cw/ kinks. canon rafe, unhealthy obsession, stalking, rafe and a one-sided crush (at first), angst, kissing, needy rafe, masturbation (m), meltdowns, confessions, lots of dialogue, inebriated sex, drugs, unprotected sex, semi public sex, breeding, size kink (rafe has a huge dick), dom/sub, possessiveness, light cumplay, reader is often pressured into acts with rafe. it is not entirely consensual.
synopsis. rafe has never had such intense feelings for someone until he met you. his problem is that he doesn't know how to get you to want him back.
Rafe watches you intently as you flit around the snack bar at the country club, serving a rich family overpriced ice creams. You'd been working at the concessions stand since summer started. No doubt a seasonal job to pay for college. He could pay your whole tuition and not bat an eye, and it's not like he hasn't offered on multiple occasions.
He'd been strangely offended when you'd gotten defensive and angry. You accused him of throwing money at you like you're a whore. You think the worst of him. He knows you do. He can see the way you behave around him.
He noticed your smile always faded when he entered your line of sight. You usually bolted with a weak excuse of being busy, or gave him clipped, terse responses if he managed to get you to speak to him. Even then, it felt like he was talking at you, and you were responding like you had a gun to your head.
Perhaps you thought you were too good for him. That fancy college you were going to was getting to your head. Maybe you were dating some douchebag econ major... He didn't even realize the family left and he was just staring at you. You're probably even more creeped out by him now. You have this odd look on your face and there's a stiffness in the way you stand now, like you're trying to shrink yourself without being obvious.
He takes a sharp breath in and walks over to you, hands sliding into his pocket to hold out the pretty necklace he bought you today. He was planning to ask you out. For the second time this week already.
He fidgets with the necklace in his pocket, running his thumb along the delicate little charm he'd picked out earlier that day. It reminded him of you, all soft and bright and way too expensive for someone scooping sherbet in the heat. He'd thought about just leaving it in your locker. But no, that'd be weird. Creepy, even. He wasn't creepy.
Your shift is almost over. He can tell by the way you've started glancing at your phone, counting down minutes. You don't look up when he stops at the counter. But you freeze for just a second. Your hand lingers too long on a napkin dispenser.
"I g-got you something," he mumbles, voice low and a little nervous, like a child speaking to their first love. He pulls the necklace from his pocket slowly, afraid you'll turn him away. You finally look up. Not at the necklace but at him. Your face is guarded.
"Rafe…" Your voice is soft, but there's weight behind it. You sound tired. "I told you not to-"
"You didn't let me finish last time," he says, setting the little box a little too hard onto the countertop. "You never… you never let me finish. I'm not trying to buy your attention. I just… think about you a lot." He swallows, tongue darting across the inside of his cheek. "You don't even have to wear it. I just thought it was pretty. Like you."
You blink, eyes scanning his face. It almost sounds like he's rambling, and your cheeks tinge pink at the compliment. Still, wearing something a man bought you is far too intimate for your liking. He notices your hands twitch slightly at your sides.
You shift your weight like you want to step back but don't want to make it obvious. The silence that follows is thick. Your eyes drop to the box, then lift again to meet his. You're not smiling. He wishes you'd smile at him. The cute one with a hint of a dimple. You're so adorable.
"I don't want to owe you anything," you say quietly. "And I don't want you thinking that this means anything. Because it doesn't. I don't feel that way towards you."
Rafe's feels his heart sink like a rock in a body of water, his eyes trained on you as you lower your head, gnawing on your plump lower lip. You're a coward. He thinks to himself. Mumbling that to him while being incapable of looking him in the eyes. He reminds himself that this happens every time he makes a move on you, but it still stings.
"Why not? How do I make you want me?" The words tumble out before he can stop them. He feels like such a loser. He's practically begging for your attention.
"You dont, Rafe." You mumble. You don't meet his eyes again as you gather up your things, shifting uncomfortably as you turn away. There's no venom in your voice, like he's not even worth the time or energy to get mad at. "Stop wasting your time with me and go hang out with the girls your speed."
He frowns, pushing his body against the counter as he watches you lock everything up. His eyes drift to the way your tits push against your thin polo when you lean forward to grab your phone charger. Fuck, he wants you.
His mind returns to your last couple words. "What do you mean my speed? You're my speed. I want you to be my speed."
You scoff lightly, shaking your head. You think he's clueless. He knows you do. As you slide out of the concessions stand and come around to roll down the security shutters and lock it. He stares down at you, admiring the way your body moves. You're not answering him, so he holds onto your upper arm and turns you with little to no effort so that he can look at you. You're just… so out of his league, and yet, he can't let go of this hope. This stupid, selfish hope that you'll turn to him one day. That you'll see him the way he's seeing you now.
"I don't know why you're doing this," he continues, his voice rougher than he means. "But I'm not the bad guy here, alright?" He steps closer to you, leaning in. His heart races, his voice low but urgent. "I know you... you don't want me anywhere near you. But I can't stop thinking about you. Every damn day. Every time I see you, I-" He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as the words spill out before he can stop them. "It h-hurts. It fucking hurts, you know?"
The silence between you two stretches, and Rafe's chest rises and falls rapidly like he's been holding his breath for too long. His hands shake. He's not sure if he's angry or desperate, but either way, he can't let it go. He needs something from you but he knows it's not something you can give so easily. You stare at him silently through long lashes, your brows furrowed. You hate him. "I'm going home, Rafe," you say, not acknowledging his desperation. "I suggest you give this a rest."
He watches as you tear your arm out of his grip to brush past him and head toward your dingy little car, hips swaying as you walk. The pretty necklace he bought you is still in his possession. Like he's out of his mind, he stalks after you from a distance just as you get into your car. He walks to his own truck and decides to tail you to your home.
Rafe shows up the next morning like he didn't follow you home the night before and sit in his truck outside your house for hours with his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, replaying your voice in his head on a loop.
"I don't want you." "Stop wasting your time."
He'd been a fight with his dad this morning, and that, paired with yet another day going by with you refusing to open up to him, had pushed him over the edge. The fight had been loud, ugly, and violent and had left his voice hoarse and his knuckles raw from punching drywall. He'd stormed out without a plan, just his keys in hand and the necklace in his pocket.
You're working in the stupid concessions stand again, your face a little sleep ridden, but so so cute. He stares at you like it hurts to look and hurts worse not to.
When you see him storm up to the front, you frown immediately "I told you to stop coming here," you murmur softly, stepping back just a little, but you don't yell or swear at him.
"I know, I know," he rushes out, his voice low and breathless. "But I-I need this. I'm going through some shit right now, alright? I'm not okay. I swear I'll leave right after, I just.. fuck, I just need to hold you right now. Please."
You blink, staring at him from behind the counter with furrowed brows and pursed like you're unsure. Your voice is soft. "Rafe…"
He talks over you before you can turn him away "I'm not trying to pull anything. I'm not here to freak you out. I…" He drags a hand through his hair, pacing outside the snack shack like he's going to have a meltdown. "Please. I really, really need this. God, I miss you and I don't even have you yet."
That makes you pause, your brain scrambling to process the sheer desperation in his words. Your face is warm for a reason you don't comprehend right now. Your eyes flick up to his, and you sigh. "Fine," you whisper, stepping aside to move to the side door and open it. "Just for a bit." He's inside before you finish the sentence.
He practically throws himself on you, arms around your waist, head buried in your neck as he exhales into your skin. You stumble a little because he's so big and heavy, but he wraps his arms around you tighter to keep you steady. Your hands go instinctively to his shoulders, and he relaxes, grounded against you the second he has you in his arms. You're so warm and soft and you smell sweet, causing his body to relax against yours. He can finally breathe.
You tentatively reach up to touch his hair gently, voice unsure. "Did… something happen?"
He just hums, not answering right away, eyes fluttering shut against your collarbone. "You feel so good," he mumbles. "Shit… I don't know what's wrong with me…"
You don't respond. You just let him hold you, fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, he actually feels calm. He doesn't even care that you're not kissing him or telling him you feel the same. This is enough for now.
He holds you for a long time. Too long, probably, but you don't push him off. Your fingers are still gently threading through his hair, and Rafe presses himself against you tighter like he can fuse the two of you together if he tries hard enough. Feels like he wants to be in your skin. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just soaks in the warmth of your body, the comfort of your scent, the softness of your voice when you ask, "Are you feeling any better?"
He is, really. Much, much better. So much better that he forgot all about Ward and all his other stupid problems, but he needs more. You've got him hooked. "Can I come hang out with you in the stand today?" he asks quietly, nuzzling into your throat. "I'll sit in the back, I swear I won't bother you, I swear."
You hesitate, and he feels it immediately in the way your fingers pause in his hair. You pull back slightly, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes, already expecting the no before you whisper it. "I can't, Rafe. I'll get in trouble. I can't have people hanging around,"
"But I'm not just people," he interrupts, frowning. "I'd be quiet. Just… just let me be near you, please. I can't go back there. Can't go home. Just wanna be with you."
"Rafe…"
"Okay," he says quickly, licking his lips and pulling his hand from his pocket. "Okay, fine. What about the necklace, then?" You blink as he holds out the box again, careful this time, not slamming it on a counter or shoving it in your hands. Just opening it slowly, almost reverently. "Will you wear it? Please?"
There's a pitiful look on his face that makes your resolve falter. His eyes are shiny, lips red and swollen from biting and licking, his face flushed. He's holding you tightly with his free hand. You sigh softly, giving in. "Fine. Just… just for today."
His whole face lights up. "Really? You will?" You nod, reaching for the box, but he stops you gently, one hand brushing yours. "C-can I put it on you?"
You hesitate again, and he's already behind you before you can think of a reason to say no. His fingers tremble a little as he pushes your hair aside, letting the soft strands fall through his hands like silk. You smell like something clean and dreamy, like vanilla and sunlight, and he swears it makes his head spin.
He hooks the necklace around your throat, clasping it carefully, and then just lets his hands rest on your shoulders for a second too long. You're wearing his necklace. Surely that means you're closer to becoming his, right? You're being so nice to him today, he thinks. "You look s'pretty, angel" he murmurs, eyes trained on your skin. "It looks perfect on you."
You turn to face him, not frowning so much anymore. "Thank you… but, seriously. You should go now, my boss does rounds in the morning, and-"
"I know, I know." He nods quickly, eyes dropping to your lips, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you... do you think I could kiss you? Just once?"
You pull back slightly, unsure. "I don't think that's a good idea…"
"Please," he breathes, his hands grabbing onto your arms to make sure you don't run from him. "I swear I won't ask again. Just once. I'm not okay, alright? I need to know what it feels like. Just one. I'm begging you."
You pause. He's looking at you like he's breaking and one kiss could fix something inside him. You furrow your brows, caught between your own better judgment and the way his voice sounds all wrecked and shaky when he speaks, and you know that he won't let this go, so yet again, you give in. "…Just a small one."
He doesn't wait, pressing his mouth to yours with such desperation it makes you reel back slightly. His hands come up to your face, thumbs grazing your cheeks like you're made of glass. He makes sure not to go too fast or try to shove his tongue in your mouth. He wants to savor every last bit of this before you pull away and go back to ignoring him. When his lips move against yours, it's reverent, and his lips seal around yours, making soft smacking sounds. He can't help the breathy groans that leave him. When you finally pull back, he's not all there.
You're flushed, wide-eyed, and still close enough that he can feel your breath fan against his lips. "Rafe…" you whisper, gently guiding him back by the shoulders. "You should go." He doesn't say anything, just nods, eyes still glassy and dazed, letting you push the door open and give him a soft little smile, biting your lip to hold it back, as he stumbles outside, like he's in a fog. The door shuts behind him.
He walks to his truck like he's drunk, heart pounding, lips tingling, mind still wrapped around the way your mouth felt on his. He's never felt this before. Not with anyone. He sits in his truck for a long time after that, tasting you on his lips and listening to his heart drum in his ears.
Rafe doesn't leave his room for hours after the kiss.
He's lying on his bed, shirt thrown onto the ground and breathing way too hard. The way your mouth felt on his feels like it's been carved into his brain. Burned into it, more like. He can't stop thinking about how it felt to hold you and press his lips to yours all desperate and sloppy no matter how many times he tries to get it together. He can still faintly taste your strawberry lip gloss on his mouth and hear the soft little moans you made when you kissed him back, even if they were quiet. Next time, he'll make you scream.
He turns over in his bed, running his fingers through his hair. He wonders if he's drowning. Nothing feels real right now. You kissed him. He didn't force himself on you or make you do anything you didn't want to. You gave yourself to him, and now he needs more, but you're so difficult. Sweet and soft but just out of reach like you like watching him go crazy.
He sits up too fast, legs bouncing with nervous energy as he grabs his phone and opens your social media so fast it feels like muscle memory. He scrolls through your posts until he finds one he's seen many times before. One where you're at a kegger with friends in a little crop top with shorts where he can see the bottom piece of your bikini underneath.
You look like his wet dreams come to life. He likes this picture because it looks like you were made for him. All sunkissed, wearing his favorite colors, smiling all cute and innocent, fuck…
He tosses his phone to the floor like it burns to hold it and closes his eyes until all he can see is your mouth parting against his, the way your lashes fluttered. The heat of your body under his hands, how easy it would've been to just keep going, to press you up against the wall and devour you like he wanted to. He can't breathe.
He's sliding his hand into his pants before he can think, not bothering to take off his shorts or boxers, just easing his cock out of their confines and groaning at its sensitivity, hunching forward and slowly beginning to pump his hand up and down. He thinks about you in his necklace, bending you over the counter of your dumb little snack store, kissing you again… God, he thinks you're it for him. You're all he wants..
He moans softly, quietly, the sound muffled into his pillow. His hips buck up into his fist, and it's not just lust driving him, it's panic. It feels like you crawled into his veins and rewired every cell of his body. "Shit… can't last…"
He fucks into his hand harder, chasing the feeling with a frustrated groan. It's not enough. It's not enough. He wants your voice in his ear, wants your thighs around his waist, wants your little breathy moans right against his mouth.
His hand moves faster, messier, thumb dragging over the tip just to feel the way his cock twitches, but it's not the same, not even close to how it felt when you touched him. He tightens his grip on his cock a little to try and imagine how it would feel being inside you for real. Wetter, he thinks, and he leans back to spit in his hand, then going back to milking his cock with his hand, forehead pressed into his pillow. His voice is quiet and wrecked, whispered little groans into the pillow as his hips twitch, fucking up into his fist like your pussy's the only thing that could calm him down. "Fuck... fuck... want you s'bad, angel, mngh"
His hand stutters, hips jerking, and he cums with a low, guttural groan that's more desperate than anything, thick, creamy spurts coating his fingers, his chest, his boxers, but the second it's over, the second he catches his breath, the ache only sharpens.
When he checks up on you the next morning like a routine at your place of work, he swears he's gonna puke when he pulls up to the country club and you're not there.
At first, he tells himself maybe you're just late. Maybe you overslept or your car broke down or you're inside and he didn't see you. But after he walks in and asks your manager, only to be told with a shrug that "she's taking a chill day," it's like the floor falls out from under him.
Why didn't you tell him? You gave him no explanation, no warning, no clue about what you're doing or or where you are or who you're with and his brain is going fucking crazy. He drives around for thirty minutes, chewing his nail and shaking his leg and refreshing your socials like a psycho, until finally he pulls up outside your house, parks crooked, throws it in park, and marches up the steps like a man possessed.
He knocks once. Then again, and quickly, he's pounding on the door, then with both fists. His heart is racing. His hands are sweating. And then you open the door and he just sags, a shaky breath leaving his chest. You're in a giant t-shirt with and little shorts, holding a spatula in one hand and blinking up at him like you just woke up. "Rafe?"
He's already crowding the door, peeking behind you like he's trying to find a way to barge in. "Why weren't you at work?" You frown up at him, still surprised at the sheer unexpectedness of his arrival. Why is it that he shows up wherever you go? "I... I just took the day off."
"Took the day off?" he echoes like you just told him you're moving to another continent. "Why?" You blink, stepping back a little because of how close he is. "Just wanted a day to myself. I'm going to a bonfire later and didn't wanna be tired."
"A bonfire," he repeats, stepping over the threshold without waiting for an invite. "With who?" His gaze flicks over to your exposed legs, then your thighs and your lips, plush and a little swollen. "You never take days off. Since when do you go to bonfires?"
You furrow your brows, confused and still kind of sleepy. "Rafe, what's going on? Are you okay?"
"No," he says immediately, eyes flitting over your face, down your neck, lingering on the dip of your collarbone, where the charm of the necklace he bought you is still resting. "No, I'm not. You weren't there. I-I didn't know where you were, cause you never told me."
Your expression softens as you see that he's not doing so good right now. Feels like he needs you. "I'm fine. I was just making pancakes."
"Who else is going?" he asks, voice hard and words coming out fast. "To the bonfire."
You pause. "I dunno. A few people."
"Guys?"
You blink. "Probably?"
His jaw clenches. "What are you wearing?"
You splutter again, this time caught off guard. "To the bonfire?"
"Yeah."
"Ah... not sure yet, I guess"
He stares at you like he doesn't believe you. Like you're lying just to mess with him. "Are you gonna drink?"
You finally realize the absurdity of his comments and scoff lightly. "Why are you acting like my boyfriend?"
Rafe takes a step closer to you, his breath coming out shaky, his jaw tight. His eyes are dark, gaze heavy with something you can't quite place. "Because I will be," he says, low and determined, like it's a promise. You're caught off guard, but you don't let him see that. You cross your arms over your chest, clearly trying to hold on to your composure. "What?"
