cw: smut, blowjob, under the desk, f!reader, facef*cking, public sex, office sex, the usual <3
mdni
wc:1k
“Think she’s busy. Try her cell?” Simon releases a shaky breath as he speaks, his fist tightening around your hair, jeans bunched around his ankles. He glares down at you, obediently knelt between his legs underneath his desk. The space fits you wholly, allowing you to hide completely while still giving his legs the space to jerk and jolt as you work his soul from his thick cock.
Your lips are swollen and red from the friction, spit dribbling down your chin, throat dilating whilst he buried himself deeper into your mouth. Tears pooled behind your waterline as you try to stifle the lewd sound of your gurgles and gags; a degenerate symphony of indecency only you and Simon had the nerve to produce at work.
“Damnit. I’ll try her again.” You hear Price sigh through the phone, his voice growing increasingly irritated. You look up at Simon, who’s now shaking his head at you, his eyes dark and unfocused.
“You do that, sir.” He replied flatly.
You giggle quietly, pushing your tongue against his frenulum. He jerks forward, the muscles in his thighs firming under your grip, his breath catching loudly in his throat.
“You alright, Simon?” You hear Price’s suspicion growing by the second. Simon keeps the phone to his ear, his knuckles going white with how hard he was gripping the poor thing. He looks at you directly, eyes stuck to yours as you bob your head up and down his thick length.
“Yeah…’m okay. Somethin’ I ate. Not sittin’ right.” He lets out a quiet, shaky breath, bearing his weight on the back of his chair and spreading his thighs. He releases your hair, raising his hand to his mouth, cupping it around his face as you continue.
“You sure you’re alright, Lt?” Price’s voice lowered on the other end. You don’t let up.
His length grew harder with every stroke of your lips, his leg bouncing restlessly, his eyes squeezing shut as you worked your mouth over the ridges and curvatures of the throbbing shaft. He glares at you from behind his trembling hand, a look that usually meant one thing and one thing only; Dead meat.
His eyes travel down your face, taking in the sight before him. You, perched on your knees, freshly manicured nails digging into the meat of his thighs, taking every inch of his thick, burdensome cock the only way it was ever intended; Sloppy, sleazy, and unable to render whether or not you could breathe properly.
He clears his throat before speaking again. “‘M fine, Price. Stomach’s in shambles.”
“Right then.” He takes a beat before continuing. “If you lay eyes on my secretary, send her straight to my office, understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Simon answers, his eyes never leaving your face as he clicks the phone off.
The man was like a father to him, and yet here he was, defiling his poor secretary’s soft, sweet mouth like he owned the damned thing. He knew it was wrong. You knew it was wrong. But you took his length so well within your hot mouth, your wet, experienced tongue extracting the last bits of self-respect from his reserves.
“You’re gonna get us in trouble, trouble.” You smirk at the nickname, your tongue now slowed to a gentle swirl around the puffed, pulsing tip. It touches your uvula, causing your throat to contract and tighten around him. With a simple thrust of his hips, he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, his thickness stretching your throat with every inch he’s able to fit inside.
You watched as his thighs shook ever so slightly, his hand now cupped around your cheek. He studies you intently, gaze traveling down your face, hair, shirt—anything he could get his eyes and hands on.
He takes your head in both hands, and steadies both feet on the ground. You brace yourself on his knees before he stands, now towering over you with complete and utter control over your mouth. He bends his knees, accommodating the height difference between you before he begins to plunge himself deeper.
Simon starts with slow strokes, a salacious, foul groan emitting from his lips as he works his way deeper into your throat. He quickens his pace, satisfied with how much of himself he could shove inside your mouth without suffocating you to death. And still, just only half of him.
He pulls your hair back into a pathetic excuse for a ponytail, using his free hand to gently tuck unruly strands away from your face. An affectionate contrast to the aggravated, frantic ruts from his hips. You raise your arm, taking his balls within the palm of your hand. You give them a gentle squeeze, kneading them as he uses your mouth to his content.
“Fuck—’m close, sweetheart.” He grits. You respond by craning your neck, meeting his thrusts halfway. He falls over the edge, his orgasm thrumming against the walls of your throat. His knees shudder slightly, bending as though he struggled to hold himself in one piece. You feel hot ropes of his seed splash against your throat, his voice releasing a stream of deep grunts and whines into the silent air of his office. He stares down at you, watching intensely whilst he pulls you from his length. Your hair sat messily around your head, saliva coating your chin, and eyes glazed with pure carnal satisfaction.
Simon’s chest heaves sluggishly, his eyes stuck on the sight of you. You notice the appearance of his crow’s feet, a smile creeping to his eyes from under the balaclava.
⊱༺༒︎༻⊰
You clutch the files to your chest, inconspicuously slipping out of Simon’s office with him in tow. He grabs your wrist before you could walk away, lowering himself to say something in your ear.
“Fuck you later, love” He grits, a sleazy smack on your ass ringing through the quiet hallway. Heat flushes between your thighs, spreading to your face and ears. You turn to walk away, bottom lip clamped between your teeth as you make your way to the stairwell.
He watches you disappear into the flights of stairs, turning to walk the opposite way. He freezes.
Price, leaned casually against the doorway of his office, arms crossed tightly against his chest. His lunch threatened to exhibit itself on the carpeted hallway floor as he met eyes with the Captain.
“Still got the shits, mate?” At that point in time, he really did.
Obvi siren!reader forgave rafe because they end up getting married 🥰🥰🥰 but how much did rafe grovel/yearn/beg for forgiveness??
little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - soulmates and shit
pairing: siren!reader x rafe.
warnings: smut & toxic relationships.
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Rafe finally realized the one person who saw through all his bullshit might leave for good.
He'd never given a fuck about a girl before you. He’d chased plenty, fucked around, let them hang off his arm. But even back when you were kids, and he acted like he despised every second of your attention—shoving you away, calling you every name in the book—he’d secretly eaten that shit up. He’d enjoyed it. Craved it.
He didn’t get a wink of sleep that same night, knowing he’d finally succeeded in killing whatever good thing had been growing between you. He kept seeing those tears you refused to let fall in front of him, how you’d shoved him off like he was something filthy after he’d been inside you.
That's what he did, right? Destroy the good shit before it could destroy him. He sat up fast, sweat sticking to his back. If you left for good... fuck. He wasn't letting that happen without a fight, even if it meant having to swallow his pride and spew the shit he'd been too chickenshit to admit before.
He texted you at 3:17 a.m.: I’m sorry. No reply. I didn’t mean it. Still nothing. Please.
You left him on read.
By 7:30 a.m. he was downstairs, heart hammering, waiting like a man on trial. Avoiding him in this house was impossible, and he was terrified you’d start trying.
Ward was in the study, drinking coffee and going over papers. Rafe didn’t knock this time.
“I need to reschedule the meeting.”
Ward looked up, eyebrows raised. He seemed surprised before his face settled into that mild disappointment.
“Excuse me?”
“Next Friday. The investors. Move it.”
No automatic “yes sir,” no eager lean-forward, no desperate eagerness to please.
Ward set his mug down.
“Rafe, these people are flying in from Charlotte. This is not something we reschedule because you—”
“I’m not asking. I know it’s important, but I have something I already committed to. I’m not breaking it.”
Ward’s familiar look of here we go again, incoming.
“Son… this is the kind of opportunity—”
“I don’t care.” Rafe cut him off. “I gave my word somewhere else first. I’m keeping it.”
He wasn’t licking his father’s ass, hoping for scraps. He wanted Ward’s approval, he’d always wanted it so fucking badly it hurt — but he wanted you more. He wanted the way you looked at him when it was just the two of you.
Ward let out a low chuckle; it always made Rafe feel ten years old again.
“And what exactly is more important than the future of this family’s business?” He leaned back, studying him. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with our guest, would it?”
The second Ward brought you up in the conversation, Rafe knew he was winning this one. The only reason his dad wasn't lighting him up right now is because of you. Last week, that would’ve fucking killed him — knowing Ward respected you more than he’d ever respected his own son.
Today Rafe was grateful. Today Rafe knew he was was in love.
He needed this to work.
He didn’t give a fuck about his usual insecurities at the moment. All he could think about was you upstairs, packing your shit or icing him out for good. The terror of never getting to touch you again...He wanted to be worthy of you more than he wanted to be Ward Cameron’s successful son.
Too bad it took him all this time to figure it out.
“It’s personal. Important.” Rafe didn’t elaborate; he sure as fuck wasn’t telling Ward — or your dad — the real reason.
Meeting your estranged mom? Your father despised that woman, and if word got back that Rafe was helping you see her… He wasn’t risking that.
Ward’s expression was imperceptible as he sighed.
“I care about her like she’s my own. She’s been part of this family every summer for years. If this has something to do with her, I’d rather you be straight with me.”
And still, Rafe was ready to choose Ward over you last night. What the fuck is wrong with him?
“I’m handling it,” Rafe said.
“But this… bailing on something this significant for—”
“I’m not bailing on the business,” Rafe cut in. “I’m asking you to move one meeting. If that costs me your respect, then fine."
Ward exhaled slowly and rubbed his temple. “Alright. I’ll talk to her father and push it back a week. But Rafe… I expect you to be ready when the new date is set. No more last-minute changes.”
Rafe nodded. “I will be.”
Twenty-four hours later, fueled by three Red Bulls and a prayer to a God he didn't believe in, he cornered you in the kitchen.
He stood there like a fucking idiot, leaning against the island with his arms crossed so tight his shirt felt like it was choking him. You were there, back turned, pouring coffee, shoulders stiff.
You hadn’t looked at him once.
He had to fix this before you decided summers at Tannyhill weren’t worth it anymore and bounced.
“…Ward’s moving the meeting.”
You didn’t pause, continuing to stir your coffee. Rafe stepped closer, stopping on the other side of the counter.
“I told him I couldn’t do next Friday. Said I already promised you something important. He wasn’t thrilled but… he’s doing it."
Not even a glance.
C'mon, say something. Yell. Call me a piece of shit.
Forty-eight hours of silence from the one person whose voice actually mattered. He was losing his shit, sweating, and blurting out the first thing that came to mind.
“I could’ve gone to the meeting and lied to you about it, but I didn’t. That counts for something, right?”
Jesus Christ, Rafe. Shut the fuck up.
You finally turned around, one eyebrow raised, giving him that flat stare that made his balls shrivel up every time.
"That’s what you’re going with?”
You were one wrong word away from walking out of the kitchen and out of his life for good.
His brain fucking blue-screened. He was gaping at you like an idiot, eyes wide. Goddamn. You were so fucking pretty it hurt.
“I— uh…” Rafe's voice came out cracked and dumb. “Yeah. I mean no. Fuck, I don’t know."
He winced the second it left his mouth, but couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt to hear your voice again, even if it was calling him on his bullshit.
“I haven’t heard you talk in two days,” He blurted. “It was actually making me sick—”
Your face said it all: bullshit. You didn’t believe a single word.
"I’m serious,” Rafe pushed, stepping closer even though your expression screamed stay the fuck back. “I know I fucked up,” He kept going, "The shit I said to you…I didn’t mean it. I fixed the meeting. For you.”
You raised both eyebrows this time, giving him the most unimpressed look he'd ever seen, which was saying a lot considering this was you.
“Baby, please,” He rushed out, running both hands through his hair, tugging at it. “I sound stupid, I know I do. Yell at me."
You weren’t buying a single fucking thing he was saying.
Before he could think about how pathetic it looked, Rafe dropped to his knees right there on the kitchen floor. He shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking them, biceps pressing against the backs of your legs while his hands splayed across your lower back and stomach.
You stiffened instantly. “Rafe—what the fuck—”
“I’m sorry,” His voice was muffled against your stomach as he pressed his face there like a desperate loser.
