was theirs.
She wiped her face
and stared at the little white stick.
“Okay,” she whispered to the empty room. “Okay.”
She didn’t know what would happen next.
She didn’t know if she’d tell Rafe right away.
She didn’t know if he’d be angry, or scared, or quiet in that way he got when his chest hurt too much to speak.
But she knew one thing.
She was going to protect that baby.
Because love didn’t have to be perfect to be real.
And even if she and Rafe were over.
She closed her eyes and grabbed her phone and texted Sarah if she was busy because she needed to tell her something urgently in person.
The thought of Sarah’s reaction churned in her gut like a storm.
Rafe’s sister, her best friend — the one person who knew all their history, all their fights, all their mess.
And now… the one she had to tell she was pregnant.
It felt like the weight of the whole world was balancing on that little message.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Kiara’s hands trembled as she opened the door.
Sarah stood there, casual and calm in jeans and a soft sweater, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. But her eyes scanned Kiara instantly the way they always did when something was wrong.
“Hey,” Sarah said gently, stepping inside without waiting for an invite.
Kiara closed the door behind her and swallowed hard.
They settled on the couch.
Kiara’s voice was tight, barely above a whisper.
“I… I think I’m pregnant.”
Sarah blinked, stunned not out of judgment, but because she hadn’t expected it.
Sarah pulled Kiara into a hug tight and grounding.
“Did you… take a test?”
Kiara nodded. Her throat burned. “Clearblue. Digital. It says pregnant.”
“Hey,” she murmured against Kiara’s hair, voice breaking just a little. “Hey. It’s okay.”
And Kiara couldn’t hold it anymore. The tears spilled hot down her cheeks, wetting Sarah’s sweatshirt.
“I’m scared,” Kiara whispered, words cracking open like glass. “Sarah, I’m so fucking scared.”
Sarah squeezed tighter, palm warm on the back of Kiara’s neck. “Of course you are,” she murmured, voice low, calm. “Of course you’re scared. I would be too. I was too.”
Kiara sniffed, swiping at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “But me and Rafe… we’re not even together anymore. We’re not good, Sarah. We’re barely speaking. How the hell am I supposed to do this?”
Sarah’s mouth trembled, just barely, and Kiara saw the sister in her fight with the sister of Rafe. But Sarah’s voice stayed soft, rooted in love. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now,” she said. “All you have to do tonight is breathe. Okay? One thing at a time.”
Kiara laughed, watery and tired. “That sounds fake.”
Sarah smiled, thumb brushing a tear off Kiara’s cheek. “It is. But it helps anyway.”
They sat down on the couch, legs curled under them, the test sitting between them like a secret half the world knew. Kiara twisted the edge of her sweatshirt in her fingers. “Are you mad at me?” she whispered, so quietly she barely heard herself.
Sarah’s head shot up, eyes sharp with protectiveness. “Mad? Kiara never. God, no. You’re my best friend. My sister. I don’t care how messy it looks. I don’t care that it’s Rafe. I care that you’re okay.”
Kiara’s chest felt like it was cracking open. “I thought you’d think I did it on purpose. Or that I was trying to trap him.”
Sarah let out a breath, eyes softening. “I know you, Kie. Better than that. And trust me even if it was the other way around, it wouldn’t change how much I love you.”
Kiara dropped her forehead to Sarah’s shoulder, breath shaky. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
Sarah tucked a strand of hair behind Kiara’s ear, voice gentler than Kiara had ever heard. “You do the next thing,” she said. “And then the next. And you don’t have to do it alone.”
Kiara lifted her head, blinking. “You mean…”
“I mean,” Sarah said, smiling now, “I’m here. For all of it. Doctor appointments, telling your parents, telling Rafe. Even just crying on the bathroom floor at 2AM. Whatever you need.”
Kiara’s throat ached. “Sarah…”
“And for what it’s worth,” Sarah added softly, “my brother is an idiot. But I know he loves you. And whatever happens next, you’ll still have me. And John B. And Lily. And Wheezie. And the Pogues.”
Kiara burst into tears again, messier this time — but they felt different. Not just scared tears. Relieved ones too.
Sarah laughed softly, wrapping her arms around her again. “God, I love you,” she murmured. “Even when you’re snotting on my shoulder.”
Kiara choked on a watery laugh. “Fuck off.”
They stayed like that for a while.
Kiara’s breathing slowed. The shaking in her hands calmed.
“You’re gonna be a good mom, Kiara,” Sarah said finally, voice quiet but certain. “You don’t see it yet, but I do. You’re stubborn and fierce and you love like it’s breathing. That kid’s already lucky.”
Kiara pressed her lips together, heart pounding. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” Sarah whispered, squeezing her hand. “And when you’re ready to tell my brother
She still felt terrified.
Still felt sad.
Still felt everything.
But sitting there, with Sarah’s arm around her, she realized: she wasn’t alone. And maybe that was enough to start.
The last few days had been a blur.
Kiara kept going over the moment in her head how she would say it, what words she’d use, and how Rafe would react. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
She waited four days.
Four days of waking up nauseous, rolling over in bed that felt too big, staring at the ceiling until sunrise. Four days of deleting drafted texts to Rafe: “I need to see you”, “it’s important”, “please don’t freak out.”
In the end, it wasn’t bravery that made her call just exhaustion.
Because carrying it by herself felt heavier than whatever reaction he could throw at her.
Kie (typing, erasing, typing again):
hey. can we meet? need to talk.
today pls.
Rafe (immediate reply):
you good?
Kie:
just come tmr. the old marina at 6?
Rafe: see you then.
She almost threw up twice on the drive there.
Part from nausea , part from nerves.
She parked, cut the engine, and sat staring at her hands on the wheel.
This is it. There’s no going back after this.
When she finally stepped out, the wind caught her hair, making it whip against her face.
He was already there.
Leaning against the railing, arms folded. Baby blue polo hugging his chest, buzzcut a little softer now,
He looked calm on the outside but Kiara could see the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb tapped against his arm.
“Hey kie ,” he said when he saw her. Voice lower than usual. Careful.
Hey,” she echoed, throat dry.
She stopped a few feet away. Close enough to see the lines under his eyes.
They stared at each other for a second, the air heavy between them.
“You okay?” he asked, after a beat. His gaze searched hers, worry bleeding through the usual Rafe bravado.
Kiara swallowed. “Yeah. No. I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Can we just… talk?”
“Yeah,” he said, straightening up. “Yeah, of course.”
They started walking.
Slow, unhurried. Gravel crunching under their shoes.
Kiara picked at her fingers pulse racing so fast it felt like it might shake her apart.
She didn’t know how to say it.
She didn’t want to say it.
Saying it made it real.
Rafe glanced sideways. “You’re kinda scaring me, Kie,” he muttered, trying for a smirk that didn’t quite land. “You gonna tell me you’re moving to Bali or something?”
She huffed out a laugh, shaky. “No, it’s… it’s not that.”
They kept walking. Kiara opened her mouth then closed it again.
Rafe caught that. “Shit Kie just spit it out,” he said, but his voice wasn’t mean. More… desperate.
Kiara’s chest tightened. “It’s hard, okay?” she snapped, heat rising to her cheeks. “Don’t rush me.”
“I’m not rushing, I’m fuck, just tell me,” he shot back.
They stopped by the water.
Wind tangling her hair, salty and sharp.
Kiara took a breath, heart hammering so hard she thought she might actually faint.
She looked into his eyes “Rafe,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
For a beat, she heard nothing but the waves slapping against old wood.
Rafe’s face went blank. Just… blank. Like someone had shut the lights off behind his eyes.
“What?” he rasped, voice rough.
“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, tears pricking hot.
He let out a breath, stepped back, hand going to his buzzed head. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, Kie.”
“Yeah,” she said softly, voice small.
For a second, he didn’t look at her.
Then his eyes snapped back. Blue, sharp, and too damn readable for her own good.
“You sure?” he asked, voice raw.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He swore again, pacing a few steps, hand on the back of his neck. The baby blue polo pulling tight across his shoulders.
Then he stopped. Looked at her, really looked. “Fuck,” he breathed.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Fuck.”
His chest heaved, arms dropping to his sides. For a moment he just stared at her, pupils blown wide, mouth half open. “But… you were on the pill,” he managed.
“I know,” she snapped, voice thin from holding back tears. “I fucking know, Rafe.”
He swore again, breath shaky. “Fuck, Kie…”
“You don’t get to be surprised,” she bit out, voice shaking with nerves and anger. “You’re the one who wouldn’t shut up about it.”
His head whipped back to her, brows shooting up. “Me?”
“You think I planned this?” she hissed.
“You think I did?” he snapped back. “Fuck, Kie, you were on the pill. We both knew that.”
Kiara’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah, and you’re the genius who trusted birth control alone when you know how you fuck.”
His mouth twitched. “How we fuck,” he corrected, cocky even through panic.
She glared at him, voice trembling. “Yeah, well, now it’s real, Rafe. Now it’s not some fucking dirty talk. It’s a baby.”
He looked at her in the eye “I never thought we’d actually get here. But guess what? We did. And now it’s ours. Ours, Kie. You think that doesn’t scare the shit out of me too?”
Kiara nodded, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I know.”
“But I’m not walking away,” he said, voice low, almost like a promise. “I can’t. I won’t.”
He took a breath, eyes searching hers “But I’m not playing happy family either. We do this on our terms. Clear lines. No bullshit.”
Kiara’s heart pounded but she held his gaze, steady and fierce. “That’s the only way I’ll do it.”
Rafe smirked, shaking his head with that trademark cocky confidence. “Damn right. You always set the rules.”
Her lips twitched in a small, tired smile. “Someone has to.”
He took a long breath and ran a hand down his face. “God, we’re fucked up.”
She laughed despite herself, voice shaky. “Yeah.”
Rafe’s sharp gaze softened, just for a second, as he looked at Kiara standing there so scared and fragile yet fierce as hell. The air between them was thick with everything unsaid, everything they were both too afraid to admit.
Without another word, he closed the distance and pulled her into a hug.
Kiara’s body stiffened for a heartbeat, then slowly relaxed against him. Her arms went around his waist, clutching tightly like she needed the reassurance more than anything.
Rafe’s chest was solid under her cheek. His heartbeat thudded fast but steady, like a drum he tried to keep quiet.
Inside, he was scared as shit. Terrified. Because this wasn’t just about them anymore it was about the baby. Their baby. And that scared the hell out of him.
But outwardly, his arms tightened around her
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, voice low and steady against the quiet evening
And, Rafe still felt like the kid standing on the wrong side of his father’s disappointment like the guy who never did anything right, whose anger swallowed every good thing.
But wrapped around Kiara, feeling her heart beat against his, he found words he didn’t even know he had:
“I don’t know how to be a dad,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “But I know how to stay. And I’m staying, Kie. Even if you hate my fucking guts.”
Kiara’s breath hitched, tears spilling hot down her cheeks.
She buried her face against him her voice small and cracked.
“I don’t hate you. God, I wish I did, but I don’t.”