His eyes never leave you. He looks dead serious; there's not a single flicker of hesitation in his voice. "I'm gonna be your boyfriend," he repeats, firm this time, almost like he's daring you to contradict him.
You stare at him, the weight of it settling over the room like a thick fog, and Rafe takes a step closer, like he's trying to prove something just by you letting him be so close to you.
"You can't just disappear like that, okay?" he says, sounding bossy. "I thought you were gone. Like...gone gone. I had to talk to your boss, cause I don't like when I don't know where you are," he rambles, eyes locked on yours. "I don't like not knowing who you're with, or what you're wearing, or if someone's getting you drunk and trying to take you home."
Alarmed by how he's starting to sound frantic, you think this would be a good time to give him some space and angle the door just enough that he can't get past it. "Rafe, go home." you say quietly, not looking him in the eye as you tuck the spatula behind you and lean into the door like a warning. "You're freaking me out."
Rafe's face twists, first in confusion, like he's still catching up to what you just said, and then in disbelief, then anger.
"How am I freaking you out, huh? You're just overreacting, like always. Trying to treat me like I'm a goddamn basket case."
"I don't like this," you continue, more firmly now, your pulse speeding up. "You show up at my house and start asking all these questions like you own me or something,"
"It's cause I care about you," he snaps, voice rising a little as his eyes burn into yours, his chest lifting with every breath. "You don't get it, do you? You think it's nothing, but it's not. You disappear, you don't text, and now you're telling me you're going out to get wasted with God knows who." His hands are clenching and unclenching rapidly and he keeps raking his hands incessantly through his hair.
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"Yes, you fucking do!"
You flinch, just slightly, and he sees how your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the door, and it makes him panic. He steps forward like he's going to force his way in and you push the door tighter with a hard look, shaking your head.
"I'm not doing this," you say, voice cold now, your tone clipped and unfamiliar. "I'm not gonna let you guilt trip me just because I wanted one night to myself."
"You're not just trying to have a night to yourself," he says bitterly, jaw tight as he takes a shaky breath, eyes wide and manic-like, as though he's about to unravel right in front of you. "You're going out so you can slut yourself out, right? So you can get drunk and let some random guy put his hands all over you, and then you're gonna let him fuck you."
"Excuse me?" you hiss, eyes wide as your entire body goes still.
"You think I don't know?" Rafe seethes, running a hand through his hair, pacing back like he's physically trying to keep from grabbing you. "You think I haven't seen the way you look when you're flirting? You get that sexy little look in your eyes like you're begging to be bent over. Like you want guys' attention. A-and you post shit, you wear tiny hooker shorts and laugh at every guy that breathes near you and then act like I'm the one who's crazy when I don't want to fucking lose you!"
"You are crazy," you snap, voice rising for the first time. "You're out of your fucking mind. You don't get to walk into my house and tell me what I can wear or who I can be around just because we kissed."
"IT WASN'T JUST A KISS!" he roars. "DON'T YOU FUCKING GET IT? YOU'RE EVERYTHING TO ME!"
You flinch back when he screams at you, and your breathing goes shallow, lips parting like you want to say something else, but nothing comes out. "Rafe," you say instead, voice low, scared. "P-please, you need to go."
"No," he whispers immediately, shaking his head like a child. "No, don't shut me out. Don't do this. You don't mean that-"
"Go away, Rafe!" you cry out, and slam the door in his face before you can change your mind. The sound echoes through your house, bouncing off the walls and rattling your chest. You lock it.
On the other side, you hear nothing for a long moment. And then the soft thud of his fist hitting the door once, twice. Not to knock, just because he doesn't know what else to do. Then footsteps. Then silence.
You slide to the floor and stare at the spatula still clutched in your hand, heart thudding against your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out, meanwhile he storms away to his truck, immediately driving at an obscene speed. He cruises down the road with one hand gripping the wheel and the other twitching restlessly on his thigh, his head pounding. The sun's going down and the sky is darkening, and all he can think about is you in some tiny little outfit, smiling at some guy who doesn’t fucking deserve it.
He goes home to pass the time with whatever helps take his mind off you. Lifting weights, doing jobs for his dad, golfing...
By nightfall he's buzzing and out on the road, headed to your stupid bonfire.
He hits the brakes too hard pulling into the dirt road leading to the beach. Gravel kicks up under the tires and his pulse doesn’t slow. He leans back in his seat for a second, staring out at the distant flames and silhouettes gathering around them, and he mutters under his breath.
He's met up with some friends, his pupils are blown wide and there’s a girl clinging to his arm, some mutual friend who laughs too loud at everything he says and keeps taking hits to impress him. He doesn’t even remember her name.
He’s already smoked, he did a line back at the house, and now everything feels loose and hazy except the fire and the blurry shape of you. He spots you instantly. You’re standing near the fire, laughing with someone he doesn’t recognize, hair tucked behind your ear, drink in your hand, face lit up by the flames.
He drops his arm from the girl like she’s heavy and annoying, snatches the joint from someone's hand without acting, and leans back into the circle of guys while his eyes never leave you.
Every time you smile, or tilt your head to listen to someone who isn’t him, it feels like his skin is burning. He’s bouncing his leg. Grinding his teeth. His fingertips twitch like he’s about to do something reckless, like walking up to you and grabbing your wrist and dragging you off to somewhere private.
The heat of his stare pricks at the back of your neck, even as you try to ignore it and keep sipping your drink, laughing with your friend and pretending you don’t feel your skin flush for no reason at all. But it gets worse with every passing minute. Every little sound around you starts to blur and all you can feel is him staring.
When you finally turn your head, you find him sitting with a group of guys by the fire, his legs bouncing.
You tear your gaze away and pretend you didn’t see, but it only takes a little while before you go off to talk to your friend and there's a warm, huge body pressing against your back, hands snaking around your waist. Music thrums in your ears, and you feel him nudging his hips against your ass as the scent of weed and expensive cologne fills your nose.
Rafe's voice comes out as a quiet slur against your ear. "M'sorry, angel" he mumbles, pressing his face into your hair. "Don't... d-don't want you mad at me. Couldn't stay home. You're not a slut, I didn't mean that...I swear I didn’t mean it."
You push his arm off, stepping away and whirling around to face him. "Rafe! Are you serious right now? You show up here with some girl all over you and now you’re grinding on me like nothing happened?"
His face twists up in shock or hurt. You can't tell. "No...no, what? No!" he says, voice cracking. "I'm not playing you, why the fuck would I be? I did not do anything with her, I just...fuck, I needed to see you. You slammed the door in my face and I thought-"
"Thought what?" you snap. "That you could get a rise out of me and show me how replaceable I am?" Your words make his eyes go all glassy, just for a second, then they darken. He looks feral. He's tired of you and your inability to understand him or his feelings. His jaw tightens and his breathing spikes, and all of a sudden, he snatches your wrist.
"Come here."
"Rafe, let go of me!"
He doesn’t listen. He’s pulling you off the beach, down the sand while ignoring your scattered protests, all the way until you’re stumbling up the wooden steps of a closed lifeguard shack just off the edge of the bonfire. You yank at his grip but he’s too strong, too frantic, like if he lets go, you’ll disappear entirely.
He opens the door and drags you inside, then slams it shut and locks it behind him. The noise of the party dulls outside. Inside, it’s just heavy silence and the sound of both your uneven breaths. You shove at his chest, not a fan of being in such an enclosed space with him. "You're being just as insane as you were at my house, Rafe. You're not even sober right now, are you?"
He stares at you like you just stabbed him. "You don’t get it," he mutters, almost to himself. "You don’t fucking get it."
"I do get it!" you bite back. "I get that you're a manipulative and controlling bast-" That’s when he loses it.
"You think I'm playing games with you?" He screams, grabbing you and shoving you up against the back wall. Your body slams back against the solid surface, and he gets up in your face, nose pressed into yours. "You think I'm playing games? You think this is some fucking joke to me? You have no idea what I feel when I look at you. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can’t fucking think without you taking over every single last FUCKING one of my thoughts. I've never..!” His voice catches, and his breathing picks up so much that he sounds like he's hyperventilating. "I've never needed someone like this."
You gasp out loud, heart doing a little jump at his words. You dont know if you're confused or nervous or flustered, but he's starting to panic all over again, like he didn't mean to say that. Not in the way he did, at least.
Rafe stares at you like he’s just realized what he said. Like the words ripped out of him before he could pull them back. His eyes are huge, chest rising and falling fast.
“You need me?” you say, and your voice comes out soft. Disbelieving.
His lips part, and he nods, just once. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I need you so fucking much I think it's killing me. And I know I act like an asshole, I know I say shit I don't mean, but when you slammed that door in my face I thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind." His voice breaks at the edges again, cracking away. "And then I saw you laughing with someone else and I wanted to kill him. I couldn't take it. You're supposed to smile at me. Only me."
You're quiet for a beat, not knowing what to say. You know you should be more angry and hold your ground, but he's looking at you so desperately. Like always. He squeezes your shoulders and looks intently into your eyes. "I didn’t touch her," he says again, voice barely above a whisper. "I...I-I didn't kiss her, didn't want her. She was just...there. I didn't even look at her. I was looking for you."
Your heart pounds and he comes closer to you, needing a response. Your reaction is difficult to read for him, filling him with uncertainty. He knows you probably don't feel the same towards him, and it crushes him. The silence between you stretches long enough to make him nauseous. But then you ask, in a quiet little voice, "Tell me again."
His brows furrow. "What?"
"That you need me."
He steps in again, and this time his hand comes up, shaking slightly, to brush your cheek. "I need you," he says, firmer now. "I w-want and need you so bad it makes me do stupid shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry baby, I just... fuck-" He trails off by attaching his lips onto yours to show you how bad he needs you, lips slotting over yours as he moans at your taste. His hands slide up under your shirt like he has to feel your skin, making their way to your bra, which he lifts up over your breasts to squeeze the soft mounds under your shirt.
You whimper softly against his mouth at the suddenness of it, the heat of his palms rough and eager as they mold over you, and that sound makes Rafe groan from somewhere deep in his chest, kissing you harder and messier. He tastes faintly of mint.
"Missed you," he slurs into your mouth, thumbing over your nipples with clumsy desperation, like he's trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. His forehead knocks against yours as he breathes you in, the two of you barely able to catch a breath between kisses.
You jolt, moaning and halfheartedly pushing at his chest, but he pinches your nipple as a punishment, needing you against him. "Mnh! Rafe, we shouldn't," you gasp when his mouth moves to your neck, trailing open mouthed kisses over your pulse, and you feel him nodding against you like he agrees, even though he's still doing it.
He kisses a path down your throat, dragging his nose along your skin. His hands stay under your shirt, squeezing and cupping your breasts. You feel him shudder when you don't push him away again, when instead you tilt your head to the side, granting him more access to your neck. He groans low and desperate, hands smoothing down your waist to your hips, pulling you closer until there's not a sliver of space between your bodies.
You feel how hard he is, grinding against you with slow, needy rolls of his hips. His cock strains against his pants, pressing hotly against you through your clothes, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat.
"Fuck," Rafe hisses into your skin, voice wrecked. "Fuck, baby, please..." He presses his forehead against your shoulder, panting, grinding his hips against yours again like he physically can't help himself. "Want you so bad. Been losin' my mind thinking about you, can't stop." His hands grab at your hips, your ass, trying to feel everything he can at once, desperate and frantic.
He pulls back enough to catch your face in both hands, making you look him in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess, chest heaving. "Tell me you want it," he says, low and rough. "Tell me you want me, angel. Please." His thumbs stroke your jaw.
You blink up at him, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. You don't say anything at first, and that moment of silence just makes him even crazier, and he lets out a broken noise, grinding against you harder, hips stuttering like he's about to lose it just from this.
"Say it," he begs again, voice breaking. "Say you want me."
You finally oblige with a little nod, head spinning. "I-I want you, Rafe. I want it..."
The second the words leave your lips, it's like something inside him snaps. "Fuck," Rafe groans, diving back in to kiss you feverishly, his hands already fumbling at the hem of your shirt, yanking it up over your head. He's frantic, crazed, muttering under his breath: "so pretty, so fucking pretty", as he tosses your shirt somewhere behind him. His hands are everywhere, roaming your skin like he's starving, like he’s trying to devour every inch of you.
He makes quick work of your bra, practically ripping it off and letting it fall to the floor. His mouth drops open when he gets a look at you and he immediately ducks his head, mouthing hotly at the tops of your breasts, whining against your plush tits, moaning at the taste.
His hands can't decide where to stay, cupping your breasts, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, your ass, he's frantic like he's scared you'll disappear if he lets go even for a second. His mouth trails desperate, sloppy kisses down your chest, tongue flicking out to circle one nipple before sucking it into his mouth with a greedy groan, like he needs it to breathe.
Your fingers find his hair without thinking, threading through the soft strands, and he moans into your skin at the contact, bucking his hips into you harder, unable to stop himself.
He ruts against you like he's in heat, hips grinding up into yours in slow, messy rolls as his cock strains painfully against the fabric of his shorts. Every desperate push of his hips presses his hard length right up against your core, and you feel the heat of him even through all the layers between you.
"Fuck," Rafe gasps, drooling on your tits. His hips jerk forward harder, and the friction makes you both groan. He drags his mouth up your chest, laving his tongue over your breasts and sucking hickeys onto your cleavage, all while rutting against you like he's trying to get off just from the contact.
You feel him shudder, breath hot and shaky against your throat, and his hands fumble clumsily at the waistband of your shorts. "Need you," he mumbles. "Need you now."
He doesn't even try to be smooth, just yanks your shorts down your hips in a couple frantic tugs, letting them fall around your ankles, tugging your panties next. You're helping him too, panting and moaning against his face as you tug down his pants and his boxers, freeing his fat, leaking cock, flushed an angry red from built up arousal. You give pause at the sheer size of his cock, resting heavily against his tummy, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. "I-it's big, Rafe... " You trail off, nervous.
He shakes his head and pushes you back onto the wall and hovers over you. "It's okay, it's okay... I'll make it fit. Won't hurt my angel." He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it so you have no choice but to let him grind against your bare pussy, the length of him dragging right along your slick folds.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groans, rutting against you slow and messy. He's trying to savor you but can't stop how badly he wants you, and so his cock ends up slipping and sliding against you, catching between your wet, flowery folds with every other thrust. "Rafe" Your eyes flutter as you call out his name, clinging onto him. It feels so good that you're starting to leak wetness down your thighs. "You feel that?" Rafe pants, forehead pressed to yours, eyes fluttering closed as he rocks against you harder. "Feel how bad I want you? How fucking crazy you make me?"
You nod, breathless, overwhelmed, and Rafe lets out a wrecked little moan, rubbing his cock along your soaked slit again and again, like he's trying to carve the feeling into his memory forever. "Angel..." he moans out, voice loud and unrestrained. You wonder if people can hear you two inside the shack.
He continues holding onto your thigh with one hand and his cock with the other, sliding back and forth against your sopping little pussy. "I'm gonna put it inside you, okay?" He whispers, making direct eye contact with you. "Won't hurt you," he restates, voice low and sincere. You don't see how excited he is deep down to finally have you to himself. He's going to finally fuck you. Then, he's going to make you his girlfriend and never let you out of his sight again. You nod, whining softly and angling your body so he's lined up completely with your pretty pussy.
When the tip notches in your tight hole, you cry out at the intrusion, tears sparking in your wide eyes with the discomfort of having something so big beginning to fill you, so he presses his forehead against yours and coos softly, stroking your hair. "I got you, I got you. Shh... almost halfway," he uses the phrase to coax you, even though he's only got his bulbous head and an inch of his length in you. By the time it's really halfway, you can't take anymore and push on his shoulders. "Rafe! 'm too full, I can't..."
"You can, see? Look at me, look." He cups your cheek, nodding to you and slowly thrusting in and out to get you accommodated, nearly bottoming out entirely. Then, he shoves and stretches you out inch by inch, kissing you deeply to keep you distracted, and he feels you squirming and whining loudly as he gets deeper and deeper, and then he feels the wet squelch of his pelvis against your pussy, and he knows he's filled you up all the way.
You're so goddamn tight, and he lets out a low, drawn out moan. He looks down at where his cock disappears into your stretched out, dripping cunt. He can't believe he actually managed to fit the whole fucking thing inside you. Your little pussy is so goddamn tight, gripping him like a vice now that he's buried to the hilt inside you. Your thighs are trembling, and your back's arched off the wall because of the fullness of him inside you.
Rafe grunts as he slowly starts to thrust, his hips jerking forward to spear his rigid length deeper into your pliant body. Your slick walls flutter around him, trying desperately to accommodate the thick girth stretching you out. The way you feel is incredible, your pussy gripping him like you never want to let him go.
"That's it," he grunts, his voice rough and gravelly with arousal. "Angel, shit... your pussy was made for my cock." He starts thrusting faster, driving into you with more force as he enjoys the way your tits bounce with each snap of his hips. You're barely holding yourself up, legs quivering as he spears into you and angles you so he can hit every sweet spot in your warm, gummy pussy.
The thick length of his cock, pulsing and throbbing, spears into your soaked, gripping walls over and over again. He slams into you and grinds his pelvis against yours, his heavy cock burying to the hilt with each thrust inside your flutter walls. "Feels so good, Rafe," You whines softly, panting into his ear. Your praise fuels him and encourages him to fuck you harder, better. He rolls his hips against yours, stirring his huge length around in your stuffed hole.