You tried and failed to twist away. Rafe made his grip ten times harder, looking up at you with his chin resting against your abdomen. Your face was a painting of pure annoyance.
He was replying the other night in his head. You had real feelings for him, and he'd crushed that shit under his heel like an idiot.
Rafe looked up at you again, eyes wide.
“I’ll stay down here all day if I have to."
That's when you gave him a different reaction since he walked into the kitchen.
“Are you… Did you hit your fucking head? What is this?”
The Rafe Cameron you knew would never be on the floor hugging your legs like this. The confusion in your voice would’ve been funny if he weren’t so fucking scared. Your hands hovered in the air to check him for a concussion, probably.
"Fair, I deserve that—"
“You gained consciousness all of a sudden? Overnight? Yesterday, you were telling me I was pathetic for wanting you there, and now you’re hugging my legs like a lost puppy? Are you back on coke?"
God, there it is.
Oh you’re one to fucking talk—
The words almost flew out of his mouth on instinct. No. He wasn’t falling for your bait; he had to earn this shit.
“I’m not gonna fight with you."
Even though you were acting like he was the crazy one when you both know you've been toxic as fuck to each other for years. You looked even more thrown off, if that was possible; your face couldn’t decide whether to laugh at me or kick him in the chest.
“I’m sorry,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your stomach through without even thinking.
"Tell me you hit your fucking head.”
“I’m trying to explain—”
“Oh my god,” you squirmed, pushing at his shoulders. “Move.”
He dodged your hand before you could grab a fistful of his hair.
“I’m not moving.” You tried to go for it again, as Rafe dogged his head back, still locked onto your legs. “Stop that.”
“You stop!” You shoved at his forehead. “Get up, you fucking weirdo. Who do you think you are?”
Rafe sighed, irritated and yet stupidly charmed by how fucking cute you looked when you were pissed and flustered at the same time.
“I’m the guy who realized he fucked up. I love you too, alright? There. I said it.”
You weren’t a random girl he fought with, fucked, and kept around because it felt good. You were it.
“You what?!” You let out the loudest, most sarcastic laugh Rafe ever heard from you. “Oh my fucking god. You love me? Suddenly?” You tried to yank his hair again for good measure. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You think I’m in love with you? As if.”
“Stop pulling my fucking hair—” He growled, catching your wrist as he sighed again, louder.
“You're delusional.” You were fighting in his grip. “You don’t love me. You love getting your dick wet—”
“Would you shut the fuck up for two seconds?” Rafe winced, knowing this was not what he had planned in his head. “I’m trying really fuckin' hard not to snap at you right now.”
“Wow. Good luck with that,” You snorted, pushing at his shoulders this time.
“I know you’ve got feelings for me."
“I don't— ugh, get off me."
Rafe sighed deeply, exasperated, attempting not to smile because you were being such a brat, and it was hot.
“You’re gonna stand there and deny it while I’m on my knees begging?”
“Yes,” you snapped, failing to twist away again. "As if I would have feelings for you, after you called me a desperate, pathetic little girl begging for scraps?"
“I never said you were—”
“You did!” Your fingers grazed his strands in another failed attempt at ripping it the fuck out, along with his brain. “Who do you think you are?!"
“Would you stop trying to rip my hair out?” Rafe snapped, catching your wrist again. “I’m tryin' to be serious here.”
“This is the most un-serious shit you’ve ever done. Get up, Rafe. This is embarrassing.”
“No.”
“Get. Up.”
“I said no.” He locked his arms tighter.
You made a frustrated growl, prying his arms off you.
“You are so fucking delusional. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you most of the time. You’re a spoiled, narcissistic asshole who only cares about himself.”
Okay, ouch.
“Yeah? Then why were you shaking and crying after I hurt you?” He countered, looking up at you. “Why’d it hurt that bad if I’m only some guy you hate?”
He could feel you shaking a little. Good, at least you weren’t numb.
Your eyes flashed, and before he could spew some more bullshit, your hand cracked across his face. His head snapped to the side and his cheek immediately started burning, not to mention the ringing in his ear.
Rafe blinked, tasting the metallic tang where his teeth had cut the inside of his lip. He slowly turned his head back to look up at you, eyes watering more from the surprise than anything else.
He let out a rough breath, nostrils flaring.
“…Yeah,” he said, voice gravelly. “I deserved that.”
Don’t you fucking do it. Do not throw her over your shoulder and spank that perky little ass until it’s red.
The impulse was so goddamn tempting.
You gawked down at him, waiting for the explosion, for the typical Rafe to snap, shove you against the counter, and turn this into another one of your vicious, clothes-ripping fights.
When it didn’t come, your expression dropped—confusion bleeding through the anger.
“I’m not gonna grab you and fuck the attitude out of you like I want to. Even though trust me, baby, the thought is there.” A strained, self-deprecating smirk tugged at his lips.
Rafe sighed loudly, knowing this wasn't going to fix itself in five minutes. You were so fucking stubborn, still not bothering to reply. He gave you a small, crooked smile, feeling the side of his slapped cheek still throbbing.
"You’re crazy as fuck, you know that?”
“Good. Then let go of me.”
“Not happening. I love you. I said it again. And you can keep denying it all you want, but we both know the truth.”
“Get off the floor and stop acting like a dramatic bitch.” You went quiet for a second, then muttered, “You're scared you’ll lose your favorite toy, that's it."
That one actually hurt. Rafe looked up at you, blue narrowing into tight slits. “My favorite toy?”
“What else would I be?”
He had to fight the urge to drop you. You kept jamming at his shoulders with your fists, frustrated huffs leaving your mouth each time he didn’t budge.
He turned his head and pressed a slow kiss to the bare skin of your thigh, right where your sleep shorts rode up.
“Rafe—”
He kissed higher, closer to the hem, then dragged his lips across your other thigh. He caught your wrist delicately, brought your hand to his mouth, and kissed your palm, then your knuckles, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
“Stop,” you hissed, but your voice was nowhere near as piercing as before.
Another kiss, this one right on the inside of your thigh. He felt your muscles tense under his mouth and had to stop the grin taking over his face as he playfully nipped at your thigh.
"Standing here, lying to my face, while your legs are shaking. You gonna keep pretending you don’t feel the same?”
“I don’t,” you lashed out instantly, cheeks turning into an entirely different shade. “I don’t love you. This is fighting and fucking. That’s it.”
He hummed against your skin and devoted his attention to the same spot, hands sliding up the back of your thighs, squeezing at the same time. You pushed at his forehead half-heartedly, holding it there against the side of his face. The same face you'd slapped five minutes ago.
As bad as it sounded, he knew he had you then.
If you truly felt nothing, if he was really an asshole you couldn't stand anymore, you would've punched him in the fucking teeth. You would've kicked him off the floor. You would've walked out of the kitchen and locked the bedroom door behind you.
“If you think I’d fall for you like that—”
His hands were suddenly higher up the back of your thighs, gripping your sleeping shorts. One quick pull of them and they were down around your ankles along with your panties, your ass meeting the cold marble counter.
“Rafe—”
He was quick to hook one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up, and burying his face between your thighs without warning. His tongue dragged flat right up your pussy, tasting you.
You gasped sharply, your whole body jolting. “What the fuck—!”
He groaned against you, licking deeper, sucking your clit into his mouth before flicking it with his tongue.
“Fuck… you’re already wet,” He muttered against your lips, dazed by your taste. He went for a long, hard lap, then slurped even harder. “Deny all you want, baby. Your body doesn’t lie.”
You failed to push his head away, your hips twitching forward at the same time. “I hate you— ah—”
Yeah, sure you do. That’s why your pussy’s dripping down my chin right now.
Rafe chuckled into your cunt, the vibration making your thighs tremble. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose rubbed against your clit.
“You don’t hate me,” He pulled back enough to be able to speak, lips shiny with you, diving right back in, two fingers sliding into you without asking.
“You’re such a fucking asshole— oh my god—”
“Yeah?” He curled his fingers, stroking that spot inside you he'd memorized while his tongue kept working you nice and easy. “Tell me again how you don’t love me while you’re dripping down my chin.”
You let out a broken moan, legs shaking around his head. You were clenching so good around his fingers, but your mouth was still fighting.
“I don’t— fuck— I don’t love you,” You gritted out, even as your hips started grinding against his face.
Rafe pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue again, hands gripping your cheeks, spreading you wider.
“Liar,” He called out into your pussy. “See if I care. I’ll eat this pretty pussy until you admit it.”
You whimpered, thighs squeezing around his head. Rafe was rock hard in his shorts, but he didn’t touch himself, this wasn’t about that. He needed to drag you back to him. Making you feel him.
Reminding you exactly who the fuck you were to each other.
Your breathing was getting ragged, sobs mixing with delicious moans.
“Rafe… you can’t—”
“I can,” He retorted, voice muffled as he kept devouring you. “And I will. I love you. And you’re gonna come on my tongue whether you admit it or not.”
He slid two fingers back inside you, pumping them fast while his mouth focused on your swollen clit, flicking until your legs started giving out.
Your hand suddenly shot down, reaching blindly for him.
Rafe didn't think twice before he grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together, squeezing hard. Your grip was borderline desperate, nails digging into the back of his hand.
“That’s it, baby. Hold my hand. I’ve got you.”
Your walls were sucking his fingers so prettily.
“I love you,” He murmured right against your skin, “Fuckin’ love you."
You moaned loudly, squeezing his hand harder, your other hand fisting tight in his hair.
“Rafe— fuck—”
You whimpered, hips grinding against his face as your fingers squeezed mine so tight they almost popped right out.
A broken cry ripped out of you as you came hard, pulsing around his fingers, soaking his tongue. Rafe didn’t stop touching you through it, going slow and gentle now, murmuring against your oversensitive pussy.
“Good girl… that’s it. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
You were shaking, thighs trembling around his head as you came down from it, little noises slipping out while your fingers stayed locked tight with Rafe's.
He pressed one last kiss to your clit before pulling back.
He stood up fast, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting you up with no warning.
“Rafe— wait—”
“Shh.” He sat down in one of the big wooden kitchen chairs and pulled you straight into his lap, straddling him. Your bare pussy pressed against the hard bulge in his shorts, but Rafe didn’t grind up into you.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush to his chest, one hand creeping up your back under your shirt, rubbing circles over your skin.
“I’ve got you,” He murmured against your neck, pressing soft kisses there.
You were catching your breath, chest heaving, face buried in his shoulder, not wanting him to see how fucked out you looked.
Rafe kept kissing you, your neck, your jaw, your temple, your hair. You let out a weak, frustrated huff, your free hand coming up and fisting weakly in his shirt instead of pushing him away. You pinched his side in retaliation, which only made him smile and kiss your cheek again.
You remained weirdly quiet, but at least you weren’t trying to jump off his touch anymore.
He tilted your chin up so he could look at your face.
“You don’t have to say it back,” He told you, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “But you’re not leaving. Got it?”
You let the silence last fifteen seconds before your mouth started running again.
“You’re such a cocky asshole. Just because you made me come again doesn’t mean I’m suddenly in love with you or whatever delusion you’re having.”
He grinned, entertained by your devotion to keep denying it, and leaned in, kissing you while you tried to half-heartedly pull away.
“Keep denying it."
You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost impressive.
“Wow. You’re suddenly cured of being a piece of shit."
Rafe barked out a laugh and smacked your ass, then rubbed the spot soothingly.
“There she is." His hand cradled the back of your neck. “You’re really committed to this bit, huh? Even sitting on my dick with no panties on, you’re still denying it.”
“There’s nothing to deny,” You explained, shoving his hand away. “You’re the one who’s suddenly decided he’s in love. Convenient timing.”