Rafe let out a ragged breath that sounded too close to relief, too close to confession.
“Yeah,” he rasped, thumb brushing the back of her neck, “I don’t hate you either. Guess that’s the problem, huh?”
They pulled back, just enough to see each other.
Rafe’s thumb drifted from her shoulder, like he almost didn’t want to let go but he did, hands dropping to his sides, buzzing with leftover adrenaline.
For a beat, neither of them spoke.
Then Kiara swallowed, finding her voice, still rough around the edges
“Okay, but listen” she started, words spilling fast because if she didn’t say them now, she’d lose her nerve. “We’re doing this together, yeah, but we’re not gonna confuse it with us getting back together. This is about the baby, Rafe. About doing right by her or him. Clear lines.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something hurt? in his eyes.
But he nodded, slow. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Clear lines. Co-parenting.”
And that means,” she went on, voice shaking just a little but steadying as she spoke, “we don’t drag old shit back in”
His lips quirked in a wry, cocky half-smile. “Yeah, alright, Kie. You don’t have to lawyer me right now.”
She shot him a look, tired but a little fond. “I do, actually. Because it’s us. And we both know how messy we get.”
Rafe’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, buzzcut catching the sinking light.
He drew a slow breath, voice softer now:
“When’s your first appointment?”
She blinked, the question hitting harder than she expected. “Next Thursday,” she murmured. “Eleven a.m.”
Rafe nodded, rolling his shoulders like he was fighting nerves. “Cool. Text me the address,” he said. Then, trying too hard to sound casual
“I’ll pick you up.
Kiara hesitated, teeth catching her bottom lip. “You don’t have to”
“I want to,” he cut in, voice rough but firm. “Alright? Don’t fight me on this, Kie.”
She studied his face: the stubbornness, the fear buried under bravado, the rawness in his eyes he probably didn’t even realize she could still see.
And she let out a quiet breath. “Okay,” she said softly. “You can pick me up.”
For a second, neither of them spoke — just stood there, staring at each other, two people tied together in a new, terrifying way.
Then Kiara, voice low but certain:
“We’re really doing this, huh?”
Rafe’s mouth twitched, half-cocky, half-scared shitless:
“Looks like it.”
And for once, the honesty of that answer, messy, imperfect, but real.
Rafe and kie in Paris ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
“the ring that cut deeper than a knife”
Rafe Cameron x Kiara Carrera
The evening had settled over Figure Eight like a velvet curtain stitched with salt and quiet, the air heavy with the perfume of marshland and bonfires crackling somewhere down the beach. It should’ve been just another family gathering the Camerons, the Routledges, and some close family friends huddled together under lantern light, clinking champagne flutes and speaking in hushed tones about college plans, real estate, and summer storms.
Kiara Carrera had told herself she was fine. Two months was enough, right? Enough time to stitch together the soft places he had once touched; enough time to forget the rasp of his voice against her neck, the nights she’d clung to him in stolen dark, the fevered whispers they promised never to say out loud.
She had broken it off. Her choice.
Kiara had tagged along with Sarah, half-lying to herself that she could handle it. That she could just be a friend. That her heart wouldn’t recognize him.
Sarah had no idea. No idea that Kiara had loved her brother in secret. No idea that Kiara had ended it in a single breath that had nearly broken her. No idea that every time she said Rafe’s name, Kiara’s pulse stuttered.
They gathered near the archway overlooking the water, the family dressed in designer smiles and expensive linen. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed. Kiara forced her mouth into something like a grin. Her pulse beat painfully in her throat.
Then she saw him.
Then she caught herself, swallowing the ache.
Rafe Cameron in a blue dress shirt rolled at the sleeves that silver watch she remembered unclasping from his wrist, slowly, breathlessly, in darker places.
He looked older. Sharper. Beautiful, in that haunting way only he could.
And, God, the way he looked at her just for a breath was enough to slice her in half.
And even though he was surrounded by laughter and polite applause, his eyes found hers across the crowd like they always did like a goddamn magnet.
For a second, the world slipped. It was just them.
And then he looked away, as if she meant nothing.
But what made her chest cinch, sharp and breathless, was who stood beside him.
Sofia.
Delicate, poised Sofia—dark hair shining curling soft around her shoulders, smile like something gentle and easy, eyes warm with something that looked too much like love.
Kiara swallowed, her throat raw.
She hadn’t known. She hadn’t known they were back together. She hadn’t known he’d moved on.
God, why does it still hurt this much?
She turned away, fingers curling against the cool rim of her glass.
That was when Sarah’s voice broke through, bright with excitement
“Hey come on I think something’s happening.”
Kiara’s lips felt numb. “What?” Her voice came out raw, scraping against her throat.
Sarah’s eyes sparkled with a light Kiara couldn’t feel. “Just come closer. I think Rafe’s about to do something. Like… big.”
For a split second, Kiara’s breath froze.
Big?
Her pulse drummed in her ears, hot and frantic.
Sarah tugged at her hand, pulling Kiara forward through the shifting crowd. The wood of the deck felt too solid and too far away at once, like she was floating above herself.
Ward Cameron stepped forward, clearing his throat to gather everyone’s attention. The chatter died down, a wave of expectant silence washing over the assembled guests.
“Family,” Ward began, his voice steady and booming, “we’ve gathered here tonight to celebrate not just the bonds we share, but to mark a new chapter.” His eyes scanned the crowd briefly before settling on the couple standing before him.
Kiara’s breath hitched again.
Her pulse hammered so loudly in her ears she was sure it could drown out Ward’s words.
And then, impossibly, the world tilted again
Rafe bent slowly to one knee.
The gasp Kiara had tried to choke back escaped fully this time, breaking free like a fragile glass shattering against stone. It echoed inside her chest, loud and raw.
The ring box opened.
Everything around her dulled to a distant hum, colors bleeding into one another like watercolors in rain.
Kiara’s mind fractured, slipping away from the present dissociating to survive.
Her vision blurred, spots swimming like stars that hurt to look at.
She was nauseous, dizzy, her pulse skittering so fast it felt painful.
No no no no.
Sofia’s eyes flew wide, one trembling hand covering her mouth.
Kiara couldn’t hear the words, couldn’t see the ring clearly, but she saw the shape of it all: Rafe’s lips moving, Sofia’s tears, the hopeful hush of everyone watching.
Kiara felt her chest seize so hard she pressed her free hand to her abdomen, clutching the soft fabric, fingertips whitening.
The nausea clawed up her throat, sharp and bitter, tasting of heartbreak and salt air.
And inside inside was worse:
A savage twist of grief so deep it felt like someone was wringing her heart out with bloody hands.
The thought was so raw, so shattering, it hollowed her out from the inside.
Rafe had once traced the lines of Kiara’s palm and whispered he’d never let her go.
Now he was promising forever to someone else, in the bright open where Kiara was nothing more than a ghost in silk.
Her heart twisted, dark and cruel in her chest.
How dare you? she thought, but the voice sounded small, like a child crying in the dark. How dare you look so gentle? How dare you do this in front of me?
She’d seen this man bare, broken, pressed against her sheets whispering things he would never say in daylight. Now, here he was offering forever to someone else, and Kiara was nothing more than a silent ghost at the edge of the frame.
In that moment, Kiara Carrera realized heartbreak wasn’t loud.
It was quiet.
It was standing perfectly still on a summer deck, sea breeze against your skin, as the man you loved knelt for someone else.
She blinked, and tears spilled anyway, trailing hot down her cheek before she could stop them.
She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Around her, the crowd dissolved into a soft roar of clapping, a distant, echoing thing like waves crashing far away.
She barely saw Sofia nod, barely heard her say “yes” through tears that blurred everything into smudged light.
Rafe rose, slipping the ring onto Sofia’s finger.
Then he did the cruelest thing: he looked at Kiara.
Their eyes met—blue ice colliding with raw, wet brown.
And god, for half a second, his expression fractured: something like longing, something like hurt, flashing across that carefully controlled face.
Then it hardened again. Stone.
And he turned away, arms going around Sofia as the applause swelled.
She wanted to turn away, to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She stood frozen, every breath a struggle.
You’re not supposed to be here, her mind hissed.
This wasn’t supposed to happen in front of you.
She forced herself to look away, blinking hard to clear the tears that wouldn’t stop, though they blurred and burned. But her gaze kept dragging back to him, drawn like something helpless and broken.
The clapping rose higher, music swelling. Kiara barely heard it.
She felt disconnected, floating somewhere just above her own shaking frame. Like watching someone else’s heartbreak, someone else’s tears.
But the pain was hers.
All hers.
Ward clapped Rafe on the shoulder, proud and performative. Sofia was crying, her hand trembling as she admired the ring. Rafe’s expression was softer than Kiara could stand to look at.
Beside her, Sarah’s hand slipped from hers. “Kie?” Sarah whispered, voice tiny, worried. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna faint.”
Rafe pov
Tonight, he told himself, was about moving forward. About proving—to his family, to Sofia, to himself—that he could do the right thing. That the boy who chased shadows and made mistakes could be left behind on the dark, salt‑stained edge of the island.
He’d rehearsed it in the mirror more times than he’d admit. How to stand, how to speak, how to make his voice steady when the words wanted to catch on old wounds.
She’s not yours anymore. She never was.
Still, the air felt heavier than it should have.
He scanned the deck, people spilling drinks and laughter across the wood planks. His shirt felt too tight at the collar, sweat prickling at the base of his neck despite the breeze. Sofia’s hand slipped into his, small and careful, her perfume soft and sweet—so different from the salt‑wild scent that haunted his memory late at night.
Then he saw her.
At first it didn’t register just a flash of dark green silk, hair tumbling over one shoulder, caught in the fading light. But then his chest tightened painfully, breath caught mid‑stride.
Kiara Carrera.
She looked… god, she looked like every half‑remembered dream he still woke from, sweating and angry at himself. The dress skimmed her ribs, the fabric soft against her skin he’d traced with shaking fingers more times than he dared remember. Her eyes were wide, dark, searching the crowd—until they landed on him.
And for a heartbeat, everything around him fell away.
She looked surprised to see him with Sofia. The shock flickering across her face cracked something deep inside him, something he’d tried to bury these past months. Because Kiara wasn’t supposed to be surprised.
She was the one who ended it.
She’d pulled away first, tearing his name from her lips, saying it couldn’t happen anymore, voice trembling but final.
His gaze dragged over her face, memorizing the raw edges of it. The slight parting of her lips. The way her shoulders drew in tight, like she was bracing for a hit. His heartbeat turned uneven, that old ache roaring back to life, hot and stupid.
God, how he’d missed her.
The nights when her hair smelled of salt and wind, when she’d kiss the bruises on his knuckles without asking how they got there. The soft sound of her laugh pressed into his chest.
But then the other part of him woke—the colder part, the one built from guilt and resentment.
She chose to leave.
She left him twisted up in his own want, made him look at Sofia and see a lie.
And now, the universe had the sick humor to drop her right here. At the moment he was about to do the most public, permanent thing of his life.