Rafe fucks into you deep and you can feel him in your stomach, stretching you out, claiming every inch of your body. He's fucking you like he wants to fucking destroy your pussy and rebuild it to be a perfect mold of his cock. "Mhm? Feels good?" He pants, fucking into your cunt and grabbing your jaw with his free hand so he can see your cute, fucked out expression.
"You feel so good. So fucking good...only for me, right?" He demands, wanting your reassurance, and you nod, throwing your head back and moaning when he bumps against a really sensitive spot way too deep inside you.
He grits his teeth, sweat dripping from his forehead, his whole body working just to keep himself from cumming too fast because you're squeezing the life out of him. "You're fuckin' mine," he rasps against your cheek, thrusts getting sharper, rougher, more desperate.
His cock drives deep, grinding right against that sensitive spot again and again until you’re crying out for him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Say it," he breathes, grinding his hips up into you so deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. "Tell me you're mine, angel."
"M'yours," you mewl helplessly, clinging onto him, and Rafe groans louder. He keeps pounding into you with a rough, messy pace, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. Your pussy clamps down harder around him, spasming, and Rafe lets out a wrecked moan, feeling you start to fall apart around him.
"Shit, gonna cum, angel. Gonna cum inside you so everyone knows who you belong to," he says, thrusts getting sloppier as his balls hit your ass slow and lazy, and he moans, eyes fluttering shut as he spills inside you, heavy, thick cream filling you completely. He doesn't stop until every last drop is buried inside you, and even then, he's still thrusting all rough all slow so you feel every ridge and vein on his heavy cock as he pumps you full. He won't stop till you cum too, and he rolls two fingers over your hardened clit, licking up your throat until he gets to your lips, and slides his tongue over yours.
One last bump of his fat cockhead on your womb has the coil in your tummy snapping, and with a loud moan, you cum all over his cock, splurting pearlescent juices on his cum covered cock. He groans, feeling his cock twitch inside you as you squeeze him impossibly tighter while you cum.
His eyes are glassy as he looks at you, lips parted, and he's still buried deep inside your pussy and holding your jaw, but his voice is gone. During the silence, you notice a flicker in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate as his eyes bore into yours. His mouth keeps opening and closing, making it clear he wants to tell you something.
He wants to say he loves you.
But he doesn't.
He pulls out, making sure your panties and shorts are on as he pulls out, letting his cum slip out of your pussy and rest in your clothes. He grins at the mess between your thighs, wiping off any residue to ensure that it isn't too obvious that you've got his load in you. He kisses your forehead and grins through low eyes, nuzzling your forehead. "Keep it in so you've got a part of me in you all through the rest of this fucking party."
cw: major perv! rafe, flirting, implied age gap (rafe is 4-5 years older), coercion, naive! reader, massages, raw sex, floor sex, missionary, breeding, MDNI
synopsis: naive athlete! reader feels stiff and tense and needs a massage before a big game. how will her friend's brother, Rafe, help her out?
Rafe would be listening outside the door of Sarah's room while you whine to her about your body. He wasn't trying to eavesdrop, per se, you were just really loud and didn't seem to care about who overheard your conversation. Plus, when you were talking, you sounded all soft and whiny, and he really liked that. How you sounded so fucking sexy when you were frustrated.
His body slows instinctually and he leans near Sarah's door, listening into your complaints. "I'm gonna die, Sarah," You were saying. He could picture what you looked like right now. Probably splayed on Sarah's bed in those tiny, low waisted shorts and little baby tees you always wore to be "comfortable".
"My back hurts like a bitch. I've been stretching constantly, I swear, but my body's just getting tighter and more stiff, and my performance in games has been sooo bad. i'm ruined, i swear."
Rafe hears Sarah mumble something back, but he mostly tunes her out, hyper focused on you. His mind's locked on the way your voice rises in pitch and gets a little breathier with each passing moment, and every time you shift on the bed, you'd let out a little moan of pain.
Was it normal to get hard just from breathing and whines? Maybe Rafe just had a problem. "I just feel so stiff," You whine some more, dragging out each syllable so your voice comes out all slow and sensual. "I can't even bend over without something locking up. What if I go out into my game and look like an idiot? That'd be the end of me."
Rafe scoffs, pressing his ear more firmly against the door now, wanting to be sure he doesn't miss any of your little sounds. Fuck, you sounded hot when you were being overdramatic. He liked how petulant you always were, because it'd keep him on your toes. It all just made him want to spank you for being such a brat, and then fuck the attitude right out of you.
Rafe struggles to hear you over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears, his focus solely on the delectable sounds of distress spilling from your lips. You shift again, and he has to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the groan that surges up from his chest at the little moan of pain you let out, no doubt from some muscle twinge or another.
Surely Rafe's big hands could get those kinks easily. He knew how to use his hands. He had experience.
Imagining you going still under him, mewling softly when his hands spread your thighs to massage your glutes and the insides of your thighs, of him convincing you that the only way you'd feel better is if he slides two thick fingers into your pussy... he throbs, stepping back. He can't handle much more of your whines and his daydreaming without nearly soiling his pants. He'd be back later, after he took care of the raging boner you gave him...
Later, you're almost to your bike at the end of the Cameron's driveway when you hear footsteps behind you, getting closer. "Yo," Rafe calls out, his voice smooth. "Where you going?"
You don't stop walking, but you slow your pace just a little. You know he won't back off until you give him some kind of answer, so you glance back at him. "Nowhere, Rafe." you muse back. He's so used to you acting this way around him, to keeping things casual, pretending you're not affected by him when you absolutely are.
"Come on," Rafe presses, his steps quickening as he matches your pace. He's close now and you can feel the heat radiating off him. "Just tell me. You've got me all curious now, princess." He's grinning, gaze flickering down to your lips momentarily, then back to your eyes.
You just give him a little shrug, like you're not interested in playing his game anymore. "I'm just heading home," you murmur. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he makes you nervous, and so you back away a little. "Hmph. Not that it's any of your business."
Rafe doesn't even falter, though. He steps in front of you before you can take another step. There's no hesitation in his body language because he's really got the confidence to match his cocky grin, and he's never been shy about using it on you. "Not my business?"
You try to move around him, but he steps in your path again, blocking you effortlessly. His body is like a wall, and for a second you don't know whether to be annoyed or turned on. He's always like this, making you feel like you can't get away from him.
You stare up at him, his blue eyes piercing into yours. He does this thing where he refuses to break eye contact until you look away, and when you do, he bends his head forward to chase wherever your gaze is pointed to put his face in your line of sight. He leans forward just a little, his voice dropping low. "Look," he says, drawing out the word like he's talking to a kid. "You're heading home, hm? What, you think you're just gonna leave me hanging, not even tell me where you're going? I don't think so."
You exhale sharply, feeling heat in your cheeks now, but you don't back down. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, trying to hold onto your composure. "I don't owe you anything," you say, but even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. You're trying to play it cool, but the closer he gets, the harder it is to pretend.
Rafe notices, of course. He's always been good at reading you, and now he leans in a little more, his lips just inches from your ear. You can feel the heat from his body, his breath brushing against your skin, and it makes you shiver despite yourself.
"I heard you talking to Sarah earlier." He steps in closer, just close enough for you to feel his chest almost touching yours. "You're so tight from training, aren't you? I can help with that."
You're silent for a beat, unsure how to respond, and when he sees that, he leans in a little more, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is gentle, but it makes you suck in a breath, and you hate that it's so hard to keep it together around him.
"Come on," he coaxes, his voice practically cooing now. "Let me take care of you. I've got really good hands."
You take a step back, hoping to break the tension, but he follows you, matching each step. You're trying to stay firm, but there's something in the way he's looking at you, the way his hands are hovering around you like he's barely holding back.
"Of course you were spying on me. Creep." you scoff.
"I'm not a creep," he says a little too defensively, leaning down so his face is right in front of yours. "I'm just keeping an eye on you. Better than some random guy feeling you up, during a massage. You know me. I'll be better for you."
You hold his eye contact for a moment, before giving him a little push back, scoffing a bit in a way that confirms that he succeeded in persuading you. "Ugh, fine. My house will be empty tonight. Everyone's out. I'll be alone."
"Good." he says, voice smooth. "I'll come by at 10, then. And you can stop pretending you don't want me... to help you out."
You turn to leave, but before you can, he calls after you, his voice teasing. "Don't wear much, sweetheart. Need to make sure nothing's restricting the flow of circulation."
You roll your eyes, hurrying off with your heart pounding.
-
You're on your tummy in your basement, laying on a cushy gym mat a couple inches off the ground with Rafe hovering over you. You actually listened to him when he said not to wear much. Actually, you seemed to have gone all out. There's not a single piece of fabric on you other than the little pair of panties covering your butt. The rest of your body, glistening and smooth and soft, is bare for his eyes to take in.
Rafe's floored, to say the least. His brain is malfunctioning, eyes going from your smooth back, to your waist... hips... your plush ass, and then finally, your core, which is barely covered in the thin cloth of your panties. Fuck... jerking off twice in one day wasn't enough to prepare him for this.
He huffs out a breath, starting with digging his palms into your shoulder blades, rolling them repetitively like he's got any idea what he's doing. You moan softly, eyes fluttering shut, making him bite down his lower lip in response. His thumbs dig into your back a little too hard, and he hears the little whimpering sound you make. Rafe tenses, having to do a little pause to shake himself out of it and dial it back so he doesn't get overexcited and ram his cock into you.
You're soft everywhere, he starts to realize. And warm. You hum softly every time he loosens up one of your sweet spots, and the noises you make make him so much more eager to know what you sound like when he's touching you where you're extra sensitive, and so his hands keep slipping. Grazing just too close to your nipples when he reaches around to massage your chest.
You gasp, your back arching just the tiniest bit as you blink your eyes open. "Ah! w-wait… is it supposed to feel like that there? All tingly?" Rafe freezes as you turn to look over your shoulder at him, clutching the mat with both hands. "Feels tingly, hm?" He murmurs, voice teasing. "Right here?" He intentionally cups handfuls of your breasts, flicking both your nipples. You jolt and cry out, squirming underneath him.
"Mmhm! R-rafe!" You moan out his name, jolting forward like you'd just been electrocuted. There's something very odd about the way his touch makes you feel, like heat spreads around your body and you can't seem to sit still. You rub your thighs together to try and soothe some of the heat coursing through you.
Rafe exhales hard like he's been holding it in for a while, hands cupping your breasts but not squeezing them again. He's being very careful so that you don't realize what he's doing is pretty far from a massage and that he's just feeling you up. He speaks again, telling you something he hopes you'll believe.
"Mhm... that's normal. Means I'm doing everything real good."
What he doesn't say is that he's about ten seconds away from flipping you over and finding out exactly what other spots make you feel tingly. That little pair of panties barely counts as clothing. They're riding up in the back, too, showing off the curve of your ass like you wanted him to stare, and you wiggle slightly underneath him, shifting your hips, and he nearly groans out loud.
"Why're you moving so much?" he mutters, voice low. "Stay still."
You pout, all innocent, "I'm just trying to relax."
His palms slide down again, pressing into the small of your back and gliding down to your hips. "Mm. Sure you are." His thumbs find the tops of your ass cheeks and press in gently. "You always relax in just your panties? Or is this just for me?" Your thighs squeeze together again, though you don't see how Rafe's eyes snap to the movement, and his dick twitches against your ass. He's so keyed in on you right now that he's buzzing. "You're the one who told me not to wear too much," You huff, moaning softly.
He sits back on his heels for a second, just to look. Your body is tiny in his huge hands, your back arching real pretty. The way your panties are hugging your plump pussy lips makes his jaw clench so tight it hurts. He swipes a hand down his mouth like that'll help him focus, his eyes rolling back a little. He can't take this. Feels like his dick will explode any second now. Maybe he could just convince you his load is some body cream if he does accidentally finish on your ass. "Feel's so good, more!"
He swallows thickly and leans forward again, hands slipping over your thighs now, trailing down until he's brushing just above your knees, then dragging them up, up, up again, grazing the sides of your ass with his thumbs this time.
"You know…" he says, voice low and teasing as he bends even closer, mouth practically at your ear now. "Most people wear more than this. Not just these tiny little things." He swipes his fingers across the waistband of your panties, letting it catch and snap lightly against your butt. You gasp, and he grins, pleased with himself.
"You're not most people, though, are you?" he says. "You're my special little tease." His hand fully cups the swell of your ass, fingers digging in a little harder than necessary like he's trying to convince himself you're real.
He doesn't move right away, his fingertips denting into the soft flesh like he's sculpting you. His thumb slides in toward the center, right where the curve dips down, and he grazes over the stretched fabric clinging to your core.
Then he shifts, lowers himself even more. Now he's straddling your calves, his weight heavy on you. The position forces him closer, lets him reach more of you without having to stretch.
"Mm, need to loosen you up right here," he murmurs, digging his thumbs into the tops of your thighs now, massaging slow circles just beneath the curve of your butt. "So tense, baby. That's not good for you."
His fingers knead into the backs of your thighs, spreading them just enough for your panties to pull tighter against your pussy. He watches it happen like a man possessed, staring openly at the way the fabric pushes up against your hole, admiring the little damp spot that's formed.
His hands slide further down your legs now, curling around your thighs and calves, squeezing, trailing back up, brushing the sensitive skin behind your knees and up along the insides of your thighs this time.
"Bet you're warm here," he says, his voice practically a whisper now as he presses a thumb against the inside of your thigh, just shy of your core. "And you're soaked down here, too."
You're a flushed, panting mess at this point, your eyes hazy and hands clenched up. "D-dunno what that means..." He groans at your innocence, slowly pulling your panties down your legs. "That's okay. Just close your eyes and let me check, kay?" You nod lazily, eyes fluttering shut on his command. He pulls your panties all the way off and tucks them into his back pocket, planning to play dumb if you asked where they were later.
You're a little embarrassed at being so exposed to him now, but he's in awe. Your pussy is completely visible to him, folds slick and plush under your plump pussy lips. He's throbbing like crazy. "Hm." he tuts, trying to come up with a lie on the spot so he can take things further. "You need some help here too. This is the only way you can get your whole body to relax."
He traces two fingers up and down your slit, listening to the soft gasps that leave you as he slowly coaxes them inside you. His fingers back and forth slowly, trying to get you to relax and loosen up enough for him to shove them deeper.
Rafe's hands grip your hips suddenly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he tugs you backwards. Your ass is now raised and presented to him, his fingers never leaving the depths of your core. You swallow hard as you feel his thick, oil slicked fingers thrust in and out of you, making squelching sounds. "Mnh! It's so much, it feels so weird there…"
Rafe huffs, eyes glazed. "Shit… Knew you'd sound pretty when I touched you. Just take it for me"
He keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you at a slow pace, curling them just enough for his fingers to stroke that spongey spot deep inside you that your own smaller fingers were never ever able to reach. You cry out, your back arching off the mat as jolts of pleasure shoot through you. "Shh... there we go. Doing so good. Just need to loosen you up."
You're whining now, his fingers diving in and out of you at a steady, repetitive pace that turns your brain to mush. "Rafe… feels s-good..."
He starts to pick up the pace, scissoring his fingers inside of your clenching pussy, turning his hand so that the angles of his fingers vary. You're bucking your hips back into him, unable to hold back especially as his fingers swirl deeper inside your gooey, untouched walls. Rafe groans, feeling your silky walls ripple and squeeze his invading fingers. "Oh, you like that?" he says, grinning now, drunk on the way your body reacts to him. "Knew you'd be sensitive. Knew you'd be a little fuckin' mess for me."
You squirm and let out a little cry, gushing around him and clenching hard as your vision sparkles. He keeps fingering you as you cum, coaxing you to keep going and push you further off the edge. Your body's still trembling when you finally come down, hips twitching under his hands, your cheek pressed against the mat, lips parted as you gasp for breath. There's a high, dazed flush across your cheeks, hair stuck to your forehead, and your thighs won't stop shaking no matter how hard you try to clench them together.
"Goddamn," he mutters, staring at the mess you made on his fingers. "You came so fuckin' hard…" One arm slides under your waist to lift you with ease, turning you onto your back like you weigh nothing. He's already crawling between your legs, big hands spreading your thighs wide and settling in close. "Still twitching," he murmurs, dragging a single fingertip over your clit, making you gasp. "God, you're so sensitive. You want more?"
You nod, pawing at his shoulders hazily. You're too far gone to realize that this stopped being a massage a while ago. His hands are everywhere again, palming your thighs, sliding up your hips, gripping your waist to yank you down the mat toward him. You let out a soft gasp, hands scrambling to hold onto his arms, but he nudges you of so he can focus on tugging his shorts down. He drops them and his boxers, cock springing free, which is thick and flushed with heavy balls. " 's my massage rod, baby. See? the last part of the massage."
"Mh, y-yes..."
He chuckles at your whines, and lines himself up with your slick, oversensitive pussy, letting the head of his cock drag through your slick folds before just barely nudging your clit.
He leans over you, one hand next to your head, the other wrapped around himself as he teases your hole, circling it, tapping lightly, sliding just the head in before pulling back. "Easy, easy… just gotta prep you first, alright? Don't wanna hurt you," He fusses, watching your face scrunch in anticipation and listening avidly to each tiny noise you make.
One deep, slow thrust that splits you open and punches the air out of your lungs. He sinks into you like he belongs there, like he's been waiting his whole life to be buried inside you. When he bottoms out his hips press flush against yours and he feels your walls fluttering around him, he lets out a sound that's half groan, half growl.
He keeps one hand on your throat, thumb pressed lightly just beneath your jaw, not choking, just holding you there and feeling your pulse race under his fingers while his other hand cups the back of your thigh and shoves it up, folding you in, letting him go deeper, hit deeper.