"Sue me for finally growing the fuck up. I’ve got all summer to wear you down."
“Wear me down?” you sneered, “You think eating me out on the counter is gonna do it? You’re pathetic.”
His vicious little vixen. He missed that sharp tongue so fucking bad. Rafe didn't bother feeding into your fantasies; he was much rather focused on kissing you.
You made that pissy sound in the back of your throat, and he didn’t care. He kissed you stupid. Tongue sliding against yours the second you gasped, sucking on it like he’d been starving for it for two days.
Because he had.
You pulled back quickly to spit venom. “This doesn't change a thing."
“Yeah?” He chased your mouth, and you let out an irritated noise and tried to turn your head away, but he followed, sucking on your tongue; your fingers ended up fisting in his shirt instead of pushing him off.
When he finally let you breathe, you were panting, cheeks flushed.
“You're fucking delusional,” you whispered venomously.
Rafe's thumb brushed your wet bottom lip, realizing you hadn’t tried to climb off his lap once.
He moaned into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair while the other gripped your bare ass, rocking you against his painfully hard cock.
“Fuck, I missed this,” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked.
You glared at him, lips swollen. “Don’t get it twisted, Cameron."
He nipped your bottom lip.
“Keep telling yourself that while you’re rubbing your pussy all over my dick like a needy little brat.”
You pinched his nipple through his shirt. “You’re such a pig.”
“I meant what I said. I’m not doing it to get my dick wet.”
You stared at him, eyes still glassy and pissed off. Then that cruel little inviting grin appeared.
“Prove it,” you hummed, voice dripping with challenge. “Prove you love me without using your dick for five fucking minutes. Think you can handle that, big guy?”
Rafe exhaled through his nose, knowing he had to pull on his big boy trousers and get it done.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “For the shit I said that night. I saw your face when you told me to get out…I don’t wanna lose you. Not over him. Not over anything.” He continued rubbing your back, even as his cock throbbed angrily between you. “I’m gonna keep fucking up,” he admitted, “I’m still me."
“So noble all of a sudden.”
“Shut up.” He pecked you again, pulling at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, and you’re making it real fucking difficult.”
"I'm sure."
Rafe sighed, "I'm being serious. It’s fucking terrifying. I’ve never needed anyone the way I need you."
All that family shit, his endless chase for Ward’s approval, your mom who couldn’t be bothered to stick around, it was all right there under your skin.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to be enough for someone who was never gonna see me as enough. And you…” He let out a shaky breath, “You’ve got your own shit. I know you don’t talk about it much. You never do."
You stiffened a little in his lap, that familiar walls-up look flickering across your face. Surprisingly, it didn't make him stop babbbling, like it did before.
“I saw it that night, when you told me to leave. That was… fuck, I hurt you bad. You let me in. You don’t let people in. And I took that and threw it back in your face.”
That mean mask was eager to slide back into place.
“Don’t act like you get it.”
“I do get it,” Rafe sighed, pissed off at how badly he meant it. “I get it because I’m the same. We’re both so fucked up over our parents that we don’t know what to do when someone actually chooses us. When someone stays. It’s new for me too,” he admitted against your skin. “Having someone I’m scared to lose. That shit’s crazy. It messes with my head.”
He could feel your breathing shake a little.
“It's not fair to say all that after what you did.”
“I know,” He held you tighter, “But I’m saying it anyway."
You let out a wet, frustrated sound and pinched his side again, but there was no real intention in it this time.
Rafe pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in. This was new for both of you, someone caring this much. Someone staying. It felt terrifying and too big and somehow exactly right.
“You scare the shit out of me."
You fisted his shirt, nails digging into his chest through the fabric. Your hips gave another involuntary roll against his cock, leaving another wet streak across his shorts.
“Shut up,” you breathed against his mouth.
Spit slicked your lips, your breathing grew ragged. He could feel your heartbeat hammering like his. You looked like you were two seconds away from crying but too stubborn to let the tears fall.
He cupped your face with both hands, stroking your cheeks as he studied you. Your lashes were wet. Your bottom lip trembled before you caught it between your teeth.
It did dangerous things to him.
You sought to look away, but he turned your face back to him. You let out a frustrated sound and shoved weakly at his chest.
“You can't say all that shit and look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked, even though he already knew.
He tasted the salt at the corner of your mouth, felt the tremble of your lips against his. A single tear finally slipped down your cheek. Rafe caught it with his thumb and kissed the wet trail it left behind.
“I’ve got you."
Your breath hitched. You hated this, he could see it. Your shoulders tensed, fighting so hard not to let the emotions win.
That was as close to admitting it as you were getting right now, and he’d take it. He’d take all the scraps until you believed him.
“Stop being so fucking gentle,” you spat, even as your fingers dove tighter into his shirt. “I don’t want gentle. I want you to be an asshole so I can stay mad at you.”
“Can’t do that right now."
You forced his head back so you could glare down at him. You were a goddamn vision.
Whenever you post brothers best friend Rafe and kelces sister reader I feel like my whole week was made
warning: smut with little plot! one shot from this universe
The bass of whatever playlist the DJ was spinning thumped through the open doors of the massive beach house. String lights zigzagged lazily overhead across the familiar faces—people you’d known since you were kids, all back home for summer break.
Your sundress, a rich emerald that hugged your curves right, brushed against your thighs as you moved through the bodies, drawing eyes you could feel like fingertips on your skin.
You looked good.
No. You looked incredible.
The gold jewelry you chose to wear caught the party lights, and your confidence definitely didn't help with the stares.
The thing about confidence was that people loved it until it belonged to a girl they couldn't intimidate.
You wanted to have a fun night.
It was your and Rafe's first real night out as an official couple in your hometown.
Christmas break had been different—stolen hours tangled up in Rafe’s sheets, barely coming up for air.
Tonight, you were out in the open, and the stares were starting to irk you. You lifted your chin, sipping from your cup as you scanned the deck.
A cluster of girls near the pool railing kept glancing your way, whispering behind manicured hands. You were confident—you always had been, which came from knowing exactly who the fuck you were and the power you held.
Still, the pissy knot burned in your stomach.
Rafe Cameron couldn’t possibly be with someone who looks like you? You pushed the irritating thought down.
You wandered inside, the party pulsing with that end-of-semester energy everyone was chasing. Kelce spotted you first from across the living room, raising his beer with a big grin and a knowing nod toward the back, still watching out for you.
You smiled back, slowly walking through people who called your name, offering quick hugs and small talk that felt surface-level tonight. Your steps were getting looser, the alcohol warming your veins.
There he was.
Rafe stood near the back, leaning against the worn leather couch.
The white button-down you'd chosen for him earlier rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms. He was mid-conversation with a couple of the guys from the old hockey crew back home, and the second his blue eyes locked on you across the room the smirk melted into heart eyes.
Pure, unguarded heart eyes that made you crazy with how much you adored this man.
Last year at this exact party, you two had bickered like cats and dogs in the kitchen, him towering over you, pretending to be stern and telling you to slow down on the drinks. It had you snapping back with a sharp “fuck off, Rafe” before storming off to dance on the deck. He’d been in your life since scraped knees and backyard forts, the annoying guy who always seemed to show up right when you needed (or didn’t need) him.
And now here you were.
You tried to be smooth about it, but the tipsiness got you good. Your heel caught on an ornate rug, and you stumbled forward with a breathless giggle, landing right in his lap.
Rafe’s arms were there instantly, wrapping around your waist in second nature. His focus was all on you, drinking you in, fixing a curl from your face with a tenderness that felt oddly intimate for the middle of a party.
You melted more into him, warmth spreading as you stole a sweet kiss, tasting beer and the familiar comfort of home.
"Hi."
Rafe’s chuckle rumbled against your back as he held you closer, one large hand splaying across your lower back.
“Hi, baby,” he murmured. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to come find me,” he confessed against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive spot below it.
His fingers rested on your thigh where your dress had ridden up, the touch innocent enough for public eyes. Your heart fluttered wildly even as the tipsy haze made everything about him feel sexier, if that was possible.
Your fingers played with the collar of his shirt, freshly done nails grazing the skin at the base of his throat.
His hand on your thigh tightened, the calluses from years of playing hockey rough against your smooth skin.
“Careful, princess,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, meant only for you.
You sighed, the sound airy due to his thumb stroking patterns under the hem of your dress.
His free hand slid up your back, possessive but gentle.
“Missed you too much in there,” you whispered back, glossy lips grazing his jaw. The faint stubble scraped deliciously against your mouth.
Rafe’s smirk returned. "You look insane in this dress."
Your nails dragged down his throat again, feeling him swallow hard under your touch.
“Behave,” you teased, even as you moved in his lap, feeling the way his body reacted.
“Yeah?” His grin turned wicked, that dimple you loved showing up.
Before you could reply, your brother popped up at the edge of the group, holding up two fresh drinks with a dramatic eye-roll.
“Y’all are disgusting.”
Rafe flipped him off without looking, but you giggled and took one of the cups, sipping to hide your smile.
The conversation picked up around you. Rafe’s chest vibrated against your back as he laughed at something Topper said, his arm staying locked around your waist, needing the constant contact. You stayed right where you were, one of your legs draped lazily over his thigh, the emerald dress pooled silkily around you.
You weren’t shy by any means, but tonight you didn't necessarily feel like jumping into the fray. The cocktail in your hand was cold and perfectly sweet, something fruity that Kelce had grabbed for you, and sipping it while resting against Rafe’s warm body was the best possible way to spend the night.
Topper leaned against the arm of the couch, gesturing wildly with his beer. “Nah, man, you should’ve seen the last game against State. Rafe almost took that defenseman’s head off—same old shit from high school. Coach had to bench him for two minutes to cool him down.”
Rafe snorted, the sound right by your ear. You tilted your head slightly, admiring how his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned.
“He was talking shit the whole game. Someone had to shut him up.”
Kelce barked out a laugh from his spot across the low coffee table, kicking his feet up. “Yeah, and of course you’re still doing it at uni too. Some of us are trying to actually graduate, bro.”
A couple of the other guys from the old hockey crew, locals who’d gotten into different schools or were working their family businesses before committing to a major—chimed in, confiding in stories about who was doing what back home.
You mapped a circle on Rafe’s collarbone, listening but mostly watching him.
The way his mouth moved when he talked, that dimple flashing one more time when he roasted Topper for bombing his econ final. Every so often, his hand would give your thigh a quick squeeze, a reminder that even while he was in the middle of the conversation, his focus was you.
He glanced down at you mid-sentence, catching you staring. His expression softened instantly.
“You good, baby?”
You nodded, taking another slow sip of your cocktail, the ice clinking softly.
“Mhm. Just like listening to you.”
He pressed a peck to your temple before jumping back into the conversation, something about summer plans and who was throwing the next bonfire on the beach.
You settled deeper into his lap, perfectly happy to stay quiet and warm and a little buzzed.
It was then that you spotted a familiar group of girls across the room. You’d been in the same classes as most of them. They’d always made a point of “forgetting” to include you in their group chats, their beach days, their weekend plans. Whispering behind your back about how you thought you were better than everyone just because your family had the biggest house.
All that fake-nice bullshit while secretly seething that you were prettier, richer, and never had to chase validation the way they did.
They’d been extra vicious about the fact that you were black. The “token” comments behind your back, they’d suddenly go quiet when you walked into a room, while they whispered about how you didn’t “fit” their vibe.
All that insecure, mean-girl racism wrapped up in pretty sundresses.
Madison’s eyes met yours across the room as she nudged the girl beside her, lips moving fast in that familiar, ugly way.
You scoffed under your breath, rolling your eyes hard enough that your whole face screamed irritation.
Rafe’s hand stilled on your thigh immediately, his muscles tensing. He turned his head, locking onto your expression, reading you in that way only he could.