For a breath, everything else blurred: Sofia’s soft voice beside All he saw was Kiara, and all he felt was the phantom ache of what they’d never been allowed to be.
Then Sofia’s fingers curled tighter around his.
“Rafe?” she murmured, voice laced with nerves.
He blinked, tore his gaze away from Kiara, jaw tightening. “Yeah. Sorry.”
But the damage was done. Her face burned itself into the back of his eyelids. When he closed his eyes, it was there: the sadness she tried to hide, the small, almost startled way her lips had parted when she saw him with Sofia.
He forced himself to step closer to Sofia, let his arm brush hers, trying to feel something solid. Something that wasn’t haunted by Kiara’s absence.
They started moving toward the front as Ward called everyone’s attention. Rafe could feel the pressure building under his ribs, each step heavier than the last. The box in his pocket felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
Ward’s voice rose, warm and practiced, the perfect performance of a father proud of his son.
Rafe barely heard the words, pulse pounding too loudly in his ears.
Through the shifting crowd, his gaze dragged back to her—Kiara, standing near the railing beside Sarah. The wind tugged at the hem of her green dress, eyes dark and wide, her hand clutching the stem of a glass she clearly wasn’t drinking.
His chest squeezed painfully. Even now, even like this, she was breathtaking.
And that pissed him off.
Because she had chosen this.
She had looked him in the eyes, voice shaking, and said they couldn’t keep going.
She had walked away—and left him holding a heart he didn’t know how to carry without her.
And yet here she was, at the edge of the deck, eyes shimmering with something he couldn’t name. Regret? Guilt? Maybe she wanted him to stop, to throw it all away and pull her back into his arms.
Part of him wanted to.
The weaker, angrier part of him almost hated her for showing up, hated that she still had this power over him, hated that his hands were shaking now as he reached into his pocket.
Ward finished speaking, the applause polite, the air expectant.
Sofia’s eyes widened as he turned to her fully. Her lips parted, a tiny breath catching.
“You ended this kie”, he thought, the words tasting like blood and salt. You left me to pick up the pieces.
He dropped to one knee.
The world dimmed at the edges. His heartbeat thundered, not from nerves over the proposal itself but because in the corner of his eye, Kiara was still there.
So he forced his gaze back to Sofia, throat raw.
His voice came out lower than he meant, trembling at the edges. “Sofia… will you marry me?”
She sobbed out a yes, her hand covering her mouth, shoulders shaking.
The applause broke like a wave around them.
It felt far away, muffled, like he was underwater.
He slid the ring onto Sofia’s trembling finger, stood, and pulled her into an embrace.
But even as he held Sofia, his heart felt heavy, wrong.
Like he’d left something vital back there, kneeling before the wrong person.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kiara again. Tears shimmered on her lashes. Her chest heaved, hand still pressed to her stomach like she might be sick.
Their gazes met for a fraction of a second.
And it destroyed him.
Because under all the resentment, all the anger he’d built up like armor these past months, seeing her hurt felt like looking at his own pain reflected back.
Why couldn’t you have stayed?
Why did you make me do this?
He tore his gaze away, forcing his face to settle into something softer for Sofia.
He had to.
This was what he’d chosen. What he’d been told to do.
What Kiara had walked away from.
But even as Sofia’s hand curled at his chest, her tears wetting his collar, a single truth burned quietly in the hollow of his ribs:
He had never really stopped loving Kiara Carrera.
And now, in front of everyone, he had to bury that love where no one could see—least of all her.
Back to 3rd person
Kiara didn’t remember when the applause stopped.
It seemed to echo inside her skull long after the last claps faded into laughter and the clink of champagne glasses. Her head felt light, her mouth dry as salt. The corners of her vision pulsed in and out of focus, the fairy lights smearing into tired constellations.
Somewhere to her right, Sarah was still talking her voice soft and worried, fingers brushing Kiara’s wrist as if to keep her from drifting away.
“Kie, please hey, talk to me, okay?” Sarah’s voice cracked, threaded with confusion. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
But Kiara barely heard her. The roaring in her chest the memory of Rafe on one knee, the stunned wreckage of his eyes meeting hers for that brutal second drowned everything else.
It’s over, something cold whispered inside her. It’s really over.
She forced her lips into a shape that might have been a smile. “I’m fine, Sar. Really,” she lied, voice thin and trembling around the edges. “I just… need a minute.”
Before Sarah could stop her, Kiara slipped her wrist free, careful but firm. The cool night air caught her bare shoulders, but did nothing to settle the heat burning beneath her skin.
She turned, pushing her way back through the press of expensive perfume and soft summer linen, her heart pounding as if it wanted to claw its way out.
She moved toward the makeshift bar tucked at the far end of the deck, half-hidden behind a pillar wrapped in fairy lights. The bartender barely glanced at her tear‑stained face as she slid her glass forward with trembling fingers. “Something strong,” she whispered.
When the drink came something amber and sharp, she swallowed it in two burning gulps, the taste catching in her throat, the heat hitting her stomach like regret.
She set the empty glass down, chest still heaving, the music pressing against her temples.
I can’t do this, she thought, voice shaking inside her skull. I can’t stand here and watch him love someone else.
She turned, gaze scanning the crowded deck, half-desperate, half-numb.
She could still taste the salt of tears she hadn’t meant to cry.
By the bar, half‑hidden under strings of lights, a boy leaned, glass in hand. Older, broad‑shouldered, dark blond hair pushed back. Just enough resemblance to catch Kiara’s breath in her throat, to pull something dark and reckless to the surface.
She let her gaze drag over him — sharp jaw, tired eyes, the faint shadow of stubble.
Not Rafe.
But close enough that her heart flinched painfully.
He caught her looking. A faint smirk curved his mouth. “Hey.”
Kiara stepped closer, ignoring the guilt curling behind her ribs. “Hey,” she murmured back, voice raw and too quiet.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the bar, nails pressing into wood slick with condensation.
“Can I get a whiskey?” she asked the bartender, words tumbling out before she could second‑guess them.
Anything strong enough to burn away the taste of heartbreak.
The boy beside her lifted his glass a little, as if in silent toast. His gaze flicked to her dress, to the tear track she hadn’t managed to wipe away. “Rough night?”
Kiara huffed a humorless laugh, eyes skittering away to watch the lights blur. “Something like that.”
More like the worst night. The night I got to watch him promise someone else a future.
The whiskey came. She drank too quickly, the burn sharp down her throat, but it was good the hurt shifting, numbing at the edges.
She tipped the glass again, almost desperate.
The boy’s eyes softened, curiosity edged with something darker. “You wanna get some air?” he offered, voice low, leaning just close enough that she could smell cologne and faint smoke.
Kiara’s heart clenched.
She didn’t know his name. Didn’t want to.
She only knew that for a breath, when she looked at him from the corner of her eye, he looked a little like Rafe.
And that was enough.
She nodded once, sharp, before she could change her mind. “Yeah,” she rasped. “Let’s go.”
They stepped away from the lights, away from the music and the cheers still drifting across the lawn.
Kiara kept her eyes on the dark blond blur of him, heart hammering like a warning she didn’t want to hear.
She wasn’t looking for softness.
She was looking for escape.
For a stranger’s hands to drown out the memory of the boy she had loved in secret.
For the shape of another mouth to erase the phantom burn of Rafe’s kiss.
The room smelled like cheap cologne and stale beer, the kind of scent that burned just beneath her skin.
Kiara let herself fall into the darkness, eyes heavy, limbs moving almost on autopilot.
The boy was close behind her—warm hands brushing over her back, fingers tracing down her spine in a touch that was both unfamiliar and achingly familiar.
She felt numb, like her heart had been stripped out and replaced with a hollow ache that didn’t know how to feel anything else.
Her lips parted in a silent breath, slow tears slipping past her lashes and pooling, unnoticed, on her cheeks.
The whiskey buzz blurred at the edges of her senses, dulling the sharp edges of pain until it was just a quiet throb beneath the surface.
As his hands moved lower, her mind was already somewhere else, far from this dimly lit room.
She could feel it the ghost of a touch, a memory she couldn’t shake.
Rafe’s hands.
The way he’d pressed into her hips from behind, steady and sure.
The heat of his skin against hers.
The way her body remembered every subtle command of his fingers, even now, even when they weren’t here.
Kiara’s face pressed into the cool sheets, tears slipping down silently, carrying pieces of her broken heart with them.
Her breath hitched, a sound too quiet to hear, a sharp stab of loneliness slicing through the numbness.
She didn’t turn her head, didn’t meet the eyes that sought hers in the dark.
Because all she could see was Rafe’s face — the way his jaw clenched, the flicker of something raw when their eyes met before the coldness closed in.
Her hands clenched the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the tears traced slow, hot paths down her skin.
She was here, but she wasn’t.
She was somewhere far away, holding onto the ghost of a touch that would never be hers again.
Her cheek pressed into the sheets, the smell of detergent sharp in her nose.
A tear slipped free hot against cool skin, soaking into fabric that didn’t care about heartbreak.
She kept her eyes shut tight, afraid if she opened them she’d see the truth reflected back:
That this wasn’t him.
That it never would be.
In her head, it was still Rafe.
His mouth at her shoulder, his breath rough with want.
The way he used to pull her hair back, voice low and hoarse when he told her she was beautiful, when he called her “baby” in that voice that cracked around the edges.
But now it was someone else’s hands, someone else’s weight at her back.
And the skin under his touch felt numb, like a limb fallen asleep.
She clenched her jaw, eyes burning, as the tears kept slipping free — slow, stubborn, silent.
They felt endless, as if they’d been waiting for this moment to finally fall.
The stranger moved faster, hands gripping her harder, and Kiara bit her lip until she tasted metal.
She couldn’t stop the soft, choked sound that escaped her throat — part breath, part sob, part memory.
And in the darkness, her mind whispered the one name she couldn’t say aloud:
Rafe.
She hated herself for it.
Hated how even now, even like this, her body remembered him.
The way he fit against her back.
The heat of his palm splayed at her waist, steadying her as if he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
This man wasn’t careful.
He didn’t know the places that made her gasp, the softness in her hairline where Rafe used to press gentle kisses after.
And god, the difference felt like grief.
A raw, open wound that burned hotter with every thrust.
She let her forehead press deeper into the pillow, breath catching on a sob she barely managed to swallow down.
She tried to focus on the numbness.
On anything that wasn’t the aching hollow where love used to live.
But behind closed eyes, she still saw him on one knee.
The shape of his mouth when he looked up at Sofia.
And worse: the second when his gaze met hers, just before it turned to ice.
The memory cut deeper than anything the stranger could do to her body.
Tears dripped from her lashes, soaking the pillow.
She didn’t wipe them away.
She let them fall, hot and salt‑bitter, carving silent paths down her face.
In her chest, something twisted: grief wrapped around guilt, strangling her breath.
You broke it.
You told him to go.
Now watch him choose someone else.
The stranger behind her didn’t see it.
Didn’t hear her heart splintering on every exhale.
Didn’t know that every gasp was haunted by another man’s name.