"Oh fuckkk…" he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. "You feel like heaven, baby."
He starts rutting into you with long, deep strokes at first, slow enough to feel every inch, to let your body adjust and to let you feel how big he is. His hips roll, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every push and he keeps his eyes locked on yours the whole time.
You're whining and babbling, vision spotty from the slight lack of air caused by his hand around your throat, but each time you try to shut your eyes and shut your legs due to the overstimulation from your recent orgasm, he catches your jaw and tilts your face back toward him.
"N-nuh uh," he pants, sweat beading on his forehead. His pupils are dilated and his lips are parted to let out heavy groans. "No looking away, ngh, wanna see that lil look on your face when you fall apart on my cock."
You can't stop the whines that spill from your lips as he shoves his cock deep inside you, strokes hard and rough enough to make your tits bounce with each thrust. "Ah, fuck... you're squeezing me so tight," Rafe groans as he thrusts into you, panting at the way your walls clamp down on his long, thick cock.
You keen, pussy creaming around him even more as you dig your nails into his hard biceps to keep yourself upright, struggling to keep your gaze focused on his. You're so wet that there's juices squelching onto the yoga mat each time he pushes into you, making a mess. The oil covering your body isn't helping either.
He's so deep inside of you, and his balls slapping against your swollen clit is starting to make your head swirl even more. Rafe's large hands grip your hips and guide them back against him with each thrust so you're fucking yourself on his dick. "Shittt, baby. Thought you were s-so fucking innocent, but look at you. Fuckin' yourself on my cock like mnh, fucking slut."
"Rafe!" You cry out his name when he gets real deep inside you. "Sl-slower, please, mnh… you're… it's so deep," You're whining softly, body jerking on his cock as he huffs out a breath and refuses with a gruff "Don't wanna," and pounds into you a little harder just to spite you. He's not going to slow down when he's finally got you where he wants you.
The mat shifts around underneath the two of you as Rafe splits your poor little hole in half on his cock. He lets go of your neck to slide two fingers into your mouth, watching your eyes roll and your tongue swirl around his thick digits. "Atta girl, sweetheart, use that tongue. fuckk..." He throbs inside you, watching the way your pussy sucks him back in every time he tries to pull back. You squeeze him like you were made for him. Makes him wanna put a baby in you.
You gasp when he drives forward hard, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes tears of pleasure spring to your eyes, and you suck on his fingers hard so you don't scream.
He keeps fucking his cock against that gummy, soft spot in you, angling his body so he can hit your g-spot over and over, and within seconds, you're creaming around his cock, a loud whine leaving your lips as your clear juices coat his thighs and cock.
He nearly cums on the spot at the way you make a mess on him like some silly mutt with no self control and how hard you clench down when you're cumming, but he has a little more self control and stamina than you. "Shit, feels s'good, princess, good girl, keep squeezin' me jus' like that,"
He grabs your hips hard with one hand and takes his fingers out of your mouth to grope at your tits, flicking your pebbled nipple and pinching it between the rough pads of his fingers.
"Anh, Rafe!" You scream, " 'S too much, oh my god Rafe," You wail and babble, overstimulated, but he just grunts and squeezes you tighter. He pulls on your nipple and pinches it lightly. He hilts himself inside you repeatedly with each thrust, not stopping until his heavy balls slap lewdly against your puffy clit.
Your pussy's swollen with overstimulation, and it's tightening up and is really sloppy around his cock. Rafe's heavy cock plunges into your sopping pussy with each thrust, creating squelching sounds as your juices stir up against his in a mess. "Fuck, this pussy's gonna be the death of me, sweetness, grippin' me like a goddamn vice and soakin' my cock," He groans, throwing his head back. Your fucking pussy makes him crazy.
He stretches your poor puffy pussy to its limits, driving desperate moans from you that grow louder the dumber he makes you. Thick strands of your cum cling to his cock as your walls ripple around him as he fucks into your overstuffed cunt, your puffy lips kissing his slicked cock. "Look at you. You wanted this so bad, didn't you? Hah. Fuckin' adorable."
You whine as he pounds you, his cock filling your pussy and hitting the gummy barrier of your womb with every other thrust. You can see the way your tummy plumps up around the outline of his big cock, stretching into your womb.
Your head lolls and he pushes down on your tummy. You cry out and cum again, and he groans and splurts inside of you, dumping heavy loads of cream inside your used pussy. "Fuckkk, that's right princess, milk my fuckin' cock... God, best pussy I had in a long ass time." He leans down to press open mouthed kisses against your cheek, fucking his cum back into you after stuffing you full and breeding you.
hii 💕I know wildest dreams is a multi but would u be willing to do a pt. 2? like mayb a continuation in the car and then a lil fluff :3 it was soo good <3
wildest dreams ii | multi
cw. cheating (on your part), car sex, fingering, pussy play, degradation, fingering, squirting, crying, OVERSTIMULATION, messy sex, breeding, raw sex
synopsis. the biggest loser at your college takes you, the sweet, taken cheerleader to the backseat of his car while your boyfriend's on the football field.
he groans lowly and grabs for your waist, tugging you into him and kissing you messily. he doesn't let you catch your breath for a second, merely scooping you up with his hands under your thighs while he carries you, lips on yours, to his car out in the lot behind the football field.
your hands tangle up in his hair while your tongue rolls over his. for someone as strange and unsettling as him, he tastes oddly pleasant, like mint and smoke, and his lips, though chapped, mold on yours so perfectly that it feels like he's made for you. he squeezes your thighs and nips your lower lip, murmuring into your mouth, "you're not walking into that stadium again unless it's with my cum dripping out of you."
you moan into his thought, warm and fuzzy at the idea of him breeding you in the back of his car and making you walk back to the pitch when he's done with his cum stuffed in you and dripping out every step you take.
your arms lace tighter around his shoulders as you go back to kissing him, tilting your head to get the perfect angle of your tongue against his, and your mewls get louder when you do. "mmh, mmh..." you hum softly
his mouth moves against yours urgently, almost as if he's starving. his tongue slides against yours as he walks with you in his arms, slotting into your mouth in messy, wet strokes that make heatwaves travel through your body and pool at your core.
"fuck... tastes like candy..." you can feel how hard he's breathing and he squeezes you tightly like you might run away and never talk to him again after this.
you pull back just enough to breathe and he chases after you, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck, his mouth warm and frantic. "don't stop," he mumbles against your skin, breath hot, voice wrecked. "give it back t'me. come on, pretty… kiss me again."
you oblige and shove your mouth back into his just as he reaches his sleek car, and he fists his pocket to find his keys, unlocking it without pulling away from you, and lays you down in the backseat under him with no effort. it smells like cedar and his natural, everyday scent. he doesn't let up off you for a second, already spreading your thighs apart so he can slot his body between your legs.
you're so small underneath him, pliant and needy and reaching up to tug at his clothes and his hair to ground yourself while he strips you fully, not wanting an inch of you covered. he could afford to do so, as his tinted windows and huge body hid you from any passerby that may wander near his car, though he doubts anyone would be anywhere but the game right now. anyone normal, of course. not little brats like you who wanna get pounded in the backseat of some social reject's car.
he's quick to strip you of every article of clothing on you except for your cute knee high socks and the lacy stretch of your panties, which are now so soaked that they've become sticky and translucent and stick to the plump lips of your pussy. "look at the nasty lil' mess you made." he tuts, voice mocking as his thumb runs over the outline of your cunt through your panties, which makes you jolt and instinctively reach to claw at his hand.
"w-wait! 'm sensitive," you whine, extremely tender from cumming so much already, but he doesn't seem to care at all. he pushes you back into place, grabbing your wrists firmly and pinning them above you with one of his huge hands. "no shying away after you begged me to fuck you like a little whore. you're gettin' what you asked for." he says sternly, still rubbing you through your panties.
you squirm beneath him, bucking up into his hand before wiggling away due to overstimulation. you don't know if you want more or less. your panties grind against his fingers, and he pushes his fingers up against your panties so your juices squelch and make a huge mess in your underwear.
he drags his thumb up slowly and presses just right against the swollen, soaked outline of your clit through the thin fabric, and you moan, high and whiny. he finally, finally pushes your panties aside, exposing your glistening cunt to the cool air of the car, and his eyes go hazy at the sight of the mess between your thighs. "fuck, you're so pretty down here," he mutters, fingers dipping into your folds, spreading you open with ease. he tosses your panties somewhere in the heap of your clothes at the floor of his car.
his fingers slip through your soaked, swollen folds easily, and he relishes in the little gasp you make as he notches his fingers knuckles deep inside you, twisting and curling his fingers immediately to stretch you out. his eyes are locked on the slick that strings from your pussy to the base of his fingers, and he groans in delight. you're this soaked for him. only him. he swirls his thumb around the tight ring of your asshole in the meantime, not pushing in yet, but to spread your slick around to your other hole too. "mmh, please, 'm sore," you whine, knowing how much you want it anyway.
"shh... you don't want me to stop. look at your pussy, she's gushing. didn't even need to prep you," he mocks, pumping his fingers into you fast and rough, your toes are curling against the leather backseat and your head lolls back, mouth falling open as loud moans leave you. you can't even respond anymore to tell him not to tease you, because your soaked cunt pulses every time he says something mean.
he pushes his fingers down inside you, the pads of his fingers resting still on that sweet spot deep inside you, while he fumbles with his belt and begins to tug down his pants and boxers. but too much pressure on such a sensitive spot inside you, which already experienced so much stimulation is far too much for you. you thrash underneath him, feeling a very odd coiling feeling in your tummy, and also the need to pee...
"w-wait, ngh! take your fingers out, p-please, i think... i think 'm gonna..!"
he ignores you, slipping in a third finger and using all three to push down hard on that spot, and before you can stop yourself, you're gushing around his fingers intensely with a scream so loud he has to let go of your wrists to cover your mouth.
he freezes once you squirt around his fingers which remain buried deeply inside your fluttering walls, and as you gush all over his hand in several hard, uncontrollable pulses, his eyes go wide, pupils blown out, and he leans back slightly to watch. "...oh, fuck."
his voice is quiet at first, like he genuinely can't believe what he just saw.
he looks down at you, eyes flicking from your soaked pussy and thighs to your brightly flushed face, then back to the fucking ruined state of your pussy. "you just..." he breathes, curling his fingers inside you experimentally, which makes you jerk under him and gush a little more around him. he's fascinated. a girl like you can't be real, can you? "...squirted on my fingers."
he doesn't even try to hide how turned on he is. despite cumming earlier from frotting with you back outside behind the bleachers, he's rock hard again, cock bulging at the front of his cum soaked pants. he lifts his soaked hand up and parts his fingers to look at the gooey strings between him, and then pushes two fingers into his mouth, licking at your juices. you squeak, embarrassed beyond belief and red in the face, but still too far gone to tell him how dirty he's making you feel right now.
moaning at your taste, he pulls his boxers down to rest at his knees with his jeans, and his fat cock springs up, swollen and flushed a bright red at the huge, flared tip, with several strings of pearlescent liquid clinging to the fabric of his discarded boxers and more leaking down the shaft. you're both soaked. he lets go of you just long enough to line himself up at your soaked entrance, nudging the tip through your folds and collecting your slick. his other hand comes up to grab your throat, so he's holding you still, grounding you in place.
he makes sure to stare into your eyes intently as he slowly sheathes himself inside you. he sinks in slow at first, just the thick, heavy head of his cock pressing into your fluttering hole, and you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck, eyes rolling back, feet digging into the seat.
you whimper, nails scrabbling at his shoulders the second he frees your hands to hold onto your throat and hips. he leans down to kiss you again while you adjust to his size, fat tip swelling at your womb while he rests inside you and swirls his tongue around yours. he starts to move, slow at first, hips rolling, grinding, both of you panting into each other's mouths, your thighs shaking with every bounce. he pulls back just a little to murmur against your lips, "oh fuck, fuck, fuck, you're tight. shit, this pussy's fuckin' choking me."
you cry out under him, overwhelmed by the stretch and the sensation of his thick cock splitting you open inch by inch. it burns, but it's good. your body clenches around him helplessly. "too much... mmmh.... s'too big," you babble, but your hips don't stop moving under him, fucking yourself onto his cock even as tears prick the corners of your eyes.
"yeah?" he groans, fucking you so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. "but you said please, baby. remember? begged me to fuck you. so take it." he bottoms in and out in rough thrusts that make your whole body jolt, ensuring each thrust has him fully inside you. you're so soaked that he slides in perfectly every time, your walls clinging to him deliciously while his cock also slips inside you with filthy, loud schlick's. he's sliding in like nothing, your walls clenching and sucking him in tighter with every thrust while your slick soaks his shaft.
the car rocks as he thrusts into you, his cock splitting you open with each thrust deep inside you. your pussy stretches slightly to accommodate to is girth, and he feels his mind numbing at the way your pussy slurps him in with each thrust. he groans loud, head tipping back and his hand squeezing firmer around your throat to make your eyes flutter. not for long, though. he likes to look into your pretty eyes while he ruins you.
"open 'em," he demands, squeezing a little on the sides of your throat to jolt you back to the present. he slams into you with a particularly rough thrust, your tits bouncing and head lolling stupidly at the feeling of being fucked dumb on the school loser's huge fucking dick. "there you go. such a good girl f'me, aren't you?"
"uh... uh... uhhuhhh...." you breathe out stupidly, drool slipping past your parted lips. you're GONE. fully gone. your fingers dig into his broad shoulders and then trail down his body, exploring his broad frame and muscles. before you look back into his eyes. he chuckles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your swollen lips, the gentleness contrasting the way he's pounding into you and holding your throat. "look at you." he hums. "forgot you're a disloyal little whore, didn't you?"
he snaps his hips up into yours, a small bulge forming in your tummy where he lodges his cock so deep inside you. "or maybe," he sneers, "you just don't care about anything but having your cunt stuffed to the brim."
you cry out, dragging him down so you can bury your face in his neck, and he kisses your jaw, fucking you while laying on top of you. "cum for me again," he demands, lips brushing your temple while his hips roll into yours. your legs tremble and curl around his waist, each thrust making your pussy flutter around him. you try to clamp down on him, but his girth makes it so difficult.
he's splitting you open with every drag of his cock against your raw, plushy walls. sobbing into his skin, he mumbles filth into your ear while his hands travel down to your waist and he drags your body up effortlessly so his cock is tilted up inside you, the perfect angle for him to hit that same spongy spot inside you over and over, making your mouth drop open in a silent scream. you clamp around him hard, fingernails digging into the firm muscle of his back. the pressure inside you winds tight, tight, tighter...
" 'm cumming!"
you explode around him, pussy convulsing around his cock. your whole body seizes, a strangled moan ripping out of you while you cream around him uncontrollably.
"fuck, fuck, look at you," he moans, watching your pussy pulse around him, fluttering on his cock like you were made for it. "holy shit, baby."
he pulls out just enough to see your slick gush after him before slamming back in, making you sob. he shoves your thighs up higher, practically folding you in half now, forcing you open wide so he can fuck even deeper. the wet, obscene sound of your cunt sucking him in grows louder with every thrust, echoing in the small space of the car, and he grits out, "you feel that? feel how deep i am? gonna fill you up, fuck, 'm gonna breed you."
your head spins and you nod frantically, moaning out broken, babbled yes's, even as tears slip from the corners of your eyes.
"fuck, fuck, fuck."
he buries himself to the hilt and cums hotly inside with a deep groan, heavy, fat balls twitching as he empties them deep inside you, so much at once that you can feel your womb filling up to the hilt. he keeps you locked against him so all of it floods inside you. "ngh... 's such a fuckin' perfect pussy," he groans aloud, mouth falling open as he keeps filling you and filling you and filling you until your belly distends just slightly from the volume of his cum.
you're gasping, clinging to him, body limp beneath him while you both ride it out together. he pants into your mouth, breathing hard, kissing you through the aftershocks. his voice is low, barely audible, wrecked. "mine. fuckin' mine. look what you do to me."
he stays inside you, twitching every now and then as your fluttering walls milk him, your slick and his cum seeping out around the base of his cock.
_
you make your way back to the football field with wobbly legs and your cheeks flushed. you tried your best to fix yourself up before going back, raking your fingers through your hair, redoing your mascara and touching up your lip gloss, praying it hides how swollen and red he made your lips.
you put your hair down so any marks on your skin aren't visible, not that your dumbass boyfriend looks at you close enough to be able to tell. the loner's cum is still hot and thick inside you, leaking a little down your inner thighs with every step, wetting the inside of your cheer skirt while the rest pools into fat globs in your panties.
the crowd is screaming loudly and your cheer girls are bouncing and huddled up with the football team. the whole field is lit up in bright stadium lights, and no one is looking around for you right now. you use it as an opportunity to slide in through the back fence and under the bleachers to act like you'd been here the whole time, and you go to where the other cheerleaders are. unfortunately, you weren't as subtle as you thought.
ava, one of the girls in your year that you usually hang out with at lunch squeals and grabs your arm. causing the other girls to quickly turn their attention to you too. "where were you?" she screeches. "coach was looking for you!"
you blink coyly, rubbing the back of your neck to give the impression of being embarrassed. "i just really had to pee," you lie "mid routine, but then i couldn't find the right bathroom, an' i got mixed up and all of them had super long lines, and i'm so sorry, i was literally crying the whole time-" you sniffle.
the girls coo over you. you're just too sweet and cute to be mad at. so sweet, that no one would ever think you just got fucked in the back of the school loser's car.
then, your boyfriend barrels into you, carrying the unpleasant scent of sweat from the exertion he produced while on the field. he yells your name and picks you up with both arms around your waist, causing a fresh scoop of cum to trickle out of you. you squeak, hoping it's not noticeable, and he spins you in a circle. "there you are!" he shouts, loud and giddy, "my girl! babe, we fucking crushed it!"
he kisses you hard, and you giggle awkwardly, letting him brag about his win like he didn't just get cheated on for the past hour and a half. "i was watching," you lie with a perfect little tilt of your head. "I saw everything! you did so good!."
and that's when he walks up. he stands out of the crowd on his own, mouth red, eyes low, and hair a little mussed. there are faint lipgloss marks on his neck and jaw that he didn't wipe off.
he's walked in like nothing's happened, stopping at the edge of the crowd with his gaze locked on you very blatantly. you stare back while in your boyfriend's arms, and he follows your gaze and scowls quickly, arms tightening around you. "the fuck is that guy looking at?" he snaps, his voice obnoxiously loud. "why is he staring at you like that?"
you blink innocently, letting your eyes go all wide and confused. "who?"