“What’s wrong?” His arm hauled you closer against his chest, trying to shield you from whatever had soured your mood.
You let out an annoyed breath, staring daggers toward the kitchen doorway before forcing your attention back to him. Your fingers stayed locked to the collar of his shirt, grounding yourself with the warmth of his skin.
"Nothing."
Rafe’s jaw flexed, eyes narrowing as he followed your earlier glare across the room. You saw the exact moment he spotted them.
"Want me to get someone to kick them out?"
When Rafe locked in like that, those girls evaporated from your mind completely. Truth to be told, you loved this side of him. He’d burn the entire party down if you said the word.
You turned fully into him, forgetting the rest of the room, and you couldn’t stop the adoring smile spreading across your lips.
“No. It's okay, I promise."
Rafe’s eyes stayed locked on yours, his hand didn’t loosen on your thigh. If anything, his grip tenfolded.
“You sure?” He reiterated, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he glanced once more toward Madison’s group before coming right back to you. “One word and they’re gone."
You patted his cheek, the irritation from earlier completely gone, replaced by that fluttery feeling only Rafe could give you.
He pulled back to look at you properly, brows slightly furrowed.
His free hand came up to stroke your cheek as he studied you. The party noise, the guys laughing and talking hockey stats around you, felt miles away. All you could focus on was Rafe’s pretty face inches from yours, and how intensely he was looking at you.
“Really. I promise."
He exhaled through his nose, the tension in his body easing, but he didn't look fully convinced.
"We can leave whenever you want. Say the word, and we’re out. I only came tonight for you anyway.”
“I’m good right here for now,” you told him honestly, sipping the last of your cocktail before setting the cup aside. "I’ll keep that offer in mind.”
Rafe hummed approvingly as he pulled you flush against his chest, "Okay. Love you."
The guys around you immediately started groaning.
"Here we go," Kelce muttered.
Topper pointed his beer at Rafe. "Every conversation somehow turns into you talking about her."
"Look at her."
Half the time, Rafe wasn't trying to be romantic; he simply said whatever came into his head.
"Oh my God," Kelce groaned louder.
Your face warmed at the fact they'd somehow listened to your private conversation, "Shut up."
Your boyfriend was completely serious. "Am I wrong?" he asked.
Your brother looked physically exhausted, and you almost felt bad for him.
Irish twins meant there had never been a single day of peace between the two of you. The poor guy had spent a lifetime dealing with you, another seventeen putting up with Rafe, and now he had to deal with both of you, together.
"You know what's crazy?" Kelce announced suddenly. “Nobody ever talks about the trauma I've endured."
Topper immediately nodded. "Go on."
"Thank you."
Rafe's shoulders were shaking with laughter beneath you. You twisted around immediately.
"Don't laugh."
His chin dropped briefly toward his chest as he tried—and failed—to get himself together.
Kelce, however, looked like he was reaching his breaking point. His eyes bounced between you and Rafe, then to Rafe's arm around your waist, and to the fact that you were sitting in his lap.
Then back to Rafe.
"This is actually ruining my night."
Rafe grinned. "You knew this was coming."
"No."
"Yes, you did."
Kelce dropped his head into his hands. "See?" He looked around desperately for support. "This is exactly what I'm talking about."
You were practically folded against Rafe's chest at this point, covering your face, cheeks hurting from cheesing.
"This is why siblings shouldn't date friends."
"That's not how that works," somebody pointed out.
"You know what I mean. I miss when she hated boys."
You snorted. "You mean when I was eleven?"
Rafe’s chest shook under you, his arm banded around your waist with zero plans of letting go anytime soon.
The longer the conversation went on with hockey stories, summer plans, endless roasting between the boys, the more the alcohol loosened something needy your chest.
You’d barely seen Rafe all day.
Between him helping his dad with boat stuff this morning and you running errands with your mom, the hours apart had felt stupidly long. Now all you wanted was to keep him to yourself. No more sharing him with the boys.
The cocktail had done its job too well. Your body felt blurry and sweet, soothing where it pressed against his. You traced your finger along the open collar of his shirt again, feeling his pulse kick under your touch.
“Rafe,” you called quietly against his neck, a little whiny in that way you only got when you were clingy.
He turned his head immediately. “Yeah?”
"Come with me to get another drink.”
He didn’t hesitate. Rafe gave your thigh one last squeeze before helping you stand, his hands lingering to steady you.
“Where you going?” Topper asked, smirking because he knew exactly what was happening.
“Kitchen,” Rafe answered flatly, lacing his fingers through yours. “We’ll be back.”
Kelce groaned. “Don’t be gross in there."
You flipped him off over your shoulder with a giggle, letting Rafe pull you through the crowd.
He guided you easily through the bodies, thumb stroking the back of your hand as you admired his rock-solid back muscles. The music seemed to get louder as you slipped into the hallway, but the second you crossed into the big open kitchen, the noise dulled enough for you to sigh contentedly.
There were only a few people refilling cups near the island, the bass thrumming through the walls.
Rafe didn’t head straight for the drinks. Instead, he turned and backed you against the marble counter, caging you in with his arms on either side of you.
“You okay?” he asked, scanning your face. “You got quiet back there.”
You nodded, sliding your hands up his chest until your arms were curled around his neck, your high heels helping with the height difference.
"Don’t wanna share you with the guys anymore.”
Rafe’s expression melted as he ducked his head, pressing a lingering peck to your lips. His forehead resting against yours.
“Yeah?” His voice had dropped that gravelly octave that always got to you. “You feeling needy tonight, princess?”
"Maybe." You teased, casting a smoky look.
His hands slid down your body, gripping you possessively as he kissed you again, tasting the sweet cocktail on your tongue. One of his hands drifted cheekily, palming your ass through the emerald dress.
“Been dying to get my hands on your properly since you walked in," He breathed against your mouth. “Drink slow. I want you buzzing, not wasted. I’m taking my time with you.”
Last year, he was barking at you not to drink too much; tonight, he was telling you exactly how he planned to ruin you later.
Maybe it was the four cocktails sloshing around in your system, or maybe it was simply the intoxicating thrill of making Rafe react to you so easily.
“Taking your time, huh? That a threat or a promise, Cameron?”
Rafe’s grin was pure sin.
“Both. You know I keep my promises, baby.”
You bit your lip, feeling like a schoolgirl with her first crush, except this was Rafe, the boy who used to pull your pigtails. You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, the alcohol making everything feel sparkly and perfect.
The taste of beer on his tongue entwined with the sweet cocktail on yours, and the groan he let out when you nipped his bottom lip went straight through you. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss until your back arched against the marble counter.
You lost track of time, only feeling the faint scrape of his stubble against your chin. Rafe kissed you like the party didn’t exist, and when he pulled back to breathe, he dove right back in, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw.
“Rafe…” you sighed blissfully between kisses.
You were chuckling into the kisses like an idiot, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it. When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing hard.
You reached up to swipe your thumb across his lips. “You’ve got my lip gloss all over you.”
Rafe’s mouth was shiny with the pink tint, smeared across his bottom lip and the corner of his mouth. It looked ridiculous.
“Let ‘em see. I want everyone to know exactly what I’ve been doing in here.”
You wiped at his mouth again, only for him to catch your wrist and kiss your thumb instead.
“Rafe,” you whined through another giggle, thrilled.
“Baby, this is a trophy.” He nuzzled into your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin that made your knees weak. “Wear it all night if I have to. I love when you mark me up.”
Your arms stayed looped around his neck, his hands splayed possessively on your lower back, neither of you making any move to put space between you.
He rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing, lips hovering so close that every word felt like a kiss. All you could focus on was the warmth of his breath mingling with yours and the way his blue eyes stayed locked on you.
“Hmm,” His lips grazed yours with every syllable, “tell me about your day. I know we were texting, but I still wanna hear it from you.”
You smiled, manicured fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck as you spoke.
“It was okay. Mom made me help pick out new cushions for the patio at the Lake House—she argued with me for twenty minutes about teal versus navy. I won, obviously.”
Rafe chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He tilted his head to brush a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then stayed there, lips moving against yours as he talked.
“Course you did. What else?”
You chased his lips for a quick smoosh before answering. “Stopped by that little boutique on Main Street, too. Tried on a couple things…"
Rafe paused mid-kiss, you felt the exact moment he put two and two together—his breath hitched, and those eyes darkened instantly.
“That boutique,” His voice dropped lower, “The one that’s basically all lingerie?”
Your expression turned mischievous as you nodded. Busted.
You could see the images flashing through his head. You didn't bother denying, fingers trailing down the front of his shirt.
Rafe groaned quietly, “You went lingerie shopping and didn’t send me pictures?”
"I wanted it to be a surprise,” you teased, voice all innocent even as you looked at him from under your lashes.
“You trying to make me drag you somewhere right now? ‘Cause I will. I don’t give a shit about the party.”
“Tell me you’ll be patient,” You asked of him, even though you were just as impatient, if not more.
“I’ve been patient all fucking day. I don’t even get a color? A strap? Nothing?”
You dragged your nails down the side of his neck.
The way his breath stuttered was addictive.
“Maybe I’ll tell you one thing.”
He let out a frustrated sound that made need pool low in your belly.
“One thing,” he bargained, lips grazing yours but not quite kissing. “C’mon, princess. Don’t do me like this.”
You tilted your head, pretending to think, letting your fingers toy with the top button of his shirt.
“Fine. One set was black. Lace. Very… delicate.”
“Black lace,” he echoed.
Rafe's hand slid lower, kneading your ass again, pulling you against the growing bulge in his pants.
"There's also this emerald green."
The black lace set had made your tits look incredible, full, pushed up, the delicate straps framing them like a gift ready to be unwrapped at any given moment. The deep emerald green one had been even better, though; it made your skin glow, the high-cut bottoms accentuating the toned lines you’d been working on all summer.
That color looked so fucking good on you. Which was why you were wearing it.
Rafe’s head dropped to your shoulder with a defeated groan, he mouthed at your collarbone.
“Poor baby,” you cooed, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging to make him lift his head. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted, looking every bit like a man who’d sell his soul for more details.
It was hard not to goat and savor the power.
“Emerald set has garters,” You let him knows, the words dragging out slowly. “And the black one is see-through in all the right places. Might’ve taken a little video in the mirror. For myself, obviously.”
It took you everything not to text him the video earlier.
“A video,” he repeated hoarsely.
You cut him off with a deep kiss, swallowing the rest of his desperate ramble.
He melted into it immediately, tongue sliding against yours, one big hand cupping the back of your neck. When you pulled back, his lips chased yours, eyes still closed.
“You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” you murmured, thumb stroking his bottom lip again. “All worked up over some lace.”
“I’m not,” he grumbled, even as his hips rolled subtly against yours. Rafe made a broken sound and buried his face in your neck again, kissing and biting. “I’m gonna ruin that fucking green set later. Then the black one. Then whatever else you bought.”
You shivered at the promise, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
He pulled away, looking down at you, eyes wild and adoring. “You’re really gonna make me wait?”
You nodded, tapping his nose playfully. “Mhm."
You should've dialed it down on the teasing.
Two hours later, your head was spinning from the way Rafe hauled you over the Range Over console, shoving your dress up around your waist, your upper body pushed down, cheek pressing into the seat.
Your ass was up, knees spread awkwardly in the cramped space, and you barely had time to gasp before you heard the dangerous snarl in his throat.
“Fuck… me,” His fingers hooked into the thin, emerald green straps of the garter belt and snapped them against your dark skin. “You’ve been wearing this the whole fucking night?”
You whimpered, soaked from the over the clothes foreplay you'd been participating in all through the night.
"Surprise?"