When it was over, she stayed facedown, eyes shut tight, breath shaking.
The bed felt cold against her damp cheek.
The room felt empty, even with someone else still catching his breath beside her.
Inside, the numbness settled into something heavier: regret that tasted like blood, shame curling tight in her belly, and under it all the same impossible truth:
“It’s still you, Rafe. Even now. Especially now.”
After a moment, the boy’s voice came, rough and too casual.
“You good?”
She swallowed, mouth dry, throat burning from all the words she’d bitten back.
“Yeah,” she rasped, voice raw around the lie.
Because how could she admit the truth?
How could she tell him the world inside her had shattered, piece by piece, with one look a single moment just hours ago?
He shifted beside her, a gentle weight, and the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the quiet room.
But Kiara’s mind was far away, still trapped in that late afternoon light on the Cameron deck, still hearing the silence between two broken hearts.
She closed her eyes, but sleep refused her.
And so she lay there, alone with the memory of a love lost, unsure if the numbness was a refuge or a prison.
Because some wounds don’t heal with time.
They only wait.
Waiting for the moment you’re brave enough or broken enough to feel them again.
CEO Rafe Cameron x Milf Kiara carrera
Smut+18 Married Riara
Morning started soft.
Kiara had woken to Luna crawling into bed between them, still warm from her dinosaur blanket, her curls wild and sticking to Rafe’s chest as she snuggled into her dad. Rafe had cracked one sleepy eye open, kissed Luna’s forehead, and then reached for Kiara’s hand under the sheets, giving it a squeeze that spoke volumes without words.
They moved like a team now. Rafe carried Luna downstairs while Kiara packed her bento lunch—cut-up strawberries, panda rice molds, and a tiny note in curly handwriting:
Have the best day, Luna. Mommy and Daddy loves you.
At the door, Rafe crouched to fix Luna’s shoe strap, planting a loud kiss on her cheek that made her giggle and say, “Daddy! Too much!”
Kiara just watched them, heart tugging painfully sweet in her chest.
Rafe had always been protective, but fatherhood softened him around the edges in a way that made Kiara love him even more—something she’d never thought possible back when their love had been reckless and burning.
After they buckled Luna into her car seat, Kiara drove her to school alone.
She wore casual black sweatpants and a black tight black spaghetti shirt.
Her curls being put into a side braid nothing scandalous
By the time Kiara walks Luna into the school gates, she’s already had a morning of controlled chaos: packing Luna’s snacks, tying that perfect “twirly” braid, and wiping a smudge of toothpaste off Luna’s cheek.
Other moms watch her out of the corner of their eyes. Some smile politely, some whisper. Kiara knows what they see.
She kissed Luna on the forehead at the classroom door. “Be good, baby. Mommy loves you.”
“I love you more!” Luna chirps, running to her friends.
Kiara turns to leave, ignoring the looks, chin lifted. It took her years to step into this version of herself: wife, mother—and still Kiara.
Kiara watched her daughter disappear inside, heart squeezing the way it always did. Even now, years later, it never stopped surprising her how much she could love someone so small—and how it had somehow deepened what she felt for Rafe.
She drove home, the morning sun streaming through the windows of her white SUV, an idea already forming in her mind.
Rafe had been up early, suited, tense shoulders, phone glued to his ear. Something about a stubborn investor and a quarterly report. Kiara could see it even through his practiced calm: he needed her.
Back home, the soft sunlight streaming through the windows was a quiet contrast to the rush of the city waiting beyond. She showered, letting hot water wake her fully. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror stared back: cheekbones, light makeup, lashes curled just enough, and the dress she’d picked — soft blush pink fading to white at the hem, sleeveless with thin straps, hugging her curves like second skin.
The fabric clung just enough to highlight the gentle curve of her hips and the subtle swell of her chest, the white thong she wore beneath almost invisible under the dress’s smooth lines. No bra—just the freedom of feeling sexy in her own skin, a swooped ponytail swinging behind her like a secret promise.
No bra.
Just a tiny white thong.
A swooped ponytail pulled tight, face glowing, lips slicked in gloss.
She felt… sexy. Confident.
She spritzed perfume on her collarbone, grabbed her keys, and drove toward the tall glass building downtown. Rafe’s building.
Rafe’s office was downtown, on the top floor of a sleek glass tower.
Cameron Holdings, the gold lettering on the lobby wall.
He’d earned it—hard work, family name, ruthless ambition turned productive. Rafe was older now, but god, somehow hotter: buzzcut, sharp suit, expensive watch glinting under cufflinks. That slightly crooked grin that only she ever got to see up close.
She walked in past reception, heels clicking, ignoring the receptionist’s surprised look.
She didn’t need an appointment.
She was Mrs. Cameron.
Rafe was on the phone, back turned to the door, looking out over the city skyline. His suit jacket stretched across broad shoulders. The buzzcut made him look even more like trouble—clean, powerful, dangerous in the best way.
When he heard the door click, he turned, eyes locking on her instantly. His voice faltered.
“Yeah—hold on,” he muttered into the phone, eyes sweeping down her body. “I’ll call you back.”
The phone clattered onto the desk.
“Jesus, Kie.” His voice dropped an octave, rough around the edges.
She smiled, slow and dangerous, stepping closer so he could see exactly how the dress hugged her.
Surprise,” Kiara teased, voice airy, a playful smirk tugging at her glossed lips.
Rafe’s jaw worked, tongue pressing into his cheek.
“For me?”
“I thought you might be hungry,” she teased, letting the words hang suggestively.
Rafe stalked toward her, each slow step deliberate, his gaze devouring her body. Her nipples tightened under the dress, unhidden. His hand ghosted over her waist, thumb pressing lightly into the fabric.
“Hungry doesn’t even cover it,” he growled, voice low, gravelly.
He kissed her hard, teeth grazing her bottom lip, hands roaming. One slid down her back, cupping her ass over the thin fabric, the other slid up, thumb brushing her nipple until she gasped.
“Rafe—” she breathed, heat pooling low in her belly.
“Do you know what you’re doing to me walking in like this? Fuck, Kie…”
His words made her wetter, thighs pressing together.
His hands roamed lower, gripping her ass through the thin fabric, kneading until she squirmed.
His hand slid higher, cupping her breast fully, thumb circling, teasing. She arched into his touch, biting back a moan.
Outside, she could faintly hear the hum of voices, phones ringing. The idea that someone could walk in, hear them — it made her even wetter.
Rafe stepped back, breathing ragged, pupils blown wide.
In a single motion, grabbing her waist and lifting her onto the desk. Papers scattered, a pen rolled off and clattered to the floor. She gasped at the cold surface against her thighs, but heat pooled low in her belly as she locked eyes with him.
“You know what you’re doing to me?” he ground out, voice low and dangerous.
“That was the idea,” she shot back, a little breathless, her ponytail sliding over her shoulder.
His gaze flickered down, lingering on her breasts under the thin dress nipples tight, obvious now that he was this close. His hands slid up her thighs, slow, thumbs pressing into the delicate flesh until she shivered.
He grabbed the hem of her dress and pushed it up, bunching the soft fabric around her waist.
When he saw the white thong, so delicate against her warm skin, his jaw clenched.
Kiara felt heat flood her cheeks, her heart stuttering at the raw want in his gaze. His big hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he leaned in, breath ghosting over her.
Rafe’s hands slid up, thumbs hooking the lace, tugging it aside to bare her completely to him.
“God, Kie…” he rasped, voice hoarse.
He kissed her inner thigh first — slow, open-mouthed, tongue dragging along her skin. She whimpered, hips twitching forward, breath catching when his lips hovered just over her soaked folds.
“Rafe please…” she whispered, voice already shaking.
His mouth covered her then tongue parting her, licking a slow, deliberate stripe that had her head tipping back.
Kiara’s hand flew to her own chest, the other gripping the edge of the desk behind her for balance. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, the front of her dress still stretched tight.
Rafe pulled back just enough to murmur, “Let me see you.”
With trembling fingers, she tugged the thin straps off her shoulders. The dress slipped down, fabric pooling at her waist, baring her breasts completely. Her nipples were already tight, aching.
The look Rafe gave her then hungry, awed, completely wrecked made her clench around nothing.
“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered softly, voice low and rough.
Kiara bit her bottom lip, heat burning through her, and brought her hands to her breasts. She cupped them, thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples, arching into her own touch.
At the same moment, Rafe ducked forward again, mouth closing around her clit, tongue swirling and teasing, then flattening to lap at her with slow, firm strokes.
“Fuck, Rafe” she gasped, head tipping back, ponytail brushing against the small of her back.
back.
His hands pinned her thighs wide apart as he worked tongue moving faster now, one hand sliding down to press two fingers inside her, curling just right.
The combination the hot, wet drag of his tongue and the stretch of his fingers had Kiara’s hips rolling helplessly against his face. Her breath broke into whimpering moans, fingers pinching her own nipples, the sharp ache only making the pleasure spike higher.
She looked down and nearly lost it at the sight of him: buzzcut mussed from her thighs, jaw flexing, suit shirt creased, the sharp, expensive white collar framing his flushed skin as he devoured her like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“God, Rafe don’t stop,” she gasped, voice wrecked.
His tongue moved faster, one hand pressing flat on her lower belly to keep her from writhing away, the other fucking her slow and deep. The heat coiled tight, so tight she could barely breathe, pleasure sparking behind her eyes.
She tugged harder at her nipples, the sharp pinch mixing sweetly with the wet heat of his mouth.
“Fuck I’m gonna”
He groaned against her, the vibration tipping her right over.
Kiara came with a strangled moan, hips jerking, chest flushed and heaving, the desk cool under her bare thighs as the world blurred out. Rafe kept licking her through it, tongue gentler now, milking every last tremor from her shaking body.
When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him watching her: lips slick, chest rising fast, eyes dark and hungry and so full of love it nearly undid her.
She slid her hands down from her breasts, chest still bare, dress bunched low on her waist. Rafe leaned in and kissed her stomach, then higher, trailing soft kisses up to her lips.
They kissed slow, mouths tasting of each other, her heart still racing.
“Fuck, Kie,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged.
Kiara’s chest still rose and fell in ragged breaths, nipples flushed from where she’d been pinching them, thighs sticky and warm where his mouth had been.
Kiara pushed herself up on shaky legs, the desk cool under her thighs as she slid closer, standing between his spread knees where he sat back in the big leather chair, chest rising fast.
She tugged lightly at his loosened tie, breath catching as she saw how hard he still was — straining against the tailored fabric of his slacks.
“Your turn,” she whispered, voice husky and low, still wrecked from what he’d just done.
Her hands moved to his shirt first, fingers brushing over the expensive white cotton. Slowly, teasingly, she undid each button, knuckles grazing warm, tense muscle beneath.
The shirt fell open, revealing the planes of his chest, the soft dusting of hair that still made her mouth go dry.
Rafe watched her, jaw flexing, letting her take control for a heartbeat.
When she slid the shirt off his shoulders, she leaned in to kiss along his collarbone slow, open-mouthed, tasting salt and heat.