"him," your boyfriend hisses, nodding over your shoulder. "that fucking creep. what the hell is his problem?"
you shrug, still looking at him, not your boyfriend. "um... i dunno... maybe he's high?"
your boyfriend scoffs, and tugs you in closer like he's marking territory. "yeah, well, he can fuck off. that fucking freak's probably just scoping out girls he can perv out on. probably watches porn in his room all day."
he doesn't look away from you, even as your boyfriend runs his mouth. you wonder if he can still smell your perfume on his hoodie. you hug your boyfriend back and lean into him, coaxing him to just leave it. he obliges and carries you back to the crowd to celebrate, and you look over your shoulder one last time to see him finally turn and walk away.
cw: multi x reader, college au, cheating, mild degradation, praise, dumbification, fingering, sloppy kissing, frotting, cumming in pants MDNI
synopsis: your current boyfriend is exactly who everyone expects you to be with. but he doesn't give you butterflies or tick all your boxes. someone else does. and surely, you're not cheating if its with the biggest social reject known to man right? right!
over you, the bleachers shake and rattle under the weight of the crowd jumping and cheering on it, and the overwhelming noise of the marching band creates a second heartbeat in your chest, but all of that dims when his mouth slots onto yours.
you're breathless quicker than you anticipated, lips swollen from being kissed for the last several minutes as your hands cling onto the smooth fabric of his jacket. you're still in your cute little cheer uniform, a tight, sequined crop top paired with a pleated skirt that ruffles up with every gust of wind. your hair, once perfectly styled, is now messy from him ruffling it up and tugging on it while he's kissing you, your lipgloss also smudged over both your mouths.
his hands slide up under your uniform top, long fingers squeezing your soft skin, first your hips, then waist, then your tits roughly like he's been dying to get his hands on you. he groans under his breath when he feels how soft you are there, dragging his thumbs over your nipples. "you don't even like him," he breathes against your mouth, voice quiet but arrogant. "y'gonna tell me he makes you feel like this, hm? wanna lie to yourself some more?"
you mewl quietly as his big hands grope your breasts under the lacy white bra you wore on purpose, not for your boyfriend, but for him. the creepy quiet guy with pale skin and dark circles and fingers long enough to get all the sweet spots deep inside you that your small fingers could never reach.
"i-he-" you start, voice all breathy. you try to come up with a good excuse for whatever it is you're doing with him behind your boyfriend's back, but he just scoffs. "exactly." he mumbles, lips trailing down your neck to the flesh of your throat, where he bites marks into the soft skin, sucking on the spot and running his tongue over it to soothe it. "y'don't even know what to say when i touch you like this, do you? dumb girl."
his teeth graze your jaw, and you easily tilt your head back to give him more access. you're so pliant for him, and he feels like he could tell you to do anything and you'd comply like a good girl. he backs you up against a fence, your cheer skirt bunching up around your hips. he's so turned on that you can feel his bulge bumping against you while he clings onto you, kissing back up to your mouth and sliding his tongue against yours sloppily.
"mmh... m-more, please, more," you mewl, hands squeezing his clothes and dragging him closer needily. he groans softly in response, big hands squeezing your breasts firmly, flicking your nipples with his thumbs. "innocent little cheerleader," he breathes against your lips, eyes hazy. "sweet girl meant to be dancing on the field for your meathead boyfriend, and you're back here letting me have my way with you."
you gasp, eyes fluttering at the overwhelming pleasure he's giving you. he knows just how to touch you, the parts of your body that are most sensitive and the best ways to draw sweet little mewls out of you that make his cock throb. "stop... s-stop talking like that..." you beg dumbly onto his swollen lips. one of his hands move down your body to slip beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers grazing your slick pussy between your thighs.
"God," he mutters, leaning back to see the look on your face. "you're so wet. you've been wet since you saw me sitting alone on the bleachers, hm? saw you trip up your cute little routine when i made eye contact with you." you mewl, toes curling in your sneakers. he slides a long, thick finger inside of you, pumping in and out and curling his finger just right.
"and you think he'd be okay with this?" he goes on, staring intently into your hazy eyes. "his perfect little princess letting the school freak finger her under the bleachers while he throws a ball around." you pant, his fingers dipping into your dripping pussy and your walls around his thick digits. He pumps them steadily, watching your face contort with pleasure as he strokes your most sensitive spots, his thumb circles your throbbing clit and rubbing firm pressure on the swollen bud.
your moans get louder and more high pitched, and he has to shove his free hand out of your bra onto your mouth to shut you up. "shh, baby," he whispers. "you're gonna get us caught." he warns, even though you can't help it. you can barely stand upright, back arched off the fence as your legs tremble, his finger twisting inside you to get every angle. he presses the flat of his palm against you so the heel of his hand grinds against your clit so you let out a muffled cry. "sloppy little thing, aren't you. you'd let me do anything to you."
you nod a little too eagerly, whimpering beneath his hand and moaning loud anytime his finger curls just right, louder when he slides in a second finger. you're falling apart and you can't stay quiet no matter how hard you try, your big eyes all glossy with tears, as he watches every second of it with that same fascinated look in his eyes. "this pussy's so pretty," he coos. "too pretty for a dumb jock who doesn't even know what he's got. i'd never stop touching you and kissing you and fucking you if you were my girl."
you moan loudly at his words just as he scissors and pumps his fingers quicker inside you while he relishes in the sounds you make. he loves how you're supposed to be prim and sweet, the little cheerleader everyone loves, and you're back here with him. the guy with no friends, no spot on the football team, no frats. just bruised knuckles from too many fights and messy hair and a huge cock.
He pulls his hand away only long enough to push his fingers into your mouth, and you suck on them immediately with a moan. You blink up at him with those big dumb eyes, lips stretched around his fingers, cheeks flushed and messy.
"shit...my perfect cheer slut," he murmurs, his thumb rubs firm circles around your clit, the bundle of nerves throbbing and swollen from his touch while his fingers plunge in and out of your sopping cunt. you nod, eyes wide and eager. "mm... f-fuck...yours," you whine, pushing your hips up into his hand to grind against his palm. "you gonna cum for me back here? while you're supposed to be out there screaming for the team?"
"yes please, 'm cumming... just want you, please," you gasp, hands clawing at him as though it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. your pussy tightens around his fingers, clenching down hard as he keeps pumping them deep inside you, thumb working your clit with constant pressure. your whole body shudders as a hot, dizzying orgasm crashes over you like a wave.
you moan, hips jerking as your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers, soaking them. your eyes roll back, lips parted around the digits still stuffed in your mouth, drool slipping past the corners as you ride it out. your brain feels all fuzzy and blank.
"that's it," he coos, leaning down to kiss the side of your face while his fingers slow, easing you through it. "just like that, baby. pretty thing, making a mess all over my hand." he pulls his fingers from between your legs with a filthy wet sound and lifts them up to his mouth to clean them off with his tongue quickly, before reaching down to hold you steady once more.
both hands land back on your waist, letting you slump against him while you catch your breath. you can feel his hard cock pressed against you through his jeans, and he plans to pleasure himself just as he pleasured you. your hips roll forward into his clothed cock shamelessly, skirt bunched up around the waist. your panties, once pushed to the side while he fingered you, get tugged down your ankles, then he helps you step out of them so he can pick them up and stuff them into his pocket for later. "such a little liar."
"a-about what? i d-don't lie to you..."
"about wanting him. y'don't look at him like this. y'don't fuck him like that."
then, he grabs and lifts you just enough so your soaked little pussy rubs right against him, dragging across denim dark with slick. he holds you like you weigh nothing, keeping you perched on him while the game continues behind you. you can hear the crash of pads and whistles and the school band roaring as someone scores a touchdown, maybe your boyfriend.
probably your boyfriend.
the crowd screams his name, cheer girls chant it, flipping their glittery pom-poms in the air to sell school spirit while you're tucked in the shadows under the bleachers, grinding like a needy puppy on the weirdest guy on campus. he huffs at you and bounces his knee slightly to help you get yourself off. "Please… don't stop, don't stop!" you cry out, lashes fluttering.
you're whining as loud as he'll let you, kissing him desperately and mewling as the rough fabric of his jeans bumps against your clit. his whole body shudders. He looks like he could cum just from hearing your sounds, and so he lifts your hips so you're grinding less on his thigh and more on his cock. "look at you," he whispers, glaring straight into your eyes. "filthy." your hips don't stop moving despite his cruel words, and you find yourself grinding your soaked little core across his jeans harder.
his hips grind more urgently into yours, his bulge throbbing each time you grind or bounce on it. your slick folds slide and rub against the firm ridges of his clothed erection while he humps into you. his fingers grip your hips tighter as he increases the force of his own thrusts, letting out a pleased grunt. "oh fuck... just like that pretty girl. keep rutting. shit, im gonna cum soon,"
you wrap one leg around his waist to open yourself up further, the new angle allowing your soaked pussy to press more firmly against his clothed cock, the damp patch on his bulge growing with each thrust. you can't tell if its his juices or yours. both of you let out a joint moan, loud and unabashed. seems like he forgot to cover your mouth.
his movements turn more erratic and desperate as he feels his orgasm coming, and with a final rough grind of his hips, he buries his face in the smooth expanse of you throat and bites down hard, muffling his loud groan, while you let out a choked scream, pussy clenching down on nothing as you hit your peak too.
thick, hot cum erupted from his cock, soaking through his jeans and creating a fat stain on his front, while your juices drip down your thighs. he leaves soft kisses on the angry red bite mark he left on you, speaking into your skin quietly.
you twitch with the oversensitivity that comes with two orgasms, face slick with sweat. you're a whiny mess, panties gone, skirt wrinkled and hiked up around your waist, makeup running obscenely. you keep clawing at his arms, terrified he'll leave you like this and make you go back out there. "Shh," he whispers, "you're bein' loud again. what if someone hears you moaning my name like that? huh?"
he grabs your face in his hand and squishes it so your face forms that embarrassing pout, but you're too gone to feel any shame. you nuzzle into his touchy needily, eyes glossy and adoring as he speaks again. "so," he says, "you gonna be a good girl and go finish your little routine now?"
you blink up at him, chest still heaving, curls sticking to your flushed cheeks. you're about to scream no and that you wanna stay with him, when he speaks before you. "or," he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your jaw, thumb brushing your lips, "you wanna come fuck me in the backseat of my car?"
you don't even pause. there's not a single moment of hesitation. even as you hear screaming and cheering to signal that the game is likely coming to a close and now people will definitely be looking for you. all you care about is him. he can tell. he feeds off your little crush on him. big hands wrap loosely around your throat as he admires your ruined face, a thumb moving across your lips to smudge your lipgloss even more. "the car," you whisper, instantly, "please, the car."
pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader, topper thornton x fem!reader
summary — rafe cameron has never wanted something he couldn’t take. it’s not his fault topper’s girlfriend turns out to be one thing he can’t stop thinking about.
word count — 18.1k (i know!!!!)
warnings — not proofread so sorry;; fem!reader, ooc topper, emotional infidelity, physical cheating, complicated love triangle (best friend’s girlfriend), relationship conflicts, alcohol use, drug use (cocaine), physical violence, description of blood and injuries, emotional manipulation through emotional vulnerability, power imbalance, sexual tension, making out/kissing, very impaired judgement due to intoxication, aggressive-ish behavior, explicit sexual tension, infidelity/cheating, emotional cheating, ambiguous consent due to intoxication and emotional state, power imbalance, controlling parents, possessive behavior, manipulation, guilt and shame due to intimacy, objectifying internal monologue, imagination of reader in explicit sexual scenarios, sexual fixation on reader, reader mentioned wearing dresses, makeup, embodying “perfect girlfriend” role. lmk if i missed any!!
part one part two part three
Topper had never quite gone against the grain most kids on Figure Eight did—sneaking coke at Midsummers, fucking in someone’s parents’ beds during charity galas, stealing boats just to see if they could—once in a while. His entire being relied on his foundation of good breeding and the optimism that came from being a part of the 1%. He had never needed anything. The best way Rafe could describe him was by saying he was a golden retriever in human form. He was loyal, eager to please, and just smart enough to know he wasn’t the smartest person in any given room, and that made him try harder at everything else. Being kind. Being decent. Being exactly what his mother had raised him to be.
Which was why—Rafe supposed—Topper had gotten the girl.
You were laughing at something Kelce said. Rafe hadn’t been listening, too busy tracking the way the June sun caught your hair, turning colours that probably had names that sounded like they belonged on paint chips. They were sprawled across the Thorntons’ perfectly manicured lawn like they were in some Ralph Lauren ad. Topper, Kelce, Ruthie, you, and Rafe. He’d shown up because Topper had texted him and what else was he supposed to do? Say no? Admit he’d rather be literally anywhere else than watching his best friend play house with his girlfriend of two years? Sitting at Tannyhill waiting for Ward to notice him long enough to be disappointed? At least here he could pretend he had friends; had a place; had something resembling a normal fucking life.
But lately he couldn't stop cataloging the small things. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking; it was always the left side. How you always brought those homemade cookies to parties, the ones you always wrapped in the same blue cloth each time. The kind that actually tasted like they were baked in a home oven rather than in a commercial kitchen that used bleached flour and measured everything with no real meaning behind it. You used real butter and too much vanilla, and he supposed that was the imperfection that came from someone who actually gave a fuck. The little gold anklet you wore that caught the light when you moved. Stupid things. Things that shouldn't matter. Things he noticed anyway and filed them away into what started as a small nook in his brain and turned to an overpowering compartment.
Two years. Christ.
“—and I told my Dad there’s no one behind me, what does it matter?”
“It matters because you could hit someone,” Ruthie said, barely looking up from her phone.
“I passed my driver’s test—”
“Then why are we talking about this?” Ruthie’s thumb moved across her screen, nails clicking. She was always bored, yet she always showed up. How much is there to do here?
Topper laughed, genuine, and shifted so you could lean back against his chest. You fit there like you’d measured for the space. His arms came around your waist, casual and propriety, the way someone would hold something they knew was theirs. Something nobody else would try to take.
Rafe took a pull from his beer. It was warm and disgusting now. He was nursing the drink slowly given that Kelce’s parents were home. If he stopped focusing on drinking slowly, he’d be on his fifth by this point because Rafe had never learned moderation.
“Rafe, back me up,” Kelce said. “You’ve seen me drive—”
“You drive like shit,” Rafe said, and there was the stupid, perpetual edge in his voice he couldn’t smooth out. It always made the people around him shift uncomfortably and that reminded him why Ward always kept him at arm’s length.
“Wait, what?”
Rafe shrugged. “You drive like shit,” he repeated, then picked at the label on his beer bottle, watching it tear in damp strips. “You almost hit a mailbox on Sea Breeze last week.”
“The mailbox was in my blind spot—”
“The stationary mailbox? The mailbox that couldn’t move was in your blind spot?”
You, Topper’s girlfriend—god, even in his head he couldn’t call you by your name, like saying it would make this whole thing more real—made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. It was soft and musical and Rafe briefly felt something crawl up his throat that was most likely disgust at the way he’d begun thinking. Your head was tipped back against Topper’s shoulder, face turned toward the sun. You looked like you were exactly where you wanted to be.
You probably were.
“I’m a great driver,” he said, but he was grinning now, playing it up. “You’re all just jealous of my Jeep.”
“We all have Jeeps,” Ruthie said, raising a brow.
“Yeah, but mine’s nicer.”
“It’s literally the same car,” Ruthie said, voice lowering towards the end like she couldn’t be bothered to argue.
From inside the house, Mrs. Thornton appeared at the French doors, waving with enthusiasm Rafe was sure he’d perfected from Junior League training. Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect everything. “Lunch is ready, kids! Hope you’re hungry—I made way too much pasta salad.”
“You’re a saint, Mrs. T,” Kelce called back.
“Oh, stop,” she said, but looked pleased. Her eyes lingered on you and Topper, together, appropriate, and exactly what a mother would want for her son. The look on her face was satisfaction. Pride, even.
Rafe had seen that look before. On Rose’s face when Sarah did something worth bragging about at the club. On Ward’s face when he talked about Topper getting into Chapel Hill, about how good a kid he was, how he had his head on straight. Never on Ward’s face when he talked about Rafe.
"Come on," Topper said, standing and pulling you up with him in one smooth motion. You stumbled slightly—the grass was uneven or maybe you'd been sitting too long—and he steadied you with a hand at your waist. He was laughing, and so were you, and your fingers were tangled together like they were stitched together. "Careful."