The sound of his zipper was frantic. One big hand fisted in your hair, the other yanked the flimsy panties to the side, and then he was pushing inside you in one brutal thrust.
You cried out, the burning so good it made your eyes water. He was thick and angry, bottoming out instantly and grinding deep. Rafe took hold of your jaw, turning your face towards his, cock twitching at the sight of your fucked-out expression, his pupils dilating, only a thin ring of blue remaining.
“Brat,” he hissed through gritted teeth, releasing you. “You’re so fucking lucky I didn’t bend you over in the kitchen.”
Every punishing thrust rocked you forward, cheek sliding against the leather. You couldn’t brace properly—your hands kept slipping, nails scratching at the seat as he railed you.
The green set was still on, shoved aside, the lace and straps digging into your skin.
“O-oh my god— slow down,” You moaned in amazement.
He laughed, one hand moving your ass cheek to get a better view of your puffy folds parted so prettily around the veins of his shaft.
“Nah. You wanted this. Now take it.”
You were dripping down your thighs, the wet sounds obscene even as he neglected your clit. You moaned out some gibberish, too far gone to concentrate on what your boyfriend was saying, mind more focused on your oncoming orgasm.
Except it never came.
Every time you got close, he’d slow down or pull almost all the way out, leaving you greedily clenching around nothing.
“Rafe, please—” You greedily pushed back against him.
“Please, what?”
He leaned over you, chest to your back, teeth scraping your shoulder as he gave you a few shallow thrusts, teasing the fuck out of you.
“You gonna be good now? Or should I keep edging this pretty pussy until you’re crying?”
The truck windows were fogging up, the bass from the distant party nothing compared to the slap of his hips against your ass, the sounds lewder than the symphony of pitiful cries leaving your mouth.
Rafe dipped down, taking your open mouth in a sloppy kiss before biting down on your lower lip.
“This what you wanted?" His hand left your hair only to slide around your hip, fingers finding your swollen clit.
You jerked hard, a broken whine ripping out of you as he started rubbing the way you needed him to since the start. The dual sensation—his thick cock stretching you open and his fingers working your clit—had you seeing stars.
“Oh—fuckkk—I’m so close—”
“Yeah?” He sounded smug, cruelly amused, chest heaving with sweat “Already? After all that big-girl teasing?”
The pressure he had going on your clit was perfect, while he kept pounding you with deep, punishing strokes that made your thighs shake. Your walls fluttered around him, that coil winding faster and faster—
He ripped his hand away.
You cried out in frustration, clenching desperately around his cock as he slowed to lazy thrusts.
“No—no, Rafe, please—” You garble deliriously.
“Brats don’t get to cum that easily,” he grunted, leaning over you again, lips against your ear as he ground his hips in slow circles, cock dragging against that spot inside you without giving you what you needed.
He pressed a kiss to your tear-stained cheek, licking up the salty residue, and started fucking you again, meaner. The green garter straps dug into your dark skin with each thrust, the lace top of the set shoved up under your tits.
You were sobbing into the seat, drooling, your cheek burning from the friction as he railed you. Every time your orgasm came close, your thighs trembling, pussy fluttering, he’d either pull his hand away or slow his strokes to nothing.
Again.
And again.
“Please— I’m sorry, I’m s-so fucking sorry—” you whimpered, voice hoarse. “Won't tease a-anymore, let me cum—”
He chuckled. “Look at you. Where’s all that attitude from the kitchen, huh?”
He stopped everything. Pulled his hand away completely and held still, buried to the hilt but giving you no friction.
You wailed, trying to grind back against him, but his grip on your hip was iron.
“Not yet,” he whispered, biting down on your shoulder. “You’re gonna beg nicer than that.”
Tears pricked at your eyes from the denial, overstimulation making every nerve ending feel raw. You were a mess—panties shoved to the side, emerald green lingerie ruined with your slick, ass red from his handprints, cheek pressed into the seat while he owned you.
He started again. Slow at first, then building back to that nasty, relentless pace. His fingers returned to your clit, merciful now.
“You gonna be a good girl?” he demanded, voice strained as he fucked you harder.
“Yes— yes! I swear— please let me cum—”
This time he didn’t stop.
He rubbed your clit properly while pounding into you, the sounds echoing in the truck. The orgasm hit you so violently, your vision went black for a good five seconds. You wailed his name, pussy spasming as it fluttered through you so bad you could barely hold yourself up.
Rafe fucked you through it, growling praises and filth against your neck with punishing thrusts.
Your legs were shaking so badly, thighs burning, lungs struggling for air, but he was still rock hard inside you, clearly nowhere near done. When you started to slump forward, exhausted, Rafe made a disapproving sound in his throat.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t you fucking tap out on me now, princess.”
His big hand left your hip and grabbed a rough fistful of your ass cheek, fingers digging deep into the dark flesh. The other hand joined right after, gripping both cheeks, then he yanked, pulling you down and forward onto his cock in one motion.
You gasped sharply as he used your own ass like a handle, dragging your hips back to meet his thrusts. The angle got even deeper as he controlled the pace completely, slamming you down onto him over and over.
“Mmmph— I can’t—” You whimpered, voice hoarse and broken, your eyes fluttering shut in wanton bliss.
Rafe cooed as his free hand moved to place you back into place.
“You can,” he spanked one cheek hard before grabbing it again, spreading you open. “Move that pretty ass.”
For once, you were nothing but a willing girlfriend and nodded your head in acceptance.
When your rhythm faltered, which happened frequently considering your state, he’d squeeze both cheeks tighter, using your body like a toy.
The sound of your pussy talking back echoed through the truck from how hard he was manhandling you, but it only made everything feel hotter.
Rafe's fingers fell on your clit again, rubbing sloppy circles while he kept forcing your hips to work. You were so sensitive it hurt in the best way, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as another orgasm started building. He immediately slowed his thrusts but kept that brutal grip, changing to grinding circles.
“Not yet,” he rasped against your ear.
You sobbed, trying to move your hips on your own and failing miserably as you slowed again, and he was right there, impaling you on his cock again and again.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Rafe groaned, voice strained, head flying back, adam's apple swallowing dry.
The truck was rocking harder, letting anyone who walked by get the memo of what was going on inside. You were drooling on the seat, your whole body trembling violently as he edged you again.
When he finally rubbed your clit the way you needed him to, the orgasm exploded through you so violently you screamed. It was thankfully muffled against the leather.
Your walls spasmed around him, gushing so badly you would’ve collapsed if he wasn’t holding you up. Your heart was pounding so hard, you could hear it in your ears, a dizzying, overwhelming pleasure, love, and the realization that no one else would ever be able to fuck you apart like Rafe could.
Your boyfriend cursed loudly, railing you through it with punishing strokes, spreading your cheeks.
“Fuck, that’s it." He praised all slyly, his hand pressing into your arching spine.
Your toes curled so hard your calves cramped, and a broken sob ripped out of you as another aftershock rolled through, making you clench around him again. He let out a huff in disbelief as you tried and failed to scramble away, shoving you into overstimulation.
Rafe’s grip tightened to the point of pain; you knew you'd wear his handprints for days. He started fucking into you with feral need, like a man possessed and on a mission, letting sweet juices mess up both his thighs and the seats below the two of you.
“Fuck— fuckkkk, baby,” he hissed through gritted teeth, voice breaking into a guttural moan that sent shivers down your spine.
Your body was limp and overstimulated, piliant when he slammed into you particularly hard, and your head jerked forward, nearly cracking against the door panel.
“Rafe—!” You gasped as you felt him deep in your guts.
If anything, he got rougher, moaning loudly and shameless right in your ear. “Shit— can’t stop— God, you feel so good.”
His hips snapped forward relentlessly, skin slapping loudly against skin, the sounds of your soaked pussy taking every inch of the car.
Rafe was vocal as fuck, panting and groaning, hissing curses. “Fuck, princess— look at you…Gonna cum so deep in you— fill this pretty pussy up.”
Tears were still streaming freely at this point, your thighs quivering uncontrollably as your third orgasm hit you again, simply from the intensity of his pounding. You were too fucked-out to chase it properly, all you could do was take it, repeating his name like a prayer or a mantra.
Rafe’s rhythm started to change, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, more desperate. His moans turned into hissing growls.
“I’m— fuck— I’m close. Gonna cum— You’re gonna take every drop, you hear me?”
He leaned over you completely, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other kept its death grip on your ass. His hips pistoned, the head of his cock slamming right into that spot that made you cry out sharply as your forehead nearly smacked the door again.
“Rafe— oh my god— slow down, baby—” You sobbed, but my words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as he moaned right against your neck.
“Can’t— can’t fucking slow down— you feel too good— shit, I’m cumming—!”
His whole body tensed, muscles locking up as he buried himself as deep as he could go. A wrecked moan ripped out of his throat, filthy, followed by a string of hissed curses.
“Fuuuuck— baby— take it— take my cum— Goddamn—”
You felt the first thick spurt explode inside you, then another, and another. He kept thrusting through it, grinding his hips against your ass, trying to push his release even deeper. His noises didn’t stop—broken sounds that vibrated against your skin as he emptied himself completely, filling me until you could feel it leaking out around his cock.
Your body responded instantly, another orgasm ripping through you from the feeling of him pulsing and flooding your pussy. You clenched hard around him, milking every drop as a silent scream caught in your throat.
The only sounds were your ragged breathing and the creak of the truck settling. Rafe stayed buried deep inside you, his hands finally loosening their brutal grip, sliding up to rub soothing pats over the sore skin.
He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck, his chest heaving against your back. You let out a weak, breathless laugh at the feelings, your body completely spent and floating in that blissed-out space only Rafe could put you in.
Your ass burned from his fingerprints, your abs felt tight from how hard you’d clenched, and your tits were sensitive where they’d been pressed against the seat.
But you felt beautiful. Used and claimed and his.
Rafe finally eased out of you, the wet drag making you both hiss. He quickly grabbed his discarded t-shirt from the floor of the truck and gently wiped between your legs, careful not to press on your swollen, overstimulated pussy.
You shuddered at the gentle touch, still so sensitive that even the fabric made your body lock up.
“Easy, baby,” he murmured, voice hoarse but impossibly soft now. “I got you.”
Rafe tossed the shirt aside and carefully maneuvered you, pulling you into his lap so you were straddling him, chest to chest. His big arms wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed the tender skin of your ass.
“You okay?” He wondered against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”
You shook your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with sweat.
“No… felt so good. I’m just… floaty.”
He chuckled, hands sneakily cupping your breast in a feather-light touch that made you sigh. A warm glow spread through your chest at the way he worshipped every part of you.
Rafe reached for the almost empty water bottle in the cupholder and held it to your lips.
“Drink. C’mon.” You took a few grateful sips, some water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away and then kissed the corner of your mouth, nuzzling into your hair.
You melted further into his chest as he wrapped the blanket from the back seat around both of you, continuing to massage the soreness in your thighs and hips.
You yawned, half-asleep against him, feeling safe and cherished in his arms.
Rafe’s grip tightened. “Stay right here with me for a bit, yeah? I’ll clean you up properly when we get home."
Unfortunately for you, even if you were in a drifting state, the longer you sat there wrapped around him, the more you became aware of the slickness leaking from you; your tits were pressed against his chest, nipples still sensitive and pebbled, and a fresh need curled in your belly.
"Sweetheart," His voice was a warning, but his cock was halfway back to life beneath you. “You’re sore."
“I know,” You lifted your head to look at him, your lips taking his as you spoke. “Slower this time.”