She dropped to her knees, ignoring the expensive carpet, and worked open his belt.
The clink of metal felt loud in the quiet office, making her pulse spike.
She unbuttoned his slacks, tugging them down just enough to free him breath catching as his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and perfect.
Rafe hissed softly, his hand threading into her ponytail, not guiding, just holding, grounding himself.
But instead of taking him into her mouth, Kiara rose back up, dress still bunched low, chest bare, lips parted.
“I need you inside me,” she breathed, voice trembling with want.
Rafe was up in a heartbeat, chair pushed back roughly, hands grabbing her waist and spinning her so her back pressed into the desk.
He crashed his mouth to hers, messy and hungry, his tongue tasting her lips, teeth catching at her bottom lip until she moaned into him.
His big hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples, making her gasp again, still sensitive from before.
“Turn around,” he ordered, breath hot against her ear.
She obeyed, dress riding higher as she bent forward over the desk, palms flat on the polished desk
He tugged her thong fully off this time, tossing the scrap of white lace aside.
But instead of slamming into her right away, Rafe slid the dress up and over her head completely, dropping it beside the desk.
She was bare to him now just her swooped ponytail, flushed skin, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
“Look at you,” he rasped, voice breaking. “My fucking wife.”
His hand slid down her spine, slow, until it cupped her ass, thumb brushing teasingly close to where she needed him.
She arched back against him, desperate, breath coming in shaky gasps.
“Please, Rafe…”
That broke whatever restraint he had left.
With one hand gripping her hip, he lined himself up and pushed inside her in one deep, claiming thrust.
They both moaned Kiara’s voice high and broken, his low and ragged.
earlier.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, forehead tipping to the back of her neck.
His pace started slow — deep, rolling thrusts that had the desk creaking under them, her breasts swaying with every movement.
Then faster, rougher, each thrust making the sound of skin on skin echo off the glass walls of the office.
Kiara’s hands scrambled for purchase on the desk, fingers sliding over papers, knocking over a pen.
Rafe grabbed her ponytail, pulling gently, arching her back so she could gasp his name.
“Say it,” he panted, hips slamming into hers.
“Rafe fuck, Rafe” she choked out, voice wrecked and raw.
Kiara’s breasts bounced lightly with each snap of his hips, breath turning to ragged, high whimpers.
His other hand slid around, fingers circling her clit, making her legs tremble.
“Look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked, pupils blown dark. “Bent over my fucking desk. You want it that bad, huh?”
“Please, Rafe…” she whispered, voice shaking, nails digging into the desk.
With one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, the sudden stretch forcing a sharp, breathless cry from her throat.
He didn’t pause — he couldn’t.
Hips drew back, then slammed into her again, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet office.
“Fuck—” Rafe choked out, head tipping forward,
Kiara gasped, back arching, chest swaying with every deep thrust. The cool wood under her palms felt miles away from the raw heat blooming low in her belly.
His hand tangled in her ponytail, tugging gently, forcing her head back so he could watch her mouth fall open, eyes flutter half-shut, lips glossy and swollen.
The new angle had him hitting deeper, sharper — the blunt head of his cock brushing that perfect spot that made her whimper break into a moan.
She could barely breathe, let alone speak — words dissolving into broken, needy sounds every time his hips slammed into hers.
“I’m I’m gonna”
“Fucking take it,” he rasped, voice shaking. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”
She pushed back on him instinctively, meeting every thrust, the wet slap of them echoing, filthy and perfect.
Every time he bottomed out, her toes curled, pleasure clawing up her spine like wildfire.
Sweat gathered between her shoulder blades, trickling down as his hand shifted from her ponytail to the back of her neck, pressing lightly not rough, but grounding, claiming.
“Rafe fuck, don’t stop,” she gasped, voice breaking.
“Not gonna,” he growled, hips snapping faster now, rhythm growing messy, desperate. “Can’t fucking stop, Kie. Look at you…”
The way his hips slapped against her ass, and the raw burn of pleasure building sharp and fast.
The desk rocked faintly under the force of him — papers sliding off, a pen clattering to the floor and rolling somewhere under her bare feet.
She barely noticed. All she felt was him: the thick stretch of him inside her, the way his hand flexed on her hip, his chest sticking to her sweat-slicked back when he leaned forward to curse in her ear.
“I’m—” she choked out, voice strangled, body tight as a bowstring.
One hand left her hip, coming down in a sharp slap to her ass.
The flesh trembled under his palm, heat blooming red where he’d hit.
She gasped, the sound turning into a broken moan: “F-fuck— do it again—”
He did.
Once, twice, each smack turning the pale skin pinker, the ripple making his cock throb almost painfully.
“Fucking love this ass,” he groaned, breath ragged, hips pistoning into her faster, messier.
His breathing grew ragged, almost desperate, eyes glued to the jiggle, the mark of his handprint on her right cheek, the way she took every inch of him, welcoming him back again and again.
Every time his hand met her skin — crack — she whimpered louder, her body shuddering around him.
“Rafe— I’m gonna—” she sobbed, voice shaking.
“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby? Cum while I watch this pretty ass bounce on my cock?”
He slapped her again, handprint blooming red on her soft skin, and felt her clamp down around him so tight his vision went white.
“Come for me,” he growled against her shoulder. “Come all over my cock, baby.”
She shattered around him vision going white, walls clamping down so hard on his cock it dragged a broken groan from his chest.
Rafe buried himself deep, hips jerking rough and messy, spilling inside her as her orgasm milked him through every last pulse.
For a dizzy, perfect moment, neither of them moved.
Kiara’s forehead dropped to the cool desk, breath shaking; Rafe’s body hunched over hers, chest pressed to her back, sweaty and spent, heart thundering so loud she could feel it in his ribs.
Slowly, he pulled out, cum dripping warm between her thighs, his hand still gentle at her waist, thumb brushing over her skin.
Then he leaned down, mouth brushing the sweat-damp curve of her shoulder
Rafe let his hand trail down, soothing over the red marks he’d left, thumb brushing gently as she caught her breath.
“Fuck,” he murmured, voice low and rough, still staring at the way she looked bent over for him. “You’re so fucking perfect, Kie.”
She just let out a breathless laugh, voice husky and wrecked, still folded over the desk, ponytail a mess, cheeks flushed and lips swollen:
“And you’re obsessed.”
About half an hour later, the heat between them had cooled into something quieter, softer — the room still smelled faintly of sweat, sex, and Kiara’s perfume.
Kiara stood near the window, slipping the thin straps of her pink-and-white dress back over her shoulders. Her skin still glowed faintly, flushed in places where his hands had gripped her, and her ponytail had loosened into a messy, sexy cascade that framed her face.
Rafe, breathing steadier now, was tucking his white shirt back into his slacks. The collar was slightly wrinkled, buzzcut damp at the temples, and there was a small, smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched her smooth the dress over her hips.
Kiara caught his gaze in the reflection of the glass window and raised an eyebrow, a lazy, post-orgasm smile curling at her lips.
“What?” she teased, voice still low and raspy.
Rafe shook his head, buttoning the last button. “Just… can’t fucking believe you’re mine,” he muttered, quieter, almost to himself.
She laughed softly, glancing down as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming again at the honesty in his voice.
She stepped closer, picking up his suit jacket from the back of his chair, helping him slide his arms into it. As she smoothed it over his shoulders, her fingers brushed the back of his neck — lingering a little longer than necessary.
“You gonna get any actual work done today?” she teased, lips brushing lightly against his jaw.
“Not a chance,” he murmured, turning his head to steal a quick, soft kiss.
Kiara smoothed the front of her dress.
Then she glanced up at him, half teasing, half genuine: About half an hour later, the heat between them had cooled into something quieter, softer — the room still smelled faintly of sweat, sex, and Kiara’s perfume.
Kiara stood near the window, slipping the thin straps of her pink-and-white dress back over her shoulders. Her skin still glowed faintly, flushed in places where his hands had gripped her, and her ponytail had loosened into a messy, sexy cascade that framed her face.
Rafe, breathing steadier now, was tucking his white shirt back into his slacks. The collar was slightly wrinkled, buzzcut damp at the temples, and there was a small, smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched her smooth the dress over her hips.
Kiara caught his gaze in the reflection of the glass window and raised an eyebrow, a lazy, post-orgasm smile curling at her lips.
“What?” she teased, voice still low and raspy.
Rafe shook his head, buttoning the last button. “Just… can’t fucking believe you’re mine,” he muttered, quieter, almost to himself.
She laughed softly, glancing down as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming again at the honesty in his voice.
She stepped closer, picking up his suit jacket from the back of his chair, helping him slide his arms into it. As she smoothed it over his shoulders, her fingers brushed the back of his neck lingering a little longer than necessary.
“You gonna get any actual work done today?” she teased, lips brushing lightly against his jaw.
“Not a chance,” he murmured, turning his head to steal a quick, soft kiss.
Kiara smoothed the front of her dress, fingers brushing over the faint, fresh pink mark at her hip from where his hand had held her.
Then she glanced up at him, half teasing, half genuine:
“So… are you gonna pick Luna up from school or should I?”
Rafe huffed out a breath, tilting his head back for a second, eyes closing. “Shit — what time is it?”
Kiara’s mouth curved into a grin. “Almost two. You have that four o’clock call, remember?”
“I’ll clock out in about an hour,” he murmured, voice lower, calmer now after everything they’d just done. “Go pick her up myself.”
He stepped closer, hand brushing her waist gently. “You go enjoy your afternoon, Kie,” he added, thumb sweeping lightly over her hip where the dress clung tight. “Get some time for you before we all head home.”
Kiara’s lips curved into a softer smile — that melted, married kind of smile. “You sure?” she asked, though her eyes were already warmer, softer at the thought.
Rafe nodded, forehead tipping forward to rest against hers. “Yeah. Wanna see her little face light up when she spots me at the gate.”
She let out a quiet laugh, ponytail brushing his chest, then kissed him lightly, her lip gloss smudged but neither of them caring.
“Okay,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Then I’ll go enjoy my afternoon.”
“And look fucking perfect doing it,” he teased, voice low.
She shot him a look over her shoulder as she slipped her heels back on, smirking, “Text me when you get her, Mr. Cameron.”
He laughed, running a hand over his buzzcut, voice softer now: “Count on it, Mrs. Cameron.”
Babymom!kiara headcanons for co parenting riara
Her and Sarah FaceTiming after putting their children to sleep
Her and Rafe having random late night conversations
She calls Luna her “little sea turtle” because she took her to the beach for the first time at only a few months old, and Luna loved watching the waves.
Super protective but low-key: Kiara always pretends she’s chill about things, but the moment anyone so much as looks at Luna wrong, she turns into a fierce mama bear without missing a beat.
Kiara loves yoga and pilates for the stretch and calm, but she’s also secretly obsessed with dance cardio playlist
Her guilty pleasure is reality TV. From cooking shows to dating competitions, she’s hopelessly hooked and always ready to debate the latest episode with Sarah.