"I'm fine," you said, but you were smiling, and your fingers were still linked with his.
Rafe watched the stumble, the catch, the laugh. He watched the way Topper looked at you like steadying you was the easiest thing in the world, like he'd do it forever if you needed him to. And you looked up at Topper with this expression Rafe couldn't quite name. So unguarded and soft like this trust didn’t have to be earned was so uncomplicated, and the thought of earning it had never even occurred to you.
What the fuck would that be like? To look at someone and just—trust them? To not have to calculate every word, every move, every expression to make sure you didn't give too much away? For someone to look at Rafe, of all people, and feel that way?
Rafe stood too, brushed grass off his shorts. His hands were shaking slightly—not from the beer, barely half-finished—but from something else. Something that felt too much like anger but wasn't. Couldn't be. What did he have to be angry about? Topper was his best friend. You were Topper's girlfriend. This was how it was supposed to be.
You and Topper walked together, shoulders touching, your sundress—pink today, always some shade of soft—swishing around your knees. Your little gold anklet caught in the light. You looked like something out of a catalog selling a lifestyle Rafe’s family already had but somehow always felt a little out of reach. He was twenty and only just realizing that—truly—some things couldn’t be purchased in the same way Ward bought boats and houses and buildings. Some things you had to deserve.
“You good?” Topper said, dropping back to walk beside Rafe.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, man. You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
Topper laughed shortly. “No, you’re always talking shit. Quiet’s different.” His brows furrowed, concerned and probably genuine. Girls like you made boys like Topper genuine, made sure he didn’t want to be anything other than what he appeared to be. “Everything good with Ward?”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “It’s fine.”
“Cool. Cool. Just—you know you can always talk about stuff, right? If you need to.”
Rafe’s brows furrowed and shook his head. “What the fuck are you saying?”
Topper chuckled, shaking his head too. He had lost that quality of getting defensive and irritated too quickly when he started dating you. “Don’t know. But I mean it, yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay.” Topper clapped his shoulder, reassured, and jogged ahead to catch up with you. You’d stopped to wait for him, leaning against the doorframe, and when he reached you, you smiled. It wasn’t the polite smile you gave everyone else, it seemed more private. Just for him. For Topper. Rafe filed that away without meaning to, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when it was real..
Inside, Mrs. Thornton had set out enough food for thrice their number. Pasta salad, finger sandwiches and normal-sized sandwiches, chips, fruit, cookies that looked homemade. The kind of spread that said she cared and wanted them to feel welcome and that this was a home where people were fed and happy and safe.
They loaded their plates and settled around the Thorntons’ dining room table. Real plates, cloth napkins, and a lunch with structure. Rafe’s house was never like this. Rafe’s house was never like this. Rose tried, sometimes. She’d set out cheese boards when Ward had important colleagues over, she arranged things the way magazines told her to. But Ward was always working. Sarah was always out. Wheezie was always watching TV in her room with the door closed. Rafe was usually too high to sit through a meal, or too angry, or just too something. The Camerons ate in shifts, quietly, or not at all.
“So,” Mrs. Thornton said, perching on the edge of the chair with her own plate, “what are you kids up to this summer? Besides laying around my backyard like a bunch of lazy seals.”
“Mom,” Topper said.
“What? You are.”
“Not much,” Kelce said seriously. “It’s important we don’t get burned out too early.”
“Burnt out of what?” Ruthie asked.
“Of… summer. Having fun.”
“You can’t get burnt out of summer. It’s not a race—”
“Everything’s a race—”
Rafe tuned them out. He was watching you, sitting across from him, carefully spreading mayo on your sandwich. You had this way of doing things, and even making a sandwich required your complete attention. Or maybe Rafe was just imagining things? Your nails were painted the same pink as your dress. You wore a little gold necklace with your initial on it; it was delicate enough that Rafe hadn’t noticed until now. Everything about you was coordinated and deliberate.
"What about you, sweetheart?" Mrs. Thornton asked, and it took Rafe a second to realize she was talking to you. "Any fun plans?"
"Oh, just the usual. Volunteering at the library on Tuesdays. Hanging out with friends. There's that charity thing at the club next week—"
"The children's hospital benefit," Mrs. Thornton said, nodding. "Your mother mentioned you're on the planning committee."
"Just helping where I can."
"She's being modest," Topper said, squeezing her hand where it rested on the table. "She basically organized the whole thing."
"I didn't—there's a whole committee—" Rafe watched the fluster creep into your cheeks.
"You made all those decorations yourself," Topper insisted. He looked at his mother and said, "She stayed up until like 2 AM cutting out paper flowers."
"They're for a good cause," you said, and there was something in your voice that sounded firm. Like you needed them to know you weren’t doing it for praise and that the doing itself was enough.
Rafe took a bite of his sandwich. It was good. Everything in this house was good. That was the problem.
"That's wonderful, honey," Mrs. Thornton said warmly. "We need more young people who actually care about giving back. Don't we, Topper?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Rafe, what about you? Are you helping with the benefit?"
Every eye at the table turned to him. He swallowed his bite of sandwich and took his time with it, feeling the bread stick to his throat. "Haven't really thought about it."
"You should come," you said, offering. Your eyes met his across the table and Rafe’s gaze involuntarily froze on you. Something uncomfortable and scalding set in his ribs. "We could use the help. It's next Saturday, six to nine."
"I might be busy."
"Doing what?" Kelce asked, taking a bite of his pasta salad.
"Stuff."
"Stuff," Ruthie repeated flatly, one eyebrow raised.
"Come on, man," Topper said. "It'll be fun. Open bar for the parents, which means nobody's paying attention to what we're doing—"
"It's for charity," you said, shrugging slightly like you weren’t sure if it was your place or not.
"It can be for charity and fun. Multitasking." Topper grinned slightly, shameless, and you rolled your eyes but you were smiling. You were always fucking smiling.
Rafe watched. The easy back-and-forth, the way you’d developed your own rhythm after two years together. The way you let Topper be annoying and he let her be serious and somehow it worked. Somehow you’d figured out how to be two people who actually liked each other.
"I'll think about it," Rafe said, even though he wouldn't.
"That's a yes," Kelce decided.
"That's a 'I'll think about it.'"
"On Figure Eight, 'I'll think about it' means yes. It's like when your mom says 'we'll see'—also yes."
"Sometimes 'we'll see' means no," you said quietly.
"Only if you've been bad," Mrs. Thornton said, reaching over and patting your hand gently. "Which I'm sure you never were."
You smiled down at your plate. "I had my moments."
Rafe tried to imagine you having ‘moments.’ He couldn't quite picture it. You seemed like the kind of kid who'd colored inside the lines and done your homework without being asked and never talked back. The kind teachers loved, parents bragged about, boys brought home to meet their families.
You were the kind of girl Ward would approve of.
The thought came unbidden and unwelcome. Rafe shoved it away, took another bite of sandwich. Fuck. He knew that Ward would approve, because when Ward had seen you with Topper, he’d said to Rafe, “Now that’s a nice girl. Why can’t you find someone like that?
They ate and talked, but it was mostly Kelce and Ruthie bickering, you and Topper sharing food off each other's plates like you’d been married for twenty years, Mrs. Thornton interjecting with questions and comments that kept the conversation moving. It was painfully normal and painfully nice.
Rafe's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it under the table: Barry asking where he was, if he was coming by today. Three texts, actually, each more impatient than the last.
He should go. Should make an excuse and get out of here and go pick up what he needed to take the edge off this feeling, this crawling, itching feeling that said something was wrong, that he was in the wrong place, that everyone here was playing a game where they knew how to navigate and he didn’t.
But Topper was laughing at something you had said, and Mrs. Thornton was offering seconds, and Kelce was stealing a cookie before he'd finished his sandwich, and for a second—just a second—Rafe let himself imagine this was his life. That he was the one with the uncomplicated girlfriend and the mother who gave a shit and the kind of problems that could be solved by showing up to a charity event.
The phone buzzed in his hand again. bro?? He locked it and pushed it into his pocket.
"Rafe?" you said. He realized you’d asked him something—were still asking him something—and everyone was sitting around him waiting for his response again.
He swallowed nothing. "What?"
"I asked if you wanted more pasta salad. You've barely eaten."
You were looking at him with those eyes he’d memorised, head tilted slightly, concerned in that soft way you had. Not pitying—you were too careful for that—just genuinely wondering if he was okay. Like you cared and like you actually gave a shit whether or not he ate lunch.
"I'm good," he said.
"You sure? Mrs. Thornton made a lot—"
"I said I'm good. Stop asking.”
It came out harsher than he’d meant. You blinked, drew back just half an inch, and Topper’s arm came around your shoulders automatically, protective like Rafe was a predator and you were his next meal.
“Dude,” Topper said.
“What?”
“She’s just trying to be nice.”
“I know.” His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. “I’m good. That’s all I said.”
The table went silent. Mrs. Thornton cleared her throat, Ruthie studied her phone, and Kelce suddenly found his sandwich fascinating. You were looking at him from the corner of your eye with what he assumed was hurt or concern. Your hand moved to your necklace and twirled the initial around once, then back around twice.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to look at you. “Sorry,” he said, eyes meeting yours, almost shamefully. “Didn’t mean to—sorry.”
Your eyes widened slightly. Maybe you were surprised he’d apologized at all. He didn’t blame you. “It’s okay,” you said quickly, gently, which somehow made him feel worse. Were you that forgiving with Topper, too? Would you forgive Rafe that quickly if you were his, because he knew he’d fuck up a lot. “I didn’t mean to push.”
“You weren’t.”
𖦹
Rafe almost didn’t go. He had his truck pointed towards Barry’s and everything with his cash in pocket and the familiar itch under his skin that said he needed something to take the edge off Ward’s recent disappointment (this morning delivered over breakfast like a side of shitty cold eggs (“I assume you’re not going to the L/N’s charity event tonight”)) But then he’d driven past the country club on his way and seen the parking lot filling up with cars that cost more than people’s houses (Range Rovers, Mercedes, that asshole Jenkins’s new Porsche) and something in him—maybe it was boredom, maybe spite, or just the kind of restless energy that came from doing too much coke the night before and not enough today—made him turn in.
He told himself it was to prove Ward wrong. And also because Topper had texted him three times, ever the supportive boyfriend. Or because he had nothing better to do on a Saturday night in June when the whole island felt like it was suffocating under humidity.
He did not tell himself it had anything to do with you.
The country club itself looked like someone had thrown up pastels all over it. Pink and yellow streamers twisted around the columns, balloons clustered by the entrance in a way that was almost scary, and those fucking paper flowers—hundreds of them, maybe thousands—strung up everywhere, the ones Topper had mentioned you stayed up until 2 AM making, which Rafe had filed away without meaning to because apparently his brain was keeping track of shit like that now.
He was adjusting his shirt—had put on something with buttons for once, though he’d left the top two undone because he wasn’t a complete fucking sellout—when he saw you.
You were outside the main entrance with a clipboard, which was so perfectly on-brand it almost made him laugh. Your hair was pulled back in something already falling apart, little pieces sticking to your neck in the heat. You wore a lavender dress that hit just above your knee and clung in ways that made Rafe’s mouth go dry. It was fitted enough that he could see the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips, and the line of your legs.
You were talking to two guys in catering uniforms, gesturing with your free hand—sharp and short moments that weren’t like you—and even from across the parking lot Rafe could see you were stressed. He could see it in the set of your shoulders and the way you kept pushing those loose pieces of hair out of your face and the rigid way you were holding the clipboard.
You looked like you could use a drink. Or a Xanax. Or someone to tell you it was fine. Or maybe just someone who could fuck the tension out of you until you remembered how to breathe normally.
Not that he was volunteering. His hand tightened on the steering wheel. Except he was apparently walking toward you instead of toward Barry’s, so maybe he was.
“—by five-thirty at least,” you were saying as he got closer, voice strained but still disgustingly polite. “That’s what we were told. So I’m not sure why—”
One of the catering guys—older, maybe forty, with a mustache—cut you off with something that Rafe didn’t catch but could guess from the gesture; you were just a kid to him with a shit-ton of money playing event planner (in other words: absolutely nothing to take seriously).
“I understand that,” you said, and there was a barely perceptible edge to your pageant voice now. “But we have a hundred-and-fifty people arriving in forty-five minutes and we don’t have—” You stopped, closed your eyes briefly, took a breath, and when you opened them you looked steadier, as though you’d shoved everything messy into whatever box you kept it in.
Rafe felt something uncomfortable watching you pull yourself together in real time.
“Okay. Can you at least tell me when—”
“Problem?” Rafe said.
You turned, surprised. You blinked at him like you couldn’t quite place why he was there, which was fair because he wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Rafe,” you said, and he liked the way his name sounded in your voice. “I didn’t—I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“I wasn’t, either,” he said honestly, and your mouth twitched like you found it funny. He looked at the catering guys, who were both studiously avoiding eye contact now that someone else was there. “You having problems?”
“No, there’s just been a miscommunication about the time.”
“So, yes.”
“Rafe—” you said, slightly flustered at his presence and the situation.
“What’s the problem?” The catering guys looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.
“No problem, man,” one of them said. “We’re just waiting on—”
“Half the equipment is missing,” you cut in, and yeah, there was definitely an edge now. You were pissed now. Trying very hard not to show it, but pissed. “The tables are wrong, the setup’s behind schedule, and nobody mentioned it until thirty minutes ago.”
“So fix it.” Rafe shrugged.
You looked at him. “I’m trying to fix it.”
“Try harder.”
The catering guys looked between them like they were watching a tennis match. You opened your mouth—to tell him to fuck off, maybe, which was very unlikely but would’ve been incredibly hot—then closed it. Then looked down at your clipboard, back at the guys, then Rafe.
“Can you give us a minute?” The catering guys couldn’t leave fast enough.
When they were gone, you turned to Rafe fully and stepped closer, close enough to smell your floral perfume that probably cost more than his expensive coke habit, he got a better look at you up close. The dress was even better at this distance; thin straps, sweetheart neckline, the kind of thing that was technically modest but didn't feel that way when you were looking at it. Or when he was looking at it. At you.
You weren't wearing much makeup, just enough to look polished, and there was a small stain on the hem of the dress that you probably didn't know about yet. It was probably coffee or those tiny chocolates they served at these things. You’d be horrified if you noticed, so Rafe kept the stain to himself. You looked stressed and like you'd been running around in heels for too long, which you had, judging by the way you kept shifting your weight.
"What are you doing here?" you asked.
"You invited me."
"That—I didn't think you'd actually come. You said you’d think about it.”
“Thought about it,” he said. “Decided to show. Here I am.”
“Why?” Your eyebrows knitted together, like you were sure he had an ulterior motive like ransacking the entire place as soon as guests began walking in.
"Guess I'm full of surprises." He pulled out his cigarettes, offered you one out of habit more than any expectation. You shook your head, predictably. He shrugged. "So what's actually wrong?"
"I just told you—"
"What's the actual problem?"
You stared at him for a second, and Rafe watched you recalculate. Decide whether to bother explaining or just tell him to leave. He could see it happening behind your eyes, the cost-benefit analysis, the weighing of options.
"The DJ canceled," you said finally. "Last minute. And the tables they sent are the wrong size, which means we have to completely rearrange the layout, which means the floor plan I spent three weeks on is useless, and everything else has to shift, and the photographer's going to be here in thirty minutes and we're supposed to start in forty-five and I still have to check on the auction setup and make sure the kitchen has everything they need and—" You stopped, pressed your fingers to your temple. "Sorry. You don't care about any of this."
"Not really,," Rafe agreed. "But this seems like it'd be bad for the sick kids or whatever."
You almost smiled at that. Almost. "Very compassionate."
"I try." He lit his cigarette, took a drag, buying him a second to think. "You got a backup DJ?"
"My phone and a speaker from 2015."
"That'll work."
"It won't—"
"Nobody's here for the music. They're here for the open bar and the tax write-off. You could play the same song all night as long as the drinks keep coming and nobody would notice."
"That's very sad."
"Doesn't make it wrong."
You looked at him like you were trying to figure out if he was fucking with you or actually trying to help. Rafe wasn't entirely sure himself. "The tables—"
"I'll move them."
"You don't have to—"
"Jesus,” he breathed out, letting some annoyance creep in because you were exhausting and Rafe couldn’t keep playing at this for much longer. This would’ve been his one good deed of the year. “You want help or not?"
That made you stop. Blink. "You're offering to help."
"Don't make it weird."
"It's already weird. You hate events like this. You’ve said that.”
Had he? Yeah. Probably. At the club, or at one of Top’s things, or somewhere else where you’d been in earshot and he’d been running his mouth.
Well, you’d been listening. Something about that—about you paying attention to what he said, filing it away the way he filed away everything about you—made his chest feel tight.
"I hate most things. Doesn't mean I can't move a table." He took another drag, watched you process this. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Or keep going crazy. Your call."
You bit your lip—nervous habit, probably, or maybe just the lip gloss was bothering you—and Rafe's eyes caught on it. On your mouth. On the way your teeth pressed into your bottom lip and the little indent it left when you released it. He wondered if you did that during sex. If Topper had ever noticed. If—
Stop.
"Okay," you said, and Rafe refocused, eyebrows moving slightly up. "Okay. The tables need to go along the back wall, but first we have to move everything that's already there, and then rearrange the chairs, and—"
"Got it."
"I didn't finish—"
"Don't need you to. Tables go there, chairs go somewhere else, I can figure it out."
"Are you always this—"
"Helpful? Yeah,” he said sarcastically.