Rafe hardened fully between your thights, your words music to his ears. “Yeah? You’re gonna feel me for days."
warnings ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა : oral ( f rec. ) , bluecollar!rafe ( dada mannn )
you loved to watch bluecollar!rafe eat . . .
yes, i know that sounds weird, because why would you like watching your husband eat? but here's the thing about him, he always ate like the food was gonna run away from him.
you noticed—well, it was hard not to—on your first date. he was quite literally scarfing down the plate within milliseconds of the food being served.
and no, you were not taking your food home because once you placed your fork down, you practically read his mind. "you want the rest?" you didn't mind, simply because you found his big appetite endearing.
to be honest, you found it hot too . . .
like just imagine rafe being exhausted after being out in the summer heat from sunrise to sunset. his skin was slightly flushed from sunburn, probably in an airy white tee and shorts.
but then he begins eating like he's been starved, despite the plethora of food you packed in his huge lunchbox before he left.
large, rugged hands gripping the spoon handle like a vice, completely dwarfing the utensil. both elbows are planted on the table as he hunches over his plate. he doesn't let any exaggerated sounds escape as he inhales his meal like a vacuum cleaner.
so just having this beefy man at your dinner table had you wondering one thing: if he eats like that, imagine how he eats cat. & boy did he eat it well . . .
everything was wet. your pussy, inner thighs, rafe’s face, and even the sheets below you. yet that only spurred your husband on because he could and would make you wetter.
“rafey, m’sensitve now,” you’d mewl, digging your head deeper into your pillow.
when rafe was between your thighs, he was a man of few words, only grunting or letting out raspy moans to your taste. continuing to slurp down your pussy juices like his day starved him from being saturated in your slick.
he’d suckle on your clit in a way that had your thighs tensing around his head and your toes pointing into the air. sometimes he’d even have his teeth lightly graze your nub when you’d get too rowdy. “let me eat,” he murmured, circling your dripping entrance before dipping his tongue into your heat to receive more of that sugary sap you flooded his mouth with.
and when he felt your velvety insides get warmer, he immediately tilted his head and flattened his tongue against your pussy, ready for your cunt to splatter that sticky cream of yours onto his taste buds.
& cream you did. once you felt that muffled “cum for me,” vibrate against your throbbing pussy, your thighs trembled around his head. your cunny pulsing rhythmically around his tongue, because of course, he wasn’t moving until he licked up every drop you gave him.
when rafe finally let up, you’d watch him wipe his mouth on the back of his arm, mirroring his actions from dinner . . .
so yeah, having a husband with a big appetite meant he had an even bigger appetite when it came to you :3
Giving Simon Riley the silent treatment during sex (18+)
You are drunk and pissed all because Simon decided it was time to leave the bar. He threw you over his shoulder, patted your ass, told you that you have had way too much to drink and walked out like nothing was unusual about the scene. On the way home, you sat angled towards the window, giving him the silent treatment, and every time he tried to touch your thigh you dramatically pushed his hand away and huffed in annoyance.
Such a brat.
Simon knows exactly how to take care of his bratty lady, which is why the second the two of you walk into your shared apartment, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the bedroom.
What he doesn’t see is the sly smile spreading across your face when you think of the best way to fuck with him.
You’re face down, cheek smooshed against the pillow, ass up, pussy bare to him behind you, and ready to get on with your evil plan. His hands find your hips, and he nudges his cock at your entrance. Your folds are soaking, glistening under the soft glow of your bedside lamp, and the second his tip pushes through your entrance, you’re biting your bottom lip and shoving your face even further into the pillow.
This will be harder than you thought.
A groan rumbles out from his chest, vibrating through your body, as his cock slides impossibly deep inside of your pussy. He knocks against your cervix, resting there to give you time to adjust, but he notices you not making even a single sound, not even moving a little bit and you usually are trying to squirm away from him right about now.
He tilts his head to the side in confusion, sliding his cock back out, and thrusting back in once more just to make sure his eyes and ears aren’t deceiving him. It knocks the air out of your lungs, it makes you want to run from his fat cock, but the alcohol sitting low in your belly gives you enough bratty will to keep up the act.
“What kind of game you playin’ at lovie,” he coos, rubbing one rough, calloused hand down the length of your back.
Simon rolls his hips against yours, his balls smacking against your clit ever so slightly, his cock stretching you out while your walls mold to his length. His hands spread your cheeks, watching the way your pussy swallows him with ease, watching the way slick leaks from your entrance and wets his skin.
“Gotta fuck the brat outta ya or what?”
Simon isn’t a man with much patience, although he has a lot more when it comes to you, but you are really pushing his buttons. When all you do is shove your face further into the pillow as he grinds his tip against your cervix, he knows what he has to do.
He grabs both your wrists, pulling your arms back towards him, forcing your face to lift from the pillows and he slams into you with one deep, rough thrust. Your mouth falls open instantly, a moan ripping free from your throat, and tears well up in your eyes from the force of his cock bullying your insides.
“Si… f-fuck- ‘s too m-much,” you whine, squirming your hips against him, trying to pull your arms from his grasp because you know he’s about to fuck you as punishment.
“There ya are. You can take it, can’t you lovie?”
And just as you thought, his pace becomes impossibly fast, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with little effort from how wet you are. Moans and whimpers fall free from your lips, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps as every thrust knocks the air out of you, and you can’t help but arch your back and silently beg for more.
“Feels good, don’t it? Thought you could get away with that when you’re this wet and tight around me,” he says, voice low and rough, his thrusts only picking up speed the more sounds pour into his ears from you.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no parts inside of you empty for too long. He pulls out and your pussy tries to drag him back in, he pushes all the way in and your pussy clamps down on his as if it never wants him to leave. He laughs quietly, watching your resolve crumble under a few hard thrusts, and he angles his hips with precision to hit every last spot you have.
“So g-good,” you manage to mumble out, your words cut off by an obscene moan.
He fixes his grip on your wrists when your skin grows warm and sweaty, keeping you in the perfect position with your ass arched and mouth uncovered. His balls slap against your clit, your body jerks from the sensation, and you feel the heat pooling in your lower belly faster than usual.
“Yeah? What about here,” he coos just before angling his cock right up against your sweet spot.
Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your climax immediately crashes over you. Cum gushes from your entrance, leaking out around his cock, dripping down his skin and onto the soft sheets below. Your pussy pulses around his length rhythmically, clenching down tight over and over again until your body begins to jerk with overstimulation as he rides out your high for as long as possible.
“Si… can’t t-take it,” you stutter, trying to catch your breath, but his pace never once let up on your poor pussy.
“Oh c’mon. Give me one more.”
He drops your wrists, watching as your fingers curl into the fabric below you, and his arm slides around your waist. He presses against your lower belly, groaning from the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you so deep before two fingers find your clit and begin to rub fast, tight circles onto the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your face is smooshed against the pillow once more, but this time, moans and whines fall from you. Your eyes are shut tight, tears stain your cheeks, and your mouth hangs open ever so slightly as drool drips from your chin while Simon fucks you dumb. All the sensations bring you close to the edge again for a second time: his fingers against your clit, his cock rubbing your walls raw.
“Go ahead. Cum on my dick again, yeah? Be a good girl for me,” he coos, pounding into you faster, harder, deeper, anything to make you feel good.
His voice rumbles through you, landing right in the heat pooling in your lower belly the same as before, and you cum all over his cock for the second time tonight. Cream coats the base of him, each thrust spreading it further along his length, and he begins to drive himself towards his own release.
“So good fa me… gonna make me cum so deep in my lady.”
“Please, Si. Cum in m-me,” you beg, looking back over your shoulder, watching him fuck you relentlessly.
Spreading your cheeks apart, he watches your wet pussy suck him in, and with a guttural groan and a few more thrusts, he’s spilling his seed so deep inside of you. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out against your cervix with every twitch of his cock, filling you to the brim and leaking out when there’s no room left for anymore. It drips down your thighs, pooling with your own on the sheets below, and when his movements come to a stop he collapses on top of you.
He kisses the soft skin of your shoulder as he catches his breath, his warm, slick skin against your own, his hands roaming up and down your sides while his thumb draws slow, comforting circles. You melt into the bed, feeling satisfied, and sleepy with his weight on you.
Simon stands and walks to the bathroom, running a rag under warm water before bringing it to you and wiping up the mess he left. Tossing it into the laundry basket, he slides into bed beside you and pulls you into his chest where you instantly fall asleep and the bratty attitude is gone just like that.
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drunkenly ranting to a frat guy about how much ex!rafe sucked, only to realize halfway through the conversation that the stranger listening to every word is rafe himself.
“you sound familiar,” she laughs, words slurring slightly as she leans against the sticky kitchen counter. the frat house is loud, bass shaking through the floorboards, but his voice cuts through it anyway.
“do i?” he asks.
“mhm.” she squints at him, pointing lazily. “you’ve got the same voice as my ex boyfriend. which is unfortunate for you because he was literally the worst person alive.”
he chokes on his drink a little. “damn. harsh.”
“no, you don’t get it.” she grabs his arm like she’s telling him a secret. “rafe thought he was so charming. all backwards hats and stupid smirks. god, i hated him.”
“sounds like a dick.”
“exactly!” she says, delighted he understands. “wait—” her eyes narrow again. “you even laugh like him. that’s freaking me out.”
“maybe everyone in fraternities is the same guy.”
she gasps. “that’s so deep.”
he laughs harder this time, and she groans, covering her face. “stop doing that. it’s actually scary.”
“sorry.”
“whatever. at least you’re nicer than he was.” she pokes his chest. “rafe used to disappear at parties and leave me alone.”
his smile fades just slightly. “yeah?”
“yeah.” she looks down at her cup. “i think he loved being loved more than he actually loved me.”
for a second, he just stares at her. then quietly, “you really think that?”
she shrugs. “doesn’t matter now.” another crooked grin spreads across her face. “besides, i’m talking to you. frat boy clone number six.”
“number six?”
“maybe seven.” she tilts her head. “wait.”
his heart jumps. she steps closer, eyes scanning his face with drunken concentration. “oh my god.”
“what?”
“you even have the same cologne.”
there’s a long pause. then she bursts out laughing. “if you turn around and tell me your name is rafe i think i’d actually throw up.”
“…that would be pretty bad.”
“right?” she says, missing the way he’s already smiling. “anyway, what’s your name?”
he looks at her for a long second, like he’s debating whether to ruin the moment. then, “matt.”
“matt,” she repeats suspiciously. “that’s such a frat guy name.”
“you’re at a frat party.”
“fair.” she sways a little, nearly losing balance before he catches her elbow automatically. she blinks up at him. “see? rafe never caught me when i almost fell.”
“maybe rafe sucked less than you think.”
“absolutely not.” she points at him again. “don’t defend him. that man ghosted me for twelve hours during formal.”
“i was throwing up behind the hotel.”
“he didn’t even text me!”
“my phone died.”
she narrows her eyes. “you are weirdly invested in this story, matt.”
“just trying to see both sides.”
“there were no sides,” she insists. “he was terrible and i was adorable.”
“that part’s true.”
she freezes for half a second at the easy way he says it. “you flirt a lot,” she mumbles.
“only with girls who compare me to their ex boyfriends.”
“well maybe i have unresolved issues.”
“maybe.”
she studies him again, slower this time. his face is half-shadowed by the shitty colored lights strung across the ceiling, but something about him keeps tugging at her memory. “have we met before?” she asks softly.
his expression shifts. “i don’t know,” he says carefully. “have we?”
“your eyes are familiar.”
“that so?”
“mhm.” she steps closer until she’s practically pressed against him, squinting with intense drunken focus. “and your nose.”
he laughs under his breath. “my nose?”
“don’t laugh.” she reaches up and touches the bridge of it lightly. “i know this nose.”
his hand catches her wrist gently, mostly because he thinks his heart might actually stop. “you’re really drunk.”
“a little.” she looks at him through her lashes. “you’re really pretty.”
that catches him off guard enough that he actually looks away. she smiles triumphantly. “ha. made you nervous.”