She’s super organized when it comes to schedules, contacts, and baby stuff, with detailed Google calendars and spreadsheets that would impress any office manager.
When Rafe invites kiara to go out to eat they always end up picking off each other’s plates at restaurants, even when they’re not together romantically: Rafe eats Kiara’s fries; Kiara steals bites of his burger.
“Dark Tides & Dirty Deeds”
Rafe Cameron x Kiara Carrera
Warnings: cheating sorta
The sky was an endless abyss, smudged with thin wisps of clouds that barely hid the stars. The air tasted of salt and something darker—promise, danger, restraint ready to snap them.
Rafe stood near the rail of his yacht , white shirt catching in the breeze, glass of whiskey balanced lazy in his hand. His buzz cut sharpened every edge of his expression; shadows pooled under his jaw, making him look even more dangerous than usual.
He’d been waiting, pulse ticking slow and heavy, tasting the anticipation like smoke in his chest.
Then she appeared at the end of the gangplank: Kiara Carrera. Light jean shorts riding low on her hips, a thin green spaghetti strap top hugging her ribcage, waves of highlighted hair spilling over her shoulders like sunlit turned gold under the yacht’s deck lights.
For a split second, something flickered behind his eyes — something hungry, almost feral.
She paused, gaze locking with his, that familiar defiance glinting beneath long lashes.
Rafe didn’t move, just watched her come closer, his stare pinning her like a moth to glass.
“Kie,” he drawled, voice low, rough from disuse and darker thoughts. The name tasted heavier on his tongue than it should. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”
“You asked me to talk business,” she shot back, stopping just close enough for him to catch the faint vanilla and salt on her skin.
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched, a half-smile that didn’t touch the cold focus of his eyes. “Business,” he repeated, as though rolling the word around, testing it. His gaze dipped, lingering on the line of her collarbone where the moonlight kissed bare skin. “Sure. We’ll call it that.”
He raised his glass slightly, an unspoken toast — welcome and dare all in one. “Come inside,” he murmured, voice dark velvet over something sharp. “Night’s just getting started.”
And as she stepped past him into the warm, low-lit lounge, he let himself watch her back — every sway of her hips a slow, silent promise of how this night could break them both.
The lounge smelled of salt, leather, and the slow burn of expensive whiskey. Low lights painted everything in honey and shadow, catching the steel in Rafe’s eyes and the gold in Kiara’s hair.
Rafe moved behind the small polished bar, bottle in hand. The way he held it — casual, but with a quiet edge — made it look less like a drink and more like a weapon.
“Want one?” he asked, voice gravelly, like he’d already been talking to ghosts all night.
Kiara raised an eyebrow, then tilted her chin. “Sure.” Her tone was cool, but her pulse betrayed her — Rafe noticed the slight catch in her breath as she stepped closer, the brush of her hair against her shoulder drawing his gaze like a magnet.
He poured, the whiskey catching the light in a slow amber swirl. When he handed it over, his fingers brushed hers, deliberate and lingering just long enough to spark heat under her skin.
She took a sip, the burn chasing away the night chill. Rafe move away from the bar, glass in hand, studying her.
They settled on the couch, the leather creaking beneath their weight as the tension between them thickened. Rafe’s gaze didn’t waver; it was all business now, or at least the version of business he wanted her to believe.
“So,” she said, letting the word stretch between them, “what’s this business you dragged me out here to talk about?”
His jaw tightened, something shadowed flickering across his face. He exhaled, thumb tracing the rim of his glass.
Rafe leaned back, exhaling like he was choosing his words. “You ever hear the name Sofia?”
Kiara’s brow creased. “I mean… yeah. You two were…?”
“A thing,” he interrupted, the words clipped, something sour under his tongue. “Not a real thing. More like… a friend I fucked. Though technically we were dating.” His jaw tensed as he stared into the glass, knuckles pale. “I never really claimed her. Didn’t see the point.”
Kiara swallowed, fingers drumming her glass. “But you still kept her close.”
Rafe’s laugh was dry, cold at the edges. “Yeah, well. Thought it was better than being alone.” His eyes flicked up, catching hers in a sudden, bruising lock. “Turns out, she and Hollis had other plans.”
Kiara blinked, thrown by the shift. “What kind of plans?”
“She scammed me,” he said, each word landing sharp. “Hundreds of thousands. Maybe more. Hollis set it up, but Sofia… she played her part too well.”
The words tasted like rust, betrayal cracked open and bleeding under the soft lamplight.
Kiara’s lips parted, her breath barely audible. “Jesus, Rafe.”
“Yeah,” he rasped, voice almost softer now, but only just. “All that time I thought she was someone to trust . Turns out I was the one dancing on strings.”
He tipped his glass back, the whiskey burning down his throat, but it did nothing to soften the rawness in his eyes.
“And now,” he added, leaning in, voice dropping until it was just for her, “I’m thinking it’s about time to cut those strings. For good.”
Kiara’s pulse hammered at her throat. The air between them felt alive, threaded with danger, regret, and something darkly intimate.
She lifted her glass, the ice clinking between them. “And what exactly do you need me for?”
“You’re smart,” he rasped. “You see through people, even when you pretend you don’t. You’ve got this fire in you that doesn’t burn out, no matter how fucked the world gets.” His thumb brushed the rim of his glass, but his stare burned into her. “And I trust you in a way I can’t trust anyone else. Not after what Sofia did.”
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle between them.
“Just don’t expect me to be easy—because I’m not. But I’m real. And if you want someone in your corner, I’m all in.”
Rafe’s eyes darkened with a mix of relief and something deeper—something raw and unguarded he rarely let surface. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing a loose strand of Kiara’s highlighted hair behind her ear, his touch deliberate and gentle, almost reverent.
His hand moved, fingers sliding to the side of her neck, thumb brushing the skin just below her jaw, grounding her. “And if you say you’re in… then I’m in too. All the way. No half-measures.”
Kiara’s pulse kicked under his touch; her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she nodded once—slow, deliberate, her lips parting slightly as though the words were caught between fear and certainty.
“I’m in,” she whispered, voice steady despite the chaos burning in her chest. “All the way.”
Rafe’s eyes darkened, a spark of something almost savage breaking through, and without hesitating, he leaned in—capturing her mouth in a kiss that tasted of whiskey, confession, and the dangerous relief of finally letting go.
She pulled back and, she moved her drink to the low table beside the couch, the ice clinking softly as it settled. Her chest rose and fell with a shaky breath.
Kiara shifted closer her knee brushed his thigh; heat sparked at the contact. For a moment she hovered there—caught between wanting and hesitation.
Rafe’s hand slid around her waist, fingers firm but unhurried, his touch sparking fire across her ribs. “C’mere,” he rasped, voice low and rough with need.
She let out the breath she’d been holding. And he helped her, steadying her as she climbed into his lap, the couch creaking under their weight. His other hand guided her by the hip, anchoring her against him until she was settled—thighs pressing into his, her chest close enough that he could see every quick rise and fall of her breath.
faces inches apart, sharing the same shaky air, hearts pounding out of sync but for the same reason.
Rafe’s thumb traced slow circles over her waist, his voice husky when it finally broke the silence. “You look better here than I ever fucking imagined,” he murmured, eyes dark and locked on hers.
And Kiara, cheeks flushed, lips parted, answered him with nothing but the way she leaned in—until her mouth found his in a kiss that burned through every doubt they’d both carried onto that yacht.
The taste of whiskey and salt still lingered on both their lips as they crashed together, the kiss messy, hungry, and unrestrained. Kiara’s fingers curled into the collar of his white shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left to hide in.
Rafe let out a low, guttural groan into her mouth, the sound raw and involuntary, vibrating against her lips. His hand at her waist tightened, thumb digging into her skin like he couldn’t quite believe she was real and here, in his lap, wanting this as badly as he did.
Kiara’s breath hitched at the sound, her own pulse thundering in her ears. And then, with a soft gasp, she pulled back—just enough to break the kiss, her chest rising and falling fast.
Before the space between them could cool, she tilted her chin, baring the slender column of her neck to him. An unspoken dare.
Rafe’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with want. His breath fanned hot against her skin before his lips found the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He kissed her there first—slow, tasting her—and then let control slip, mouth trailing lower, open-mouthed kisses burning into her skin.
Kiara shifted, breath catching as she settled her palms on his shoulders for balance. Then, slowly, deliberately, she moved to fully straddle him—legs folding around his waist, the thin denim of her shorts grazing rough against his jeans.
The motion pressed them together in a way that stole the air from both their lungs. Outside, the night spread endless and silent across the water: nothing but the scattered moonlight, the world holding its breath for them alone, the faint slap of waves against the hull the only sound beyond their ragged breathing.
Rafe tilted his head back to look at her, eyes dark and hungry, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe she was real, right here. His hands settled heavy on her hips, thumbs dragging along the exposed skin above the waistband of her shorts.
“Fuck, Kie…” he rasped, voice so low it barely cut through the quiet. His gaze roamed over her face, then down to the pale skin of her collarbone. “You don’t even know,” he breathed out, the words rough, almost confessional. “How much I’ve wanted this… wanted you. Almost fucking needed it.”
Kiara’s pulse fluttered, breath shaky in her chest. But her eyes burned with something wild—half desire, half defiance. Slowly, experimentally, she rocked her hips against his, a teasing grind that sent heat crackling between them like dry leaves catching fire.
Rafe’s breath hitched, a raw sound slipping from his throat as his fingers dug tighter into her sides.
His jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed locked on hers, every bit of restraint flickering on the edge of ruin.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Kie,” he murmured, thumb brushing the warm skin under her ribs, his stare so intense it felt like it could pin her open. “Or maybe you fucking do…”
Kiara’s lashes fluttered, her lips parting in a shaky breath, and she rolled her hips again—slower this time, deliberate. The motion dragged a rough, low groan from deep in his chest, and she felt his fingers tremble against her skin as though every last thread of control was slipping between them, lost to the dark water beyond the glass.
Her hands slid up Rafe’s chest, fingers pressing into the hard lines of muscle through the thin white fabric of his shirt.
Then she rocked her hips again—harder this time, deliberate, her breath catching as the friction sparked heat that coiled low in her stomach. The motion dragged a sharp, ragged exhale from Rafe, his grip on her hips tightening, knuckles whitening as if to anchor himself.
“Fuck, Kie,” he rasped, voice cracking at the edge, raw with wanting. His gaze burned into hers, pupils blown wide, chest heaving under her palms.
He fisted a hand in her wavy hair, pulling her head back just enough to claim her mouth with his, kiss hard and messy and full of everything he hadn’t said. His other hand dropped to her waist, fingers slipping under the thin hem of her green crop top, calloused palm hot against her skin.
She gasped into his mouth, hips stuttering but not stopping.
Rafe’s hand traced lower, rough knuckles brushing the soft skin of her stomach, until it reached the button of her shorts. His fingers fumbled only for a heartbeat—urgency beating out precision—before he flicked the button open.
The sound of denim parting felt deafening in the hush.