You shook your head, but you were almost smiling again, and Rafe decided that was worth more than whatever he would've gotten from Barry anyway. He didn’t feel completely useless. "Come on. I'll show you."
He followed you inside, where the situation was exactly as much of a shitshow as you'd described. Tables stacked wrong, chairs everywhere, decorations half-hung. The guys who were supposed to be setting up looked like they'd collectively given up on life. Rafe could relate.
"Okay," you said, clipboard up, and Rafe noticed your nails were painted the same color as your dress. Coordinated. Everything about you was coordinated and deliberate and probably planned three weeks in advance. "So we need to—"
"I got it," Rafe said, because you were about to go into a detailed explanation complete with diagrams and he could see the basic problem from here. Tables needed to go there, chairs were in the way, move the chairs, move the tables. Easy.
He grabbed a stack of chairs. Started hauling them to the side.
They were heavier than they looked—real wood, not the cheap plastic shit—and by the third trip he'd worked up a sweat. He could feel his shirt sticking to his back. Could feel you watching him from across the room where you were directing someone else, and when he glanced over he caught your eyes on him. Specifically, his arms, on the way his biceps flexed under his shirt sleeves as he carried the chairs. You looked away quickly when you realized he’d caught you, face flushing.
Interesting.
Rafe smiled to himself, guilty but satisfied, and moved another stack of chairs. Then another. Fell into a rhythm of lifting, carrying, setting down, repeat. Simple. Clear.
"You're really good at that," you said from somewhere behind him.
He turned. You were closer than he'd expected, making him straighten his back too quickly.
"At moving chairs?" Rafe asked, setting them down because holding them with you being this close felt awkward.
"At just doing things." You tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear. It immediately fell back out. "I would've spent twenty minutes thinking about how to move them.”
"Sometimes you just gotta move the fucking chairs." Rafe said simply.
You laughed, surprised.
You were standing close enough now that Rafe could see the mascara was slightly smudged under your left eye. Could see a small scar on your collarbone he'd never noticed before. Maybe from childhood.
You were watching him too, your eyes tracking over his face, his shoulders, down to where his shirt was sticking to his chest.
"You got something—" He reached out without thinking, thumb brushing under your eye where the mascara had smudged.
You went very still. "What are you—"
"Mascara. Hold still." He wiped it away, the pad of his thumb against your skin, and felt you inhale sharply. Your eyes were locked on his, pupils dilating, and for a second neither of you moved. He was close enough to see the texture of your lip gloss and count your eyelashes if he wanted to. Close enough to kiss you.
Then you stepped back. "Thanks."
"Mhm."
You touched your face where his thumb had been unconsciously, your hands slightly shaking.
"I should—" You gestured vaguely toward the rest of the room. "There's still so much to—"
"Go. I got this."
You hesitated, then nodded and disappeared to handle something else. Rafe stood there for a second, thumb tingling where he'd touched your face, then went back to moving chairs because that was easier than thinking about why he'd touched you in the first place.
Tables next. Heavier, but he'd rather work alone than try to coordinate with the setup guys who all looked like they'd never seen a table before. He got the first one moved, then the second, then—
"Jesus, Cameron, you trying to give yourself a hernia?"
Kelce's voice. Rafe looked up to see him standing in the doorway with Ruthie, both of them dressed like they were here for the event rather than the setup.
"Should you be doing this?" Kelce asked, gesturing at the tables. “Like actually. Isn’t this what we pay people for?”
"They were being useless,” Rafe said. “Someone’s gotta do it.”
"Yeah, usually not you." Kelce looked genuinely confused now.
"Fuck off."
"No, seriously." Ruthie came closer, studying him like he was a science experiment. "Where's Rafe? What'd you do with him?"
"I can help without it being a whole thing—"
"It's definitely a thing," Kelce said, grinning. "You hate events like this."
"I hate most things. Doesn't mean I can't move a table." Rafe moved another one into place, wiped sweat off his forehead with his arm. "You gonna stand there all day or help?"
"I’m here for moral support," Ruthie said, examining her nails.
"Useless, got it."
But Kelce did grab one end of the next table, and together they got the rest moved in half the time. Ruthie mostly watched from a chair she'd pulled over, occasionally offering commentary that ranged from unhelpful to actively detrimental, but whatever. At least it was entertaining.
And Rafe could keep half an eye on you as you moved through the space, fixing things, directing people, climbing onto a chair in your dress and heels to adjust a banner that someone had hung crooked. He watched you wobble slightly and had to physically stop himself from crossing the room to steady you. You were fine. You got it fixed and climbed down and immediately moved on to the next thing.
“Dude,” Kelce said quietly so Ruthie couldn’t hear. “You’re staring.”
“Shut up.”
“Like, really, obviously staring.”
𖦹
You’d been to enough Figure Eight parties to know the entire song-and-dance. Ruthie would alcohol that could feed Figure Eight and The Cut, but three times over; people would set up a station to play very wrong, ruleless beer pong; someone would get in a fight; someone would call the cops and Ruthie would socially exile them for the next six months or until she conveniently forgot about it. Tonight was tracking perfectly to schedule: the handles were half-finished by eleven, there were red Solo cups floating in the pool, and you’d watched two guys argue about whether a bounce shot counted as a double for the past ten minutes even though there was literally no one keeping track.
You were nursing the same drink you’d picked up off the counter half-an-hour ago. The Truly can—Wild Berry, the only flavour that had been left by the time you arrived—was getting warm in your hand, condensation making the label peel in little strips. You kept picking at it without thinking, rolling little soggy pieces of tissue and dropping them into the can where you imagined they floated like dead flies. Topper was in the middle of some story about golf. Something about his swing, the ninth hole at the club, and his dad’s advice; you’d stopped tracking the details about seven minutes in. The thing about dating Topper was that all his stories had the same shape to them; something happened, his dad had an opinion about it, and he agreed or planned to prove it wrong. The details changed—golf, school, Jeep—but the shape, as a whole, was identical. You’d memorized the blueprint.
You were good at this, at least. You nodded at the right moments, you made small affirming noises, and laughed when his voice lifted in that way that indicated something was funny. You could do it in your sleep at this point. You were worried that you had been, that you’d actually been asleep for months and it had gone unnoticed because you were always nodding at the perfect times.
“—he won’t listen. He’s convinced it’s my follow-through—” Topper took a pull from his beer, gestured with the bottle, nearly hit Kelce in the face. “Babe, you’re not listening.”
You blinked, refocusing. “I am.”
“What did I just say?”
“Something about your follow-through.”
“Before that.”
You didn’t know. You were watching Ruthie across the room, the way she was laughing at something with her head thrown back, completely unselfconscious, and not worried if her laugh was too loud or fake or if the angle made her head look wrong. She was just laughing. When was the last time you laughed like that? You didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” you said, touching Topper’s arms lightly, apologetically. It was the kind of touch you’d learned said that you were there, you cared, and that you were paying attention now. “I’m just so tired. The week was long.”
“You feeling okay?” He shifted immediately to boyfriend-mode, which was sweet, and was one of the first things you’d learned to love about him in the first place. He cared. He worried. He made sure you’d eaten, had water. Most times it felt like being cared for. “We can leave if you want.”
“No, I’m fine. Keep telling your story.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He kissed your temple—quick, casual, and the kind of kiss that marked you as his in public—and turned to Kelce, picking the story back up from wherever you’d lost the thread. You took a sip of your drink; it was warm and disgusting, but drinking gave you something to do with your hands.
You loved Topper. You did. You loved him the way you loved Outer Banks summers and Sunday dinners at the club and the worn-in comfort of your childhood bedroom that looked like it belonged to a 30-year-old woman with very specific specifications for her interior design. You loved him in a way that felt familiar, safe, and exactly what was supposed to be.
He was kind and reliable and everyone loved him and your mother almost cried—shed a tear—when you’d brought him home for dinner junior year. He was exactly the kind of boy you were supposed to end up with. Figure Eight royalty, good family, going places. He talked about the future like it was something you’d built together brick-by-brick: UNC next fall, he’d major in finance, you’d major in something you hadn’t decided, but everyone assumed something that involved helping people because that’s what you were good at. After graduation, you’d move back here, get a place on the water, start planning a wedding. His mother already showed you the venue book. Twice.
It was perfect. All perfect.
“I’m getting another drink,” you said, even though you weren’t.
“Want me to come?” Topper asked, turning back to you, ready to follow.
“No, I’m good. Keep talking. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded, already turning back to Kelce. You could’ve said you were going to the moon for a second and he would’ve believed it.
You pushed through the crowd of Figure Eight kids, mostly. They were all people you’d known since elementary school, plus randoms from The Cut who’d heard about the party and showed up anyway because Ruthie didn’t check who walked through the door. The house was too hot, too loud, the bass from whatever song made the windows rattle in their frames. Someone had spilled beer on the hardwood that nobody bothered to clean it up, and your sandals kept sticking to it slightly with each step.
You dumped your drink in the sink in the kitchen and grabbed a red solo cup that you filled up with water from the fridge dispenser. You drank half of it standing there, forehead pressed to the cool stainless steel. When you turned around, Maddie was there, drunk, hanging on your shoulder.
“Oh my god, you look so cute tonight,” she said. “Is that new?”
“No, I’ve had it—”
“I love it. We should go shopping next week. There’s a new collection at that place on the Mainland. The one with the dresses? You look so good in dresses. You should wear dresses more.”
“Sure,” you said, the word noncommittal, because the thought of stores with fluorescent lighting and their helpful salespeople and their pleasure to find things that fit you right made you want to crawl out of your skin.
“How are you and Top? You guys are so cute. Like actually. I was telling Cas the other day, you’re like the perfect couple.”
“We’re good. Thanks—”
“Are you guys thinking of schools together? Because I heard he got into Chapel Hill early and you’re obviously going to get in. You’re so smart—”
“Hopefully.” You smiled tightly; you hadn’t finished your applications yet, every time you sat down to work on your essays you ended up staring at the blank screen until your eyes hurt.
“You will. And then you’ll get married and have the cutest babies—”
“Madi—”
“What? You would! Could you imagine? Little Topper running around—”
You excused yourself before she could finish the thought, pushed back into the main room where the party was getting louder, messier, more of what was always going to become. Someone had turned up the music. Someone else was doing a keg stand in the corner and people were counting—”Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen”—and you felt tired. So tired.
You found Topper right where you’d left him. Still talking to Kelce. Still gesturing with his beer. You slid back under his arms like you were supposed to and he kissed the top of your head without pausing his sentence and you realized—for the hundredth time—this is your life now, and this is it. The thought should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.
“You okay?” Topper asking, looking down at you with those eyes that were genuinely so concerned that it made you feel guilty for not being okay. “You look weird.”
“I’m okay.”
“You sure? Because we can really leave if—”
“I’m fine.” It came out harsher than you’d intended. His face did a combination of something complicated (hurt, confused, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong). “Sorry, I’m just—it’s hot in here.”
“Let’s go outside then.”
“No, you’re talking to Kelce—”
“Don’t care. Come on.” He was already steering you towards the back doors, hand on your lower back, and you let him because that was easier than arguing. Outside the air was cooler but not by much, humid and thick with that almost-rain feeling. The pool was glowing blue, and there were people in it even though nobody had suits on, just jumping in with their clothes because that’s what you did at Ruthie’s.
“Better?” Topper asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been kind of off all week.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just—” His lips flattened, like he was trying to find the right words for a moment. “Are you stressed about your school stuff? Your mom?”
“A little.”
“It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna get in everywhere you apply. You’re so fucking smart.” He wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. “And we’ll be together. That’s what matters, right?”
“Right.”
“UNC is gonna be perfect. We can get an apartment off campus junior year. Somewhere with two bedrooms so your parents don’t freak out but we both know—” He laughed, squeezed you tighter, and his hands moved from your waist to hips, pulling you further back against him. “It’s gonna be so good, babe. I can’t wait.”
You could hear it in his voice, he meant it all.
You could feel him getting hard against your back. Of course. Topper had a one-track mind at parties. A few beers in, and suddenly everything translated to being foreplay. Your hand in his. You laughing at his jokes. Existing in his orbit. All of it translated, in his mind, to we should have sex now.
His lips found your neck, kissing that spot below your ear that he’d decided early on was your spot, even though you’d never actually told him it did anything for you. It was fine. It didn’t not work. It just—it was fine. Which was the saddest way you could describe your boyfriend’s touch. Fine, really? Not electric or the kind that made you forget your own name. You were so tired of just fine, but you were also not courageous enough to admit that.
“Baby—” you started, but his hand was already sliding under the hem of your tank top, thumb brushing the underside of your bra.
“Ruthie’s got that pool house,” he murmured against your back. “Nobody’s in there. We could—”
“There’s like seventy people here, Top.”
“So? That’s never stopped us before.” He turned you around, and his eyes had that look he conveniently gets when he wants something. “Come on, it’s been like a week.”
Had it been a week? You tried to remember the last time. Lask weekend, maybe. At his house, in his bed, with the door locked and the lights off because you always asked for the lights off even though he always wanted to see you. It had been fine. Good, even. Topper was considerate in bed, always asking if you were okay, if this felt good, if that made you finish even though sometimes you faked it just to move it along. Sometimes your brain wouldn’t turn off long enough to get there and it was easier to pretend.
“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m kind of tired.”
“I’ll do all the work.” He grinned, hands sliding down to your ass now, pulling you closer. “Come on, I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
You smiled, even though that only made you feel tired. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” His whole face lit up. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”
He grabbed your hand, started pulling you toward the pool house, and you followed because what else were you going to do? Explain that you didn’t want to but couldn’t articulate why?
The pool house was unlocked, dark, smelling like chlorine and the musty scent of furniture that spent too much time in humidity. Topper flicked on the lamp in the corner—dim, throwing everything into shadow—and pulled you to the couch.
He kissed you immediately, hands everywhere, enthusiastic in that golden retriever way he had about everything. You kissed back, let your hands go to his hair, his shoulders, the places you knew he liked. This was familiar. Routine. Two years of practice. You knew exactly how he liked to be touched and the sounds he made when you did it right. There was a rhythm and choreography to it.
He pulled you down onto the couch, climbed over you, and his mouth moved to your neck. Started kissing, then sucking, and you knew he was leaving marks. He always left marks when he was drunk, got possessive in this puppyish way that should've been endearing. His hand slid up your shirt, palm hot against your ribs, and he was grinding against you now, hard through his shorts.
"God, you're so hot," he murmured against your collarbone, kissing lower. "I love you so much."
“I love you too.”
He sucked harder at the spot where your neck met your shoulder—definitely leaving a mark there, you’d have to cover it tomorrow—and his hand was working the button of your shorts when his phone started to ring. He ignored it. Kept kissing. The phone stopped, then immediately started again.
“Babe—” you said.
“It’s fine. Just—”
It rang again.
“Topper, just check it.”
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, pulled back, fumbled for his phone in his pocket and squinted at the screen. “It’s my dad. Again.” He sat up, ran a hand through his hair like his dad could see him through the phone. “Shit. He called earlier and I—hold on. I’ll just.”
He answered it. “Hey, Dad… Yeah, I know. Sorry, it’s loud here… What? No, I can—” He stood up, walked to the door, and you could hear his dad’s voice on the other end, irritated and tiny. “I know. I’ll call him first thing tomorrow… Yeah… Okay… Yeah, she’s with me… Okay…”
You sat up, buttoned your shorts back up, and tried to fix your hair. Your neck felt hot where he’d been sucking, and when you touched it, your fingers came slightly damp. Great. That would be purple by morning.
Topper hung up, turned back to you, and his face had a guilty look. “I’m sorry, babe. My dad’s pissed about—there’s this thing with the club. I was supposed to call someone back—” He stopped and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I gotta call this guy really quick. Five minutes, I swear.”
This happened a lot. Topper’s father calling, needing something, and Topper drowning in everything to handle it. You understood it and resented it in equal measure.
“It’s okay.”
“You sure? Because I can—”
“No, it’s okay. Make your call. I’ll just meet you back outside.”
“You’re the best.” He kissed you quickly, already distracted and mentally somewhere else entirely. “Five minutes. Then we can—” He gestured vaguely at the couch with a tip of his head. “—continue?”
“Sure.”
Outside, you noticed a crowd dispersing and before you could try to make sense of it, Ruthie’s palm grabbed your shoulder and pulled you aside.
“This is the third fight he’s started this month,” she said, sentence coming out quickly like she was in the throes of stress.
“Who?”
“Rafe.”
You swallowed quickly, shaking your head. “Is he okay?”
“What? Rafe? He’s fine. He’s always doing this shit.” But she was frowning, scanning the crowd. “Where’d he go?”
“Maybe inside?”
“Great. He’s probably bleeding all over my mom’s white couch.” She sighed, then looked at you. “Can you go check on him?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. He’s Top’s best friend. And you’re like, good at the whole—” She gestured vaguely. “Thing.”
“I really don’t think—”
‘Please? I need to find the guy he beat up and make sure he isn’t going to make it a big deal. Rafe’s probably in one of the rooms. Just make sure he’s not dying or bleeding anywhere that isn’t expensive or visible.”
Given that Ruthie lived in an open-space concept house with nothing that cost less than four figures and very few doors to hide behind, that narrowed the list down to the bathrooms and maybe her dad’s office. The latter goes with the assumption that Rafe had the good sense to pick a room with wood or tile instead of white linen and glass.
She was already walking away before you could argue with her. You could find Topper, tell him what happened, and let him deal with his best friend. That’s what you should do. That’s what made sense. But your boyfriend was on the phone with his dad; Ruthie had asked you, and something about the situation made your chest twist uncomfortably.