“impossible.”
“matt,” she says seriously, “if you end up being secretly evil i’m going to be devastated.”
“what if i said i already know you?”
“i’d say that’s creepy.”
“fair.”
she tilts her head again. “wait.” there it is. that same almost-recognition. his stomach flips. “oh my god,” she whispers.
“yeah?”
“you stole rafe’s face.” he stares at her. then she frowns. “that sounded smarter in my head.”
he laughs so hard at that he has to look away and that’s what does it. the laugh. not the voice, not the eyes, not the stupid cologne she kept noticing — the laugh. the exact same laugh that used to wake her up at 2 a.m. in his dorm room when he was watching dumb videos with the volume too loud.
her smile slowly drops. “…rafe?”
his laughter dies immediately. around them, the party keeps moving. somebody yells from upstairs, music rattles the walls, cups clatter in the kitchen sink. but suddenly it feels weirdly quiet. she stares at him like she’s trying to sober herself through pure force. “oh my god,” she says again, except this time it comes out horrified.
“hey—”
“you asshole.” she smacks his arm hard enough to make him wince. “you let me talk shit about you for, like, twenty minutes!”
“in my defense, it was kind of entertaining.”
“rafe!”
“okay, yeah, i deserved that one.”
she covers her face with both hands. “i told you you were pretty.”
“still thinking about that part, actually.”
“i’m going to kill you.”
he grins despite himself. “you also said you were adorable.”
“because i am.”
“true.”
she groans loudly and leans forward until her forehead hits his chest. he catches her automatically, hands settling at her waist like muscle memory. that makes both of them go still. she notices it first, probably. the way he still holds her like nothing changed. like they didn’t spend months pretending not to exist to each other on campus. quietly, muffled against his shirt, “you really threw up behind the hotel?”
he snorts. “violently.”
she starts laughing before she can stop herself, shoulders shaking against him. “you could’ve texted me from the bathroom, idiot.”
“i know.”
“i thought you were cheating on me.”
his smile disappears. she lifts her head enough to see his face properly then, and the guilt there hits harder than she expects. “i never cheated on you,” he says softly.
the drunken haze in her brain dulls around the edges. “i know that now.”
for a second neither of them says anything. then, because she can’t handle sincerity for more than ten consecutive seconds, she pokes his chest. “still can’t believe you introduced yourself as matt.”
“panicked.”
“that’s not even close to your name.”
“could’ve been worse.”
“what, chad?”
“i could pull off a chad.”
she laughs again, and he swears it feels exactly like getting something back he thought he lost for good.
❕spoilers❕c/w: pet names, pathetic rafe, dom reader, blowjob, age gap, teasing, unprotected sex, name calling, degradation, sneaking around, multiple orgasms (premature) + first time together
4.1K words
a/n: this can be read without Part 1 + Part 2. All you need to know is that Rafe broke into your house after you left for a date with another man. While he was waiting for you to get back, security caught him and tied him to a chair after he insisted to the officer that he was your son’s best friend. After shamelessly teasing him all tied up, you cut him loose and tell him “goodnight”… but there’s no chance he’s leaving.
“Fuck,” he breathes, half a laugh, half disbelief, as his eyes drag over you.
The slow rise and fall of your body beneath him. The way your lips part just slightly when you breathe. His gaze dips lower, dragging over every inch of you.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, soft and disbelieving that this moment’s finally his.
Your hands come up, resting against his chest, and he sucks in a breath at the contact, muscles tightening under your palms.
“Touching me,” he mutters, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth as he leans down, brushing his lips against yours. “Feels too damn good to have your hands on me. You know that?”
He kisses you slowly, savoring it, like he’s been thinking about this exact moment since he first saw you, smiling into it when he feels your back arch off the mattress, breasts pressing into his strong chest.
“You were playin’ too hard to get,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low and taunting. “I know you want me. You love fuckin’ with me.” His words vibrate against your lips, the hunger in them going straight through you. “You always do this shit—act like you don’t want me when I know you do.”
Your hands wrap around him, nails sliding down his back, dragging just enough to make his breath hitch. Biting his lip, shamelessly looking over his shoulder, praying for a mark.
You chuckle knowingly, your silence in this moment killing him, your body language giving him just enough to let him know he might be onto something.
He lets out a quiet breath through his nose, already worked up. “Unbelievable, baby,” he huffs, leaning back just enough to look at you again, eyes drinking you in. “You set up that room for me, didn’t you?”
Your brow lifts and you bite your cheek, trying not to smile but he looks too fucking proud.
“Knew it.”
His hand slides up your side again, slower this time, fingers splaying against your ribs. His body is hot against yours, his long, thick cock heavy against you.
“You didn’t want me stayin’ away,” he goes on, voice dropping, quieter now but no less sure of himself. “Just tell me what you want from me, yeah? What do you get from bein’ difficult?”
He lifts himself off you just enough to center himself over your body, resting his length right over your clit, his tip resting just below your navel, precum dripping with a roll of his hips.
“You wanted me to break in,” he adds, watching your restraint slip for a second, the friction turning delicious between your thighs. “Wanted me losin’ my mind over you.”
He leans in, lips hovering over yours, pulling back right before your lips meet. You look down at the slight space between you just enough to catch the smug smile painted on his lips when he catches that little crack in your composure.
“You want me takin’ care of you,” he mutters. “Treatin’ you right—”
He cuts himself off with a breath when you drive your heels into the mattress, matching his movements as you grind up into him, catching his gaze after a moment with that same shit-eating smile on your lip.
“You want me right here,” he goes on, quieter now, his words a little shaky with your added effort. “Got me up here, got me on your bed—”
His grip tightens at your waist.
“Right where you want me,” he adds. “Such a fuckin’ slut for me—”
He swallows hard when your hand comes around, finger tracing his sharp jaw, guiding his eyes on you like they’d be anywhere else.
“You talk a lot when you’re nervous,” you breathe.
He recovers quickly and scoffs. “Nah,” he huffs, that frat-boy bravado that you’ve watched him carry for weeks bleeding through his nervousness. “You don’t think I can handle you.”
“You sound desperate, Rafe.”
“I am. So are you—“
“Bullshit,” you giggle meanly. “And I’m the slut? Breakin’ into a house in a gated community for pussy?”
“Your pussy—all mine if I’m lucky,” he smirks against your lips, voice low, almost vibrating with it. “Make you feel so good you forget all that shit you were sayin’—”
He kisses your lips again, groaning against your mouth when his throbbing tip catches your skin just right.
“Tell me you set that up for me. I’m not playing, alright? Say it.”
“You think I clean my own house?” You ask, light and amused.
“Think you walked your fine ass down there and left it for me.”
“God, you’re cocky—”
“Most beautiful woman in the world givin’ me a free show and watching me stroke my shit, tying me to a chair and throatin’ me when she could be in bed with an asshole who doesn’t even know what kind of flowers are her favorite. Sorry, if I’m a little cocky.”
“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.
“Not even close,” he mumbles. “And you don’t need five guys… you’ve got me. You don’t need anyone else.”
He lingers there another second before shifting over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other drags down his body, squeezing around the base of his cock.
He drags the length of him slowly—testing your entrance with the thick head of his dick, teasing you as he swirls his tip through your wetness.
“Nobody wants you as bad as I do,” he mumbles, words brushing your mouth, slipping between kisses. “Nobody.”
Your lips fall open as he pushes in slightly, your body stretching, squeezing around him. “Shit,” you gasp, looking at the place between your bodies, his muscles physically trembling as he takes his time, working himself deeper.
“You’re really—Fuck…” He moans, deep and drawn out. “You feel so, so good—” Your whimper cuts him off as he gives you every inch—impossibly deep, achingly thick, curved so perfectly that your eyes roll back and your toes curl.
His shoulders go rigid, breath catching in his throat as his head dips forward just slightly. His eyes squeeze shut, his lip caught between his teeth.
And silence.
His grip tightens around you. You tilt your head just enough, watching him from the corner of your eye, taking it in.
His chest rises too fast now, jaw clenched so tight it almost looks painful. Completely frozen above you.
“…Rafe?”
His eyes flutter open for half a second before he forces them shut again, like he doesn’t want you to see it—doesn’t want you to know.
“Yeah,” he breathes, the word trembling past his lips. “Yeah, baby.”
You look at him, lips curving slightly, voice just as calm as it was before. “…You didn’t.”
His head shakes immediately, eyes pinched shut. “No—of—of course I didn’t.” The stutter gives him away more than anything else. You let out a soft, breathy giggle.
Color floods his cheeks fast, spreading down his neck, his cock still throbbing inside you so you tighten your body, squeezing around him just enough to have him hissing out a breath.
He mutters something, low and frustrated, dropping his head between you, watching as his cum-slicked length pulls out just slightly, wetness glistening between your bodies.
You can see it in the way his shoulders fall, disappointment practically radiating off him, unable to even look back at you.
Your hands come up anyway, cupping his face, guiding him back to you when he tries to stay turned away.
“Rafe,” you breathe, softening your tone into honesty, not wanting to bruise his ego anymore because you can just tell this is not how he planned on this going—clearly. “Look at me.”
He exhales through his nose, resisting for half a second before his eyes finally rest on yours.
Every muscle in his body’s pulled tight, chest still rising too fast, skin dewy with sweat that catches along his shoulders and collarbones. His bangs are damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, chain hanging loosely, brushing against your bare skin.
You pull him down to your lips and he folds into it instantly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your mouth, voice rough with embarrassment. He says it like it physically hurts to admit it.
Your fingers drift into his hair, scratching into the nape. He whimpers into your mouth when your tongue slides in, rolling slow, lips soft against your own.
“Get on your back.” You hum between kisses, feeling his breath catch against your kiss.
“Seriously?” He whispers against your mouth, smile curving against your lips.
“I only ask for what I want once.”
A quiet huff of a laugh slips out of him as he pulls out, arms wrapping around you. “Yeah,” he laughs breathlessly, smiling as he pulls you into another kiss.
One easy shift of his weight, those muscular arms tightening around you, and he rolls you over on the mattress until you land straddling him.
One hand presses into his chest to steady yourself as you settle fully over him. Your eyes drift lower—the chain around his throat, the heavy rise and fall of his chest, his tanned skin dewy and catching the light as you trace the deep ridge between his stomach muscles.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, your knees dipping into the mattress as you go just low enough that your breath ghosts over his tip, making goosebumps fan across his body, big hands gripping at the sheets.
The veins in his length throb, his cum still messy over his hard skin as you lay out your tongue, running it up along the side, watching his lips fall open and his brows pull together.
“I’m dreaming,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”
His grip tightens in the sheets as you wrap your lips around him, taking him deep in your throat, tasting the two of you together, swirling your tongue to the top.
“Prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he adds, his voice going hoarse. “You know that?”
You release him from your mouth, cock wet and impossibly hard again, crawling to his lips. Your hand comes down, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing slowly along his bottom lip as it pulls into that lazy, dazed smile.
“Kinda knew that was gonna happen,” you whisper, hearing him curse under his breath as your other hand grips the base of his spit-slicked cock, teasing him with the wet warmth of your pussy.
“I can’t fuckin’ help it if you knew how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.” The words come out in a lust-laced mumble, his eyes moving between your face and the place where you tease his tip.
You let out a quiet chuckle, tilting your head just slightly as you watch him.
“Dream about cumming early?”
“—You’re so fuckin’ mean,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it, just a little pout and that smile that he can’t seem to wipe off when you drop back down on your knees, taking a little more of him.
Your thumb drags along his lip again, slower this time.
“You dream about me?” You whisper, leaning down, claiming his lips.
“All the damn time,” he admits.
“Feels good?” You ask as you drop another inch.