He didn’t look away from her, eyes locked on hers—dark, hungry, a little bit ruined—as he tugged the zipper down, the slow rasp of metal somehow intimate, deliberate, inevitable.
“You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he rasped against her lips, voice ragged and shaking. His thumb brushed over the newly exposed strip of skin at her waist, eyes tracing every breathless shiver that crossed her face.
Kiara’s pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the yacht and the restless slap of waves against the hull. Her breath trembled as she felt the heat of Rafe’s gaze on her—hungry, dark, almost ruined by how badly he wanted her.
Her fingers moved before her thoughts could catch up—fumbling at the waistband of her shorts, pushing them down her thighs in messy, frantic tugs. Rafe let go of her hair just long enough to help, his large hands dragging the denim down her legs until they dropped to the floor with a dull, discarded thud. The sea breeze kissed newly bare skin, cool and sharp against the heat burning through her.
She was left straddling him in nothing but her black panties and the thin green crop top that barely clung to her chest.
Rafe’s jaw flexed, chest heaving under the thin white shirt as he swallowed hard. His gaze swept down, slow and reverent, lingering on the delicate slip of lace covering almost nothing at all.
“Fuck, Kie…” he rasped, voice shredded and low, every word a confession he could barely hold back.
Then he moved—both hands gripping the hem of her crop top, knuckles brushing the warm skin of her waist. His thumbs traced just under the swell of her breasts, feeling the soft catch of her breath, the wild thud of her heart.
Rafe pulled the top up, slow at first—dragging the thin fabric over flushed skin—until he tugged it off completely, tossing it aside to join her shorts on the floor.
For a moment, the world felt painfully still. Only the hush of water beyond the glass, only the heat between their bodies, only the pounding of two hearts caught on the same sharp edge.
Rafe’s hands skimmed down her ribs, rough palms brushing the newly bare skin, thumbs ghosting over the curve of her chest. His breath came out shaky, words rasping out before he could stop them:
“You don’t know what you do to me, Kie,” he murmured, voice cracking under the weight of it. “I’ve fucking dreamed of this—of you—more times than I can count.”
Her eyes locked onto his—blue ones, hungry, and wide with need—and she leaned in close, her voice barely more than a breath, trembling with raw desire.
“Take me,” she whispered, her words dripping with urgency and promise. “Right here. Right now.”
Without hesitation, he captured her mouth again—deep, fierce, like claiming what was already his—and pulled her even closer, the yacht’s dim light wrapping them in shadow and fire.
Kiara’s fingers trembled slightly as they found the waistband of Rafe’s jeans. With deliberate slow movements, she worked the zipper down, the metallic scrape echoing softly in the quiet yacht . Her other hand slipped beneath the fabric of his boxers, wrapping around him firmly.
A low, breathy groan escaped her lips, melting into the kiss as she pressed closer, the heat between them growing unbearably thick and pulled his boxers fully down.
She broke their kiss and spit in her hand a string of thick saliva coming into her hand and stroked it on top of his tip a pretty shade of pink.
Rafe sat back in his seat, his eyes closed, a deep groan escaping his lips as Kiara took his thick cock into her mouth. Her lips were tight around him, her tongue swirling expertly, eliciting a low, appreciative sound from Rafe.
“Fuck, Kie, you look so good sucking my cock,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. The night air was warm, carrying the faint scent of salt and the promise of something wilder. Kiara’s eyes flickered open, meeting his gaze briefly before she focused again, her head bobbing rhythmically.
She deep-throated him, her throat constricting around his length, her hands gripping his thighs for leverage. Rafe’s breath hitched, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her gently but firmly.
Kiara’s movements were deliberate, her lips moving up and down his shaft with practiced ease. Rafe leaned back further into his seat, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths.
“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice strained. Kiara hummed softly around him, the vibration sending a shiver down his spine. She pulled back slightly, her lips sliding up his length, her tongue tracing the veins that pulsed beneath his skin. Rafe groaned, his hands tightening in her hair, but instead of urging her to continue, he pulled her off his cock.
Kiara looked up at him, her dark eyes glistening with desire, her lips swollen from their recent activity. Rafe leaned forward, capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. His taste was familiar, intoxicating, and Kiara moaned softly into the kiss, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders. He broke the kiss, his hands moving to her hips, pulling her closer. With a swift, playful slap, he smacked her ass, the sound echoing faintly in the night air.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growled, his hands roaming over her curves. Kiara smirked, her confidence radiating as she leaned into his touch. Rafe’s fingers gripped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples,
He leaned down, sucking one peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling lazily as Kiara arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips.
The night seemed to close in around them, the world narrowing to just the two of them on the yacht’s deck. Rafe’s hands were everywhere, his touch both demanding and reverent. He pulled away from her breasts, his breath hot against her skin as he positioned himself at her entrance.
His thick tip pressed against her wet pussy, and Kiara groaned, her head falling back as she grabbed the seat behind Rafe’s head for support.
“Fuck, Rafe,” she whispered, her voice breathless. He didn’t hesitate, slamming into her with a force that made her gasp.
Rafe set a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward as he filled her completely. Kiara’s nails dug into the leather of the seat, her body trembling with each thrust.
Kiara’s hair fell forward, wild and tangled, brushing against his cheek as she rode him—each slow, desperate grind pushing them closer to the edge. Rafe’s jaw tightened, eyes locked on the way her lips parted in a silent gasp, her head tipping back just enough for him to catch the line of her throat.
Then—
A sudden buzz, sharp and insistent.
His phone.
The sound sliced through the thick, burning air of the cabin like a blade. It rattled against the table where he’d tossed it, the screen lighting up with a name neither of them bothered to read.
For a heartbeat, Kiara froze, breath catching hard in her chest. Rafe’s eyes flew open, dark and blown wide, sweat dripping from his temple. His hand tightened on her waist, as if to keep her from slipping away.
“Don’t,” he rasped, voice shredded and low, heat and command tangled in every syllable. His thumb brushed her skin, coaxing. “Ignore it. Just… don’t stop.”
Kiara swallowed, pupils blown wide and dark, a flicker of something wicked crossing her flushed face. Slowly, deliberately, she rolled her hips down into him again—harder this time—drawing a ragged, helpless groan from his chest.
The phone kept ringing, screen flashing like a ghost in the dark.
The phone kept vibrating across the low table, its insistent buzz cutting through the dark, heated hush of the cabin. Kiara rocked against him again, breath catching in her throat—but Rafe’s jaw tightened, a flash of annoyance sparking hot in his chest.
With a rough, breathless growl, he gripped her hips, forcing her to still in his lap. Her thighs trembled around him, the sudden stop leaving her gasping, pupils blown wide with confusion and lust.
Rafe dragged his gaze to the screen, sweat dampening his brow.
Sofia.
The name glared back at him, white against the dark glass.
For a heartbeat, he almost let it go.
Then something darker—something twisted and vicious—lit behind his eyes.
“Fuck it,” he rasped under his breath, voice ragged with want and spite. He snatched the phone off the table, thumb swiping to answer.
Kiara’s breath hitched, eyes flashing with startled thrill as Rafe pressed the phone to his ear, the other hand sliding down her back.
“Yeah?” he drawled, voice rough, torn between a laugh and a growl.
Before Sofia could say a single word, he shifted his grip, palm flattening over the curve of Kiara’s ass.
Then, sharp and deliberate—crack—he slapped her.
The sound ripped through the yacht , echoing against the polished walls, mixing with the low rustle of Kiara’s choked gasp.
Rafe’s breathing went ragged, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Sorry,” he murmured into the phone, dark amusement crackling behind every syllable, his gaze locked on Kiara’s flushed face. “Bit busy right now.”
And with his thumb digging into her skin, he pushed her hips down into him again—holding the phone so she could hear the ragged groan that broke free of his chest, letting the heat and wrongness of it burn them both alive.
Rafe’s grip on Kiara’s hips had turned bruising, muscles taut and veins standing out in his forearms as the phone stayed pressed between his ear and shoulder.
On the other end, Sofia’s voice crackled through—soft, apologetic, too sweet
“Rafe… baby, please. I made a mistake, okay? I shouldn’t have lied. Just… forgive me, we can fix this.”
His jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck straining as anger flared hot behind his ribs. “Sofia,” he hissed, voice shredded and low, “I’m done with your bullshit. You scammed me, you lied to my fucking face—”
Kiara shifted in his lap, them. Her eyes caught his, dark and wicked, and she leaned in, lips brushing the side of his neck.
She kissed him there—slow, soft, a promise and a dare—and let her teeth graze just under his jaw. Rafe’s voice faltered, breath hitching, heat flooding through him so fast it burned.
On the other end, Sofia kept pleading, words blurred and desperate. But Kiara didn’t stop. Her lips traced up to his ear, breath hot as she whispered, low and teasing him.
Then, bolder now, Kiara lifted herself, rolling her hips and bouncing down harder into his lap. The sharp, wet slap of skin against skin filled the space between them, filthy and intimate.
Rafe’s eyelids fluttered, lashes trembling as he tried to hold on to what he was saying. “You—fuck—Sofia, you don’t get to—”
But the next thrust of Kiara’s hips pulled a deep, guttural groan from him, raw and broken, tearing right through the end of his words.
Sofia went silent on the other end, shock or pain—he didn’t know, didn’t care.
Kiara’s lips found the soft spot below his ear again, her breath shaking, chest rising and falling fast as she bounced harder, faster, her thighs clenching around him. His fingers dug into her waist, nails biting skin, every shred of focus slipping away as he let out a strangled, “Fucking—Kie…”
The wet slap of Kiara’s hips against his thighs, the choked sound of her breathless gasps, and the deep, broken groan Rafe couldn’t bite back—all of it spilled through the speaker, bleeding right into the dead hush on the other end of the line.
For a moment, Sofia didn’t speak—only the crackle of the connection, the sound of her sharp inhale, like realization had stabbed her clean through.
Then:
“Rafe?!” Her voice broke the tremor barely covering the fury underneath
Rafe—oh my God, are you with someone right now?”
Kiara, lips still ghosting the side of his neck, her breath hot and shaking. Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard it ached, sweat dripping from his temple.
His eyes locked on Kiara’s, pupils blown wide and dark, and something cold and final settled in his chest.
“Yeah,” he rasped into the phone, voice low and stripped bare of apology. His hand slid down to squeeze Kiara’s thigh, his other holding the phone steady, even as her hips rolled again, slower this time—taunting, deliberate.
Sofia’s breath hitched, the sound catching on a sob
Right now? How could you do this? After everything—”
He cut her off, voice hoarse but steady, his chest still heaving from Kiara’s relentless, grinding rhythm.
“We’re done, Sofia,” he ground out, the finality in his tone sharp as broken glass. “You scammed me. You lied. And I don’t give a fuck anymore. There’s no going back. Not this time.”
Kiara’s nails dug into his shoulder, her lips finding his jaw, and her body rocked against him harder—like she needed to hear him say it as much as Sofia needed to be crushed by it.
Sofia sobbed something sharp and raw on the other end, but Rafe didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. His eyes stayed locked on Kiara, voice falling to a ragged whisper meant only for her, even as the phone still clung to his ear.
“It’s over.”
Kiara’s breath came ragged, chest flushed and rising fast as Sofia’s muffled, furious voice kept bleeding out of the phone. Her eyes locked on Rafe’s, pupils blown and wild—heat and something darker sparking behind them.
Without a word, she reached out, fingers closing tight around the phone still pressed to his ear. In one swift, reckless move, she snatched it from his hand and tossed it aside—the device bouncing off the cushions, clattering onto the floor, the call cutting off mid-scream.
Rafe’s chest heaved, jaw tight, the anger and relief crashing together in his veins. Then his stare snapped back to her—hungry, feral, undone. His hands slid down, palms rough against her slick, heated skin, gripping her ass so tight she gasped.
“Fucking mine,” he rasped, voice shaking with how badly he meant it.
Then he surged forward, catching her mouth in a kiss that tasted like salt, sweat, and victory—deep, bruising, claiming. He stood, muscles flexing under her as he lifted her clean off his lap. Kiara gasped against his lips, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her fingers tangling in the short hair at the back of his buzzed head.
Rafe barely broke the kiss, stumbling forward with her in his arms, breath ragged. He turned, her weight balanced against him, until her back hit the cool, polished surface of the yacht’s bar table. Bottles rattled, the soft clink of glass swallowed by the wet, desperate sounds of their mouths colliding again.
Kiara’s hair spilled wild around her shoulders, moonlight catching the flush on her chest as Rafe pressed her down onto the table—hands still gripping her ass, dragging her hips to the edge so their bodies stayed locked together.
His breath burned hot against her lips as he pulled back just enough to look at her, voice low and torn:
“Say it,” he rasped, chest heaving, his forehead resting against hers. “Say you fucking want this.”
Her breath trembled, lips still brushing his, the faint sting of his rough grip burning sweet across her skin. She met his stare—dark, raw, almost broken open with want—and in a shaky whisper that tasted like surrender, she breathed, “I fucking want this, Rafe… I want you.”
That was all it took.
Rafe’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, a guttural sound ripping low from his chest—half relief, half animal. His hand slid up her thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise, dragging her closer to the edge of the table until her back barely balanced on its surface.
Their mouths collided again, messy and hungry, teeth clashing. His other hand fisted in her wild, wavy hair, tugging her head back to bare the long line of her throat. He pressed his lips there, breath hot, kissing and biting down her neck, feeling her pulse jump wild under his tongue.
“Fucking perfect,” he rasped against her skin, voice shredded with need, hips rolling against her in a promise that made her whimper.
You want it that bad?” he murmured against her ear, his breath hot and shaky. “Want me to ruin you right here? Let anyone watching from the fucking shore see what a needy mess you are for me?”
Kiara shuddered, her nails biting into his shoulder, hips jerking up toward him without thinking. “Yes,” she gasped, voice cracking around the word, eyes going dark and glassy. “Fucking yes, Rafe. I don’t care—just do it.”
Rafe’s breath came ragged, sweat dripping from his brow, his jaw tight with the effort to keep from completely losing himself. His hands slid under Kiara’s thighs, gripping hard, and he pushed her legs back, spreading her open on the polished bar top until her knees nearly brushed her chest.
Kiara gasped, a sharp, breathless sound that cracked into a low whimper. The stretch burned down her hips, a low cramp curling through her thighs from the angle—but it was buried under the crushing, dizzying pressure of him inside her.
The cold edge of the bar dug into her spine, and the bite of discomfort blurred into something sharper, something darker. Her wavy hair spilled wild across the wood, sticking to her damp skin, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
Rafe’s gaze dropped, pupils black and wild, watching the way she took him, the way her lips parted in a half-broken moan. “Fuck—look at you,” he rasped, voice ruined, shaking with restraint slipping between his fingers. “You don’t even care, do you? As long as you feel me—”
His hips snapped forward, deep enough to punch a cry from her throat. Kiara’s fingers scrabbled for the edge of the bar, nails biting into slick wood, her vision going hot and white at the edges.
“I—Rafe—fuck,” she gasped, voice catching on every broken syllable.
“Too much?” he ground out, breath burning hot against her cheek—but even as he asked, his hips rolled deeper, slower, dragging out the friction until her legs trembled.
“No—no,” she breathed, desperation twisting every word, her brows knitting at the sweet, brutal pressure building low in her stomach. “Don’t stop—please don’t fucking stop.”
Rafe’s thumb traced the inside of her thigh, rough and shaking, and he pushed her knees back even further, burying himself until her back arched off the bar. Her muscles tightened, half from the deep cramp in her thighs, half from how ruinously full she felt.
“Fuck, Kie,” he groaned, voice breaking, sweat dripping from his temple to her chest. “You’re so fucking wet—you feel so fucking good—”
Underneath them, the polished wood of the bar table had gone slick with sweat, salt, and the blurred edges of pleasure and desperation. Smears of heat and damp clung stubbornly to the grain, the shine dulled by the press of her back, his grip on her thighs, and the frantic drag of her hips meeting his.
Tiny droplets of sweat had splattered across the surface, catching the low light in uneven, glistening streaks. Threads of her hair, damp and darkened, stuck stubbornly to the wet spots where her skin had burned against the wood.
The steady, wet slap of his hips meeting hers echoed off the polished walls, the sharp, rhythmic sound of his balls striking against her with every deep, hungry thrust. It was raw, unfiltered, shameless.
Kiara’s broken moans tangled with Rafe’s guttural groans, the air thick with the ragged music of want. Each noise spilled from them unrestrained—half curse, half confession—mixing into something almost ugly in its honesty, yet so desperate it felt holy.
Their bodies moved in frantic, uncoordinated unison—driven by nothing but heat and the raw need to get closer, closer still. And for that fevered moment, the world beyond the yacht simply ceased to exist; there was only the slap of skin, the harsh drag of breath, and the reckless, shared sound of two people losing themselves in each other completely.
Rafe’s breath rattled harsh and uneven in his chest, sweat dripping from his temple to the hollow of his throat. His grip on Kiara’s thighs tightened, knuckles whitening, and then—abruptly—he stopped.
The slap of skin fell silent, replaced by the thundering pulse in their ears and the ragged scrape of their breathing. His hips stilled, buried deep, and then he drew back—slow, deliberate, the movement dragging heat and slick over every inch until Kiara gasped, chest rising sharp and shallow.
She lay there for a heartbeat, back arched on the bar, vision swimming, the sudden emptiness biting through the haze of pleasure.
Then Rafe’s hands slid around her waist, palms rough and hungry, guiding her off the slicked surface. His breath came out in a low, guttural rasp, voice cracked and raw: “Not done with you yet.”
He turned her—slow but forceful—until her chest pressed against the cool, damp wood of the bar, her flushed cheek grazing a streak of sweat left behind. Her hair spilled wild and tangled around her face, the strands clinging to damp skin.
Rafe’s hands planted firm on her hips, thumbs pressing bruises into soft flesh as he bent her forward, arching her back until her ass pushed back against him. His own breath trembled, jaw clenched so tight it ached, pupils blown black with want.
Rafe’s gaze flickered over her, pupils blown and chest still heaving. Sweat glistened along the curve of Kiara’s back, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts against the cool wood.
For a moment—almost tender in its roughness—he reached forward, his fingers tangling through her wild, damp waves. Carefully, deliberately, he swept her hair over one shoulder, baring the soft line of her neck to the hush of the space and the burn of his stare.
Then he leaned in, his breath hot against sweat-damp skin, and pressed his mouth to her neck—slow, searing kisses trailing from the curve of her shoulder up to the spot just below her ear. His lips parted there, teeth grazing lightly, tasting the salt and heat of her.
Kiara’s breath caught, a soft, broken whimper spilling out, her back arching instinctively toward him.
Rafe’s hand slid down her waist, calloused fingers sinking into the warm flesh just above her hip, steadying her as his other hand moved around her chest. His palm closed over her breast—rough, possessive—his thumb brushing over her nipple in a slow, deliberate circle that pulled another ragged gasp from her throat.
Kiara’s fingers curled around Rafe’s hands where they pressed into her skin, her nails grazing lightly as she pulled him closer without breaking contact. She turned her face just enough to meet his lips in a heated, desperate kiss—soft at first, then deepening with every breath.
Rafe’s mouth opened to hers, hunger raw and immediate, and he took that moment, that flicker of surrender, to slide inside her slowly, savoring the tight warmth that clenched around him.
A low groan rumbled deep in his throat as he began to pump—steady, slow, each movement measured but heavy with need. His other hand found its way back to her ass, gripping hard, fingers digging in as if to mark her as his.
Kiara’s breath hitched in her throat, the slick press of skin against skin, the raw ache of his rhythm pulling at every nerve. She clung to him, lips parted and eyes closed, lost in the relentless, burning pull between them.
his chest pressed to her back, sweat-slick skin clinging where they touched. Rafe’s rhythm deepened, slow and deliberate, each thrust sending heat curling low in Kiara’s belly until she could barely draw breath.
Her hand slid back to grip his hip, nails biting into the hard muscle, a broken moan catching in her throat as the wet slap of skin echoed softly around them
Rafe bent lower, his mouth finding her neck again, breath shaking against her damp skin. “Kie…” he rasped, voice hoarse and raw. “I’m—fuck—”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, the words catching on a gasp, her thighs trembling around him. “Don’t you fucking stop…”
And he didn’t.
His hand slid up her stomach, palm pressing between her breasts, grounding them both as his pace grew rougher, deeper, the world narrowing to the hot drag of him inside her, the raw sound of their bodies colliding, and the ragged music of shared need.
The pressure coiled tight, snapping in a rush of heat that left them both trembling. Kiara cried out, head tipping forward, hair falling wild around her shoulders as release ripped through her. Rafe followed a breath later, a guttural groan spilling from his chest, burying himself to the hilt as every muscle in his body locked tight.
For a few heartbeats, nothing existed except the ragged tangle of breath, the salt-and-sweat taste of skin, and the distant hush of waves against the hull.
Rafe stayed close, his forehead pressed to her shoulder, their bodies still locked together. Slowly, his hand eased from its bruising grip on her hip, sliding up to brush sweat-damp hair from her face.
“You good?” he murmured against her skin, voice low, raw, but softer now—something almost gentle under the ruin of it.
Kiara’s breath shook as she turned her head just enough to see him, lashes still heavy, lips swollen. “Yeah,” she whispered, a ghost of a smile catching at the corner of her mouth. “Better than good.”
Outside, the sea stretched black and endless under the moon. Inside, they stayed tangled together, the heat fading but the weight of what had just happened settling in: messy, raw, real—and theirs alone.
The end
Hiii, I love your Riara stories! Please keep them coming 🩷
Hiii good morning or afternoon or night but I’m grateful yall are enjoying them 💗💗💗
How many parts does the riare coparent fic have? Huge fan of it!
I actually don’t have any parts planned I’ll keep writing these scenarios when something good pops up so don’t worry it’s not limited I love co parent riara