“So, so fucking good,” he sighs right away. “Yeah—”
Your hand falls to the mattress, holding yourself up just enough that he can watch you sink down on the last few inches.
“Oh my god,” he moans as his big hands set heavy on your body, resting on your hip, blunt nails digging in a little.
His head tips back, swallowing hard and thick as you sit up on top of him with his cock fully buried, your hands coming down to rest on his chest, his heart banging under your palm.
You start moving on him, slow at first, getting a rhythm, his biceps swelling as he follows each movement of your body.
“Baby.” He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, shaking his head like he can’t even process it. “Fuck… you’re really doing this.” His grip tightens on your hips. “Yeah—yeah, just like that—”
You pick up the pace and his eyes go wide, a sharp breath punching out of him as his hands tighten, his whole body jolting with it.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes, voice breaking. “You’re really good at this. I just… holy shit—”
You lean down over him, your chest pressing into his as your lips brush his ear, your breath warm, soft sounds of your pleasure filling his ear.
“Please—” He breathes, looking over your shoulder at the way your ass bounces on top of him. “Baby, c’mon,” he whimpers when you moan, the power you possess with simply the sounds you make enough to get him off, the sight of you, the feeling of your warm pussy wrapped around him, all of it too much.
“Feels so good,” you sigh.
“—Gonna fuckin’ cum,” he whines, and soft giggle slips out of you, right against his ear. His hands come down sharp against your ass. “Don’t—” he manages, voice strained, shaking now. “Stop. That laugh… This fucking body. I’m trying. I’m trying not to cum.”
“I want you too—”
“Fuck me,” he sobs as he cums again, a strangled sound tearing out of him, grip tightening, his head pressing back into the pillow, hips lifting off the mattress as you start to bounce on top of him, not giving him a second to breathe.
Your head falls back as he fights through it, grip tight, pounding up into you, refusing to stop. His name breathes past your lips in a moan, the sound that leaves you making his eyes flash open.
Your fingers wrap around his wrists, still clutching your hips, urging him to keep you right where you’re at, fucking up into you. “Right there,” you moan.
“Holy shit, baby—just like that, huh?” He mutters, voice rough but steadier, something cocky creeping back in. “Knew I could get you there.”
His eyes stay locked on your face like he’s starving for every little reaction, arms holding you right where you told him to keep you, even as pleasure takes over.
The pressure snaps all at once, your body fluttering around him as his name tumbles from your lips in a broken cry.
He reaches up, both hands coming to your face, pulling you down where he wants you, pressing his lips against your own. He’s smiling into it the second he feels you smile back.
His arms wrap around you, needing you closer, rolling you back onto your back, pinning you against the mattress under his weight.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes searching your face like he needs to know he got you there. And just like before, you bite your cheek, the corner of your mouth betraying you because you promised yourself you wouldn’t crack so fast—that you wouldn’t fold. But Rafe Cameron made that impossible.
“Ah, shit,” he laughs softly when he catches you slipping, your cheeks burning as you turn your face away. He grabs your cheeks anyway, guiding your attention back to him. Confidence rushes right back into him.
You chuckle under your breath, and he smiles warmly, dipping down to kiss you again. His nose nuzzles against yours, lips brushing slightly, humming happily under his breath.
“Told you,” he mumbles, just enough self-deprecation in his tone to laugh off the fact that he came twice before you did. “Told you I could take care of you.”
“Mhmm,” you hum, pouting your lips for a kiss that he takes.
He pulls back, looking down at you sweetly, the two of you coming down from it all together. He’s piecing it together too, in real time. You don’t seem like someone who lets people get this close.
Too busy. Too guarded. Used to doing everything yourself instead of letting someone figure you out like this.
But you let him.
You kept going until you were satisfied instead of settling for less. And he knows he got lucky.
His thumb keeps tracing absentminded circles against your waist like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—Bang!
“Mom!”
Rafe’s eyes snap to yours, the shift immediate, everything soft and dazed gone in a second, replaced with pure awareness. You both freeze as the knock echoes through the room, cutting through the haze.
“Fuck,” Rafe whispers, barely moving his lips as his best friend stands right outside the door. Your son knocks again, a little louder this time.
“Mom, I got kicked out of the bar,” he slurs. “But if anyone asks, I did exactly what they said. I just—It was nothing. It was… tone. It was a tone issue.”
“Baby—” Your hand comes up, covering Rafe’s mouth before he can get another word out, shushing him with the other finger.
“Also,” your son adds, the door handle rattling now, “we got hot sauce? I ordered a pizza and I’m not eatin’ that shit dry again. I got standards.”
Rafe snorts against your palm, immediately clocking the lie.
“And, Cameron says he’s sick,” he gossips from behind the door. “But that fat fuck’s gonna be up the second he smells pizza. We got any ranch?”
Rafe scoffs, peeling your hand off his lips. “I’m not fuckin’ fat—”
“Do not start,” you hiss, like that somehow needs clarifying.
“You got cash too?” Your son calls through the door. “Pizza place said they’re not comin’ by after the bar closes anymore unless I tip. Can you believe that?”
Rafe chuckles against your palm, lifting a judgmental brow. “I will actually kill you,” you whisper low and sharp.
He nods against your palm instantly, his widened eyes falling into a lusty daze like discipline from you is something that might be worth it.
“You got someone in there or some shit?”
“No!” Your voice breaks out, loud and shrill. “Sorry—I… I was asleep. Cash is in the safe. Just check the fridge for the rest.” Your body trembles with adrenaline, and Rafe feels it immediately, looking down at you like this wouldn’t be catastrophic for both of you if your son figured it out.
“Safe code?” Your son asks, and you let out a shaky breath, hands resting over your eyes as you blow it out slow.
“Your birthday, hun.”
“Awww,” both boys hum in unison, and you shoot Rafe a dirty look, threatening him with your gaze but he doesn’t fucking care now that he’s got you like this.
“Night, mom—”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” you say quickly, eyes pinching shut as you listen for those heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs.
You blow out a breath when you hear it, tension unwinding from your shoulders as your eyes lift to Rafe’s.
He already looks like he wants to speak, and you already know what he wants to say, but it’s not going to happen tonight.
Rafe leans in just enough that his mouth is close to your ear, his voice low so it doesn’t carry. “I know you’re gonna make me leave,” he whispers, “but can I come back?”
“Not tonight,” you say quietly.
His expression drops just a little, something soft and disappointed slipping through before he can cover it, like he knew that was the answer and still hoped you’d say something different.
“Tomorrow night… I’ll send you a car, alright?”
He blinks at you, the shift catching him off guard. “Fuck,” he exhales, smile pulling at his mouth. “Seriously?”
“You need to go,” you tell him, softer now but firm.
He just looks at you, tilting his head slightly, giving you that look—the look that could get him anything he wanted from you. The kind of look that melts you if you let it.
He catches your lips in another kiss, stretching out the moment for as long as he can, smiling into it when your fingers scratch into his hair and pull him closer like you don’t actually want him to leave—even though you’re the one telling him to.
“How am I supposed to leave?” He asks under his breath, like he’s stranded here, like he doesn’t have two perfectly working legs, like he didn’t break in in the first place.
You give him a look because he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He leans in again anyway, stealing another kiss, slower this time, like he’s got all damn night.
Your hand presses to his chest, pushing him back just enough to meet his eye. “You’re leaving out the window,” you tell him matter-of-factly. “Steps. Straight to the pool deck.”
He exhales dramatically, head dropping between his shoulders. “C’mon, baby,” he groans. “You got me sneakin’ outta here like a slut—”
“You are,” you cut him off with a taunting smile, and he scoffs, nodding in agreement.
“I mean, yeah… obviously,” he hums, his big hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb dragging along your bottom lip before he kisses you again.
“Rafe,” you warn quietly against his mouth when he still doesn’t move.
He chuckles at that, shaking his head even though he stays planted right where he is, all warm and smug between your legs like he belongs there now. You should probably hate how easy he is to keep around. Instead, you’re fighting a smile.
“I don’t wanna leave,” he admits, softer this time. “You’re being too nice to me.”
A small laugh slips out of you. “You want me to be mean?”
His eyes light up immediately, the corner of his mouth curling. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Yeah. You even gotta ask?”
“Shut up.”
“M’serious,” he whispers dramatically, chasing your mouth again. “Love when you boss me around. Yell at me, baby. Ruin my fuckin’ life.”
You shove at his chest again, trying not to laugh.
“Degrade the shit outta me, fuck I might cum again.”
“Twice wasn’t enough?”
He pins you down a little harder, smiling against your mouth. “You think I didn’t cum a third time when you did? When you said my name like that are you joking me—”
“Leave. Your car’s in the driveway. He knows you’re here already… don’t ruin this.”
“This?” He repeats instantly, hopeful in a way that catches you off guard. “Damn… you and me, huh?”
Heat creeps into your cheeks and you roll your eyes away from him, smiling despite yourself.
“Shit, you really like me, pretty,” he teases softly, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m flattered. Seriously.”
He starts kissing all over your face after that—your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your jaw—smiling when you laugh and try to push him off while he purposely drops more weight onto you.
“Maybe,” you whisper finally.
The cockiness slips just enough for you to see how badly he wanted that answer. He actually softens at that, like the word means more to him than it should. “I’ll take maybe,” he breathes, kissing you again, sealing it like a promise.
Your lips brush his one last time, giggling, the knowing kind that has him drawing back, wondering what you’re holding back.
“What?” He mumbles. “What are you laughin’ about, huh?”
You kiss him gently, nose nuzzling against his. “—You’re fired.”
He jerks back immediately. “What?”
“You’re… fired.”
“You’re fucking with me,” he says right away, but there’s something too real underneath it now. “Wait—seriously?” His eyes widen. “Baby, c’mon,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Was it the beer cart thing?”
You laugh, because honestly yeah, if he was anyone else, that would be a fireable offense, but you let him spiral nonetheless.
“I didn’t mean to roll the cart,” he defends instantly. “The path was fucked, alright? And that bridge is narrow as hell. It practically fell into the water on its own—”
“Rafe—”
“And honestly,” he keeps going, scrambling now, “the tanning thing was strategic. I wanted your attention.”
You stare back at him, giving him a look like you already know, and he’s not slick.
“What?” He says defensively. “It worked.”
Your eyes slide to his, the man grasping for straws in front of you.
“I can improve,” he insists. “I’ll stop showin’ up late.”
You lift a brow, because now he’s just being ridiculous.
“…Less late,” he corrects himself, “Please… I need this job.”
“Why?”
He looks at you like the answer’s obvious. “Cause you’re there, baby. Why else?”
“Can I speak?” You ask dryly.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Was the sex really that bad?”
You groan at his dramatics, cupping his face and dragging him back down to your mouth.
You kiss him deep enough to shut him up for a second. Deep enough that he melts into it completely.
“It was perfect,” you whisper against his lips.
He breathes out hard in relief, forehead dropping against yours. “Well, fuck.” You can practically see the gears turning in his head now. “I mean. I’m fired, I guess,” he mumbles. “But you already told me I’m comin’ over tomorrow, so—”
“So?” You tease.
“So I’m still employed… sexually.”
You scoff, immediately looking away so he doesn’t see you smile.
“And I’m comin’ over regardless. I’m good at breakin’ in,” he continues, still completely frazzled by the firing. “And you literally just told me I was perfect at fucking you, so honestly? You ain’t gettin’ rid of me.”
“Did I say that?”
“Holy shit,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re killing me.”
“Monday,” you say calmly, hands curling around the back of his neck. “My office. Top floor. Eight a.m. sharp.”
His brows pull together immediately. “Why?”
“Suit and tie.” He stares at you, completely lost. “You’re my assistant.”
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jbbartram-illu
2087
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germansingergirl