𖦹
Rafe needed to get laid. Or high. Or hit something until his knuckles split. Twenty years of his life had taught him that when there isn’t one thing wreaking havoc over his life, he hyperfixated on the impossible. Self-sabotage, probably. The impossible being, currently, his best friend’s girlfriend the image that had been burned into his retinas and showed no signs of stopping no matter how much cocaine he shoved up his nose or how many drinks he threw back or how many times he told him he was just being a fucking idiot.
So, he picked a fight. With who? Didn’t matter. Some guy. A random fucking guy who had the misfortune of existing in Rafe’s vicinity at the exact moment Rafe had watched you disappear into Ruthie’s pool house with Topper, watched the door close behind you both, and felt something ugly and acidic rise up in his throat that tasted like very cheap vodka because he’d spent two years wanting something he couldn’t have. Two fucking years of seeing Topper touch you like it was easy, like you were some cosmic lottery he’d won just by being himself.
Now he was sitting on the closed toilet in Ruthie’s upstairs bathroom with blood drying on his knuckles and his face throbbing and the bass from downstairs making the floor vibrate under his feet, trying very hard not to think about what you and Topper had been doing in the pool house. The bleeding had mostly stopped. His right eye was going to swell shut by morning. His lip was split. Could've been worse. Had been worse, plenty of times. This was manageable. He was trying and failing, because his brain—traitorous, obsessive, completely fucked—kept supplying images; Topper’s hands on your waist, your hips, your head tipped back, the sounds you probably made, whether you’d let him keep the lights on, whether you were any good at it or whether you just laid there perfect and pretty while—
The door opened, and his eyes snapped up and there you were, standing in the doorway like a fucking hallucination, like something his substance-soaked brain had conjured because it hated him, too. You were backlit by the hall light in a way that should’ve been corny but wasn’t. You looked real solid there. Rafe thought there was no fucking way this was happening.
“Get out,” he said.
You didn’t get out, and Rafe was mad at the world because this was probably the first fucking time you didn’t do what someone else asked of you. Of course you chose right now, when Rafe was barely holding himself together, to stop being obedient.
You stepped inside instead, and the bathroom suddenly felt about three sizes too small, and Rafe could smell you, that perfume you wore, floral and clean and so aggressively innocent it made him want to break something. He could smell it all over the metallic tang of blood and the chemical burn of Ruthie’s fancy hand soap and his own sweat.
“You’re bleeding,” you said.
“Yeah, no shit.” His voice came out harsher than he’d meant, but what-fucking-ever. Harsh was good, and that would make you leave. “Where’s Topper?”
“On the phone with his dad.”
Right. Topper. Your boyfriend, the guy whose hands had been all over you. The guy who got to touch you whenever he wanted because you were his, officially his, had been for two years while Rafe stood on the sidelines watching and acting like he didn’t care.
“Cool. Go wait for him somewhere else.”
“Ruthie asked me to check on you.”
Obviously she fucking did. Of course Ruthie—who’d watched Rafe watch you for two years, who’d made pointed comments Rafe had ignored, who definitely knew more than she should—would send you up here like a deer to slaughter. She would put you in a room alone with him when he was high and drunk and had just beaten someone bloody because he couldn’t handle himself in his body like a normal person.
“Mm, you checked. I’m fine. Door’s right there.”
But you were closing the door instead behind you. Locking it. The lock was so obscenely loud that Rafe’s body went rigid and his head snapped in your direction. Every muscle in his body tensed and coiled. You’d locked yourself alone in a bathroom with him. What were you thinking?
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“You need help.”
“What I need is for you to leave.”
“Rafe—”
“No, I’m serious. Get the fuck out.” He stood up too fast, the room tilted, and he had to brace one hand against the wall while his vision did something complex and unstable. Everything went bright and sparkly around the edges the way it did when he mixed uppers and downers; his body was in a constant state of figuring out whether he should be flying or crashing. The coke was hitting him all weird, and that probably meant he had to do a bump in less than five minutes, mixing with vodka in ways that made everything bright and too close. He probably looked like shit.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
Because Topper probably had just fucked you. Because Rafe could still see that middle-school-hookup-hickey on your neck, all red and obvious and making him want to punch a hole through Ruthie’s bathroom mirror. Because you were standing there looking at him with genuine concern on your face like Rafe was someone worth for you to worry about, like you hadn’t spent the last hour with your boyfriend, like you had any business being so close to him when Rafe was barely holding onto his self-control with both hands, bloody and beat-up.
“Because I’m telling you to.”
You were already kneeling down though, opening the cabinet under Ruthie’s sink, and Rafe watched your ass in those jean shorts and thought that this was hell. This was actual hell and he was in it.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice coming out gruff. “I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t need your help.”
“Your face is bleeding.”
“Really.”
You ignored him, and pulled out Ruthie’s first aid kit. It was the expensive kind that came in a hard plastic case with actual organization inside, not just a jumble of Band-Aids and expired Advil, and stood up with it tucked under your arm. You wet a washcloth at the sink—one of Ruthie’s monogrammed hand towels—wrung it out, and looked back at him. You met his eyes for just a second, long enough for Rafe to catch the stubborn determination on your face.
And then—holy fuck—you stepped between his legs.
Just fucking stepped right between his legs like that was a normal place to be, like you had any fucking idea what that did to him. You, standing right between his legs, so close that if she shifted about two inches forward, you’d be pressed right to him. His jaw clenched tight.
You didn't know. Of course you didn't. Because you thought Rafe hated you. Thought he'd been an asshole to you for two years because he didn't like you, not because liking you was the problem, had always been the problem, would continue to be the problem until Rafe died or moved to another country or developed severe amnesia.
"Sit down," you said. Soft. Like you were talking to a scared animal.
He should say no. Should physically remove you from the bathroom. Should do literally anything other than what he did, which was sink back down onto that toilet seat like his legs stopped working. He even let you step closer, close enough that your knees bumped his, close enough that he could see the freckles scattered across your shoulders like someone had flicked a paintbrush at you.
"This might sting," you said, and reached up to touch his face.
Your fingers made contact with the cut above his eyebrow—gently, so fucking gently—and Rafe's entire nervous system went haywire. Every nerve ending firing at once. Every muscle in his body locking up trying to keep still, keep from grabbing you, keep from doing something catastrophically stupid that he couldn’t take back. He felt like he’d forgot how to breathe. Your touch felt branded, like every place your skin met his was burning.
Nothing about this was sexual. That was the fucked up part. Yeah, there was the fact that Rafe's brain had a one-track mind when it came to you and that track involved significantly less clothing than you were currently wearing, but this was worse. This was your hand on his face, gentle and careful like he was worth being gentle with. Like he was something other than Ward Cameron's greatest disappointment and the guy who got too fucked up at parties and picked fights for no reason.
"Sorry," you murmured when he flinched. "I'm trying to be gentle."
Rafe let out something between a laugh and a choke at how oblivious you were. “Yeah, that—” He swallowed, cleared his throat, then tried again. “I know.”
Stop talking. Seriously, stop talking.
His hands were gripping his thighs. He was gripping them hard enough to hurt, hard enough his knuckles—already fucked from the fight—were screaming at him. But it was either grip his thighs or grab you, and grabbing you was not an option. Grabbing you was the opposite of an option.
“You don’t have to do this.” His voice came out tight and strained. Nothing normal.
“I know,” you said quietly.
“Then why are you?”
You dabbed at the cut again, concentration evident in the way that you were biting your bottom lip. “Because you’re hurt,” you said like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Was that reason enough for you to do this? “So?”
“So, someone should help.”
“And it had to be you?”
“Ruthie asked—”
“Ruthie’s not here.” His fingers were going numb now from how hard he was gripping his legs. “It’s just us. You can leave. I don’t think Ruthie meant you had to do all of this.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Because you were Topper’s, and Topper was Rafe’s best friend, one of his only real friends, if Rafe was being honest, the only person besides Kelce and Sarah who didn’t see Ward’s DNA walking around making the wrong choices. Because twenty minutes ago you’d been in a pool house with Topper doing things Rafe had no right to think about, and now you were touching Rafe’s face with fingers that probably still smelled like Topper’s cologne. Because if you didn’t leave right now, Rafe was going to do something unforgivable.
He opened his mouth to say some version of that—to say anything that would make you leave—when you spoke first.
“Because you don’t like me, right?” you said quietly after a moment, and Rafe’s brain stuttered to a complete stop.
“Huh?”
“You don’t like me. You never have.” You weren’t looking into his eyes anymore—and Rafe realized he missed having your eyes on him—and were focusing very intently on the washcloth. “Since I started dating Topper, you’ve been—you act like I’m annoying you all the time.”
Rafe stared at you. At your face, all concentration and hurt poorly hidden, and felt something in his chest twist sideways. You couldn’t meet his eyes, like you were embarrassed to have said it out loud.
You thought he didn't like you. You actually, genuinely thought that the reason Rafe had been cold and dismissive and sometimes cruel was because he didn't like you. Not because he'd spent two years watching you be Topper's perfect girlfriend and wanting you so badly it made him physically ill. You didn’t think it was because every time you smiled at him or laughed at something he said or looked at him like you were looking at him right now, it took every ounce of self-control he had not to cross whatever line existed between being Topper's best friend and being the asshole who wanted his girlfriend. You had zero idea liking you was so much worse than not liking you that Rafe had chosen cruelty as the easier option. If you were anybody else, Rafe would’ve been irked at how much having one person dislike you hurt you.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he managed.
“Don’t I?” You pulled back slightly, met his eyes. “Because I’ve spent two years trying to be nice to you and you act like I’m—I don’t know. Like I’m a problem.”
"Maybe you are."
You flinched. Good. Flinching meant distance meant you'd leave meant Rafe could get his head straight and stop thinking about all of this. You put an inch of space between the two of you. Good. Except it also made him feel like the piece of shit he was and suddenly, he wanted to apologize, take it back, and explain.
“I’m trying to help you,” you said, and there was an edge to your voice now. Your hurt was bleeding into anger. “The least you can do is not be an asshole about it.”
“Nobody asked you to help.”
“Ruthie—”
“Fuck Ruthie.” Rafe leaned back against the wall, putting more distance between his face and your hands because if you touched him again he was going to lose it. “I don’t need your help. Don’t want it. So you can go back to your boyfriend—” He paused at the word to make sure you could feel the weight of it, even though he knew your intentions were all innocent, “—and your best friend and tell them I’m fine.”
You were still standing there, between his legs, and close enough that Rafe could see the way your pulse was jumping in your throat right below that hickey Topper left like a fucking brand. Like he pre-anticipated all of this, and wanted to plaster a reminder on your body to remind Rafe whose you were.
“Fine.” Your voice had gone flat. “Bleed, then. I don’t care.” But you said it while standing between his legs without moving, your hands still hovering over him like you were fighting the exact same battle he was: stay or go, touch or don’t touch.
Someone pounded on the door. Hard. Three times in rapid succession. You jumped—actually jumped, startled—and stumbled slightly backward, and Rafe’s hands moved before the circuits in his brain caught up. They shot out and caught your hips, steadying you, pulling you back between his legs where you’d been standing.
His hands were on your bare skin. He pushed down the groan forming in his throat.
“Yo. Yo. Someone in there?” A guy’s voice, drunk and completely impatient.
Rafe’s hands were on your hips. On your bare skin where your tank top had ridden up slightly. His fingers were spread, wide, thumbs pressing just above your hip bones, and he could feel you breathing fast—with your whole body—underneath his palms. This was the first time he’d touched you—he thought—skin-to-skin, and it felt like every bad decision he’d made in his life had led him to this one final straw.
“Occupied,” he called out. His voice came out steadier than it should’ve.
“How long you gonna be, man? I gotta piss—”
“As long as I fucking wanna be.”
“Dude, come on—”
“There’s a fuckin’ bathroom downstairs. Use that one.”
The guy on the other side muttered, groaned, and they heard the footsteps retreat down the hall. Silence. Rafe’s hands were still on your hips. Neither of you were moving. Rafe could feel your pulse underneath his thumbs, he could feel it racing, jackrabbit-fast, and his own wasn’t much better. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the softness of it, the way you fit perfectly under his hands like you’d been designed for them.
This was bad. This was so, so bad. He should let go. He should move his hands back to his thighs where they belonged. He should laugh it off and put distance between you to pretend his hands weren’t burning where they touched you.
“Rafe,” you said quietly, almost breathless.
“Yeah?” he said quickly.
“Your hands.”
“You’re good,” he said, and his thumbs moved fractionally, just a tiny shaft to see if you’d pull away.
“Rafe,” you said again, voice on the edge of concern.
He tilted his head to look down, and he could feel your body jerking slightly as his hair brushed against your torso. “Just—give it a second.”
A second for what? Why were you giving him a second? You weren’t pulling away, and you weren’t telling him to let go. You were just standing there, looking down at him with your eyes too wide and lips parted slightly and that hickey on your neck that Rafe wanted to cover with his mouth, wanted to replace with his own mark, wanted—
Rafe’s thumb moved just slightly. A small circle against your hip bones. He tilted his head up slightly to meet your eyes, watching your face to see if you’d pull away, if you’d slap him, if you’d do anything to stop him before it became something neither of you could take back. He had to see if he was crossing a line he couldn’t uncross.
You inhaled sharply but you didn’t pull away.
“What are you doing, Rafe?”
“Don’t know.”
“Okay,” you said, but your voice was unsure.
His thumb kept moving. Small circles. Hypnotic. He could feel the exact moment you stopped breathing normally. Your body tensed underneath his hands. Your hands had come up at some point, were hoving near his shoulders like you weren’t sure what to do with them, like you wanted to touch him but didn’t know if you were allowed.
And that—that fucking uncertainty, that unnamed want—that was going to be Rafe’s undoing.
Because he could keep his hands on your hips and pretend it was nothing. He could tell himself he was just steadying you, just making sure you didn’t lose your balance. But if your hands touched him—if you made the choice to touch him back—then this becomes something else. It would become something mutual. Something that couldn’t be explained away by the cocaine or the alcohol or the general fucked-upness of the night. It would become a choice and it would be your choice.
Your fingers brushed his shoulders lightly and tentatively. Rafe’s breath stopped short, and the realization that you were indulging him hit him like a fucking brick. If he didn’t let go right now—right this second—he was going to kiss you. Your fingers pressed slightly harder against his shoulders.
And Rafe let you go.
He dropped his hands like your skin had burned him. He pushed himself up the toilet so fast his vision swam, the bathroom tilting sideways in that way that said he’d moved too quick, that the drugs were still very much in his system. He stumbled slightly and caught himself against the wall. He put three feet of space between you and him in the span of three seconds.
“You gotta leave,” he said. His voice came out all wrong. Too rough, too raw, like he’d swallowed glass.
You were staring at him like he’d grown a second head. Your hands were still raised slightly, frozen in the air where they’d been about to touch him. He wanted to tell you to put your hands down, but he also wanted to grab them and pull you closer. Your face was doing something Rafe couldn’t look at, because your confusion was bleeding into hurt once again.
“What—” you started.
“Just go.”
“But you—”
“Go.” He couldn’t look at you right now. He looked at the wall instead. He focused on the expensive floral wallpaper that probably cost half the price of the house as a whole. “You need to leave. Right now.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Topper’s probably looking for you.”
“He’s on the phone—”
“He’ll be off the phone soon. And he’s gonna wanna know where you are.” Rafe made himself look at you, and he made himself see the confusion on your face, the way you’d wrapped your arms around yourself like you were cold even though Ruthie’s bathroom was stuffy and warm. He tipped his chin in your direction, feigning as much carelessness as he could. “What are you gonna tell him?”
You blinked. “What?”
“When he asks where you were. What’re you gonna say?”
“I’ll—I’ll tell him I was checking on you. Because Ruthie asked me to?”
“That’s it?” He heard himself push; he was being cruel again because that was safer than being honest.
“That’s it, yeah. Yeah.” But your voice wavered slightly on the words. “That’s all that happened.” He could hear the uncertainty in your words, like you were trying to convince yourself.
“Good. Tell him that.”
You were still standing there, still looking at him with those eyes that saw too fucking much, and Rafe could see you trying to working through it, trying to figure out what had just happened, what it meant that his hands had been you, that his hands had been moving in circles against your skin, that maybe for a minute there something had shifted between you that couldn’t be unshifted.
“Did I do something wrong?”
The question hit Rafe in the chest all wrong. You thought you’d done something wrong, like any of this was your fault. Like you’d been the one to grab on, to hold too long, to move your thumbs in ways that had nothing to do with steadying and everything to do with wanting.
“No,” he said, having to push the word out. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then—”
“Because I’m high.” His voice came out flat now, matter-of-fact. He’d found his voice again, the one that made everything sound meaningless. The lie was easier when he didn’t look at you, he realized. “I’m high and drunk and not thinking straight. That’s all this is.”
“Okay.”
Maybe it did make sense to you; you wanted it to be that simple. If 1+1=2, then high+drunk=temporary insanity. Nothing more complicated than chemistry and bad decisions.
𖦹
A week had passed since the party at Ruthie’s, and you’d gotten very good at pretending nothing had happened. You’d seen Rafe twice—once at the country club when your families had overlapping dinner reservations, once at Topper’s house when you’d shown up and he’d been leaving—and you’d smiled politely, said hello, and acted like everything was completely normal. Both times, he’d barely looked at you. He nodded in your general direction, mumbled something that might’ve been a greeting. And left as quickly as possible.
Which was fine. Good, even. Exactly what was meant to happen. Except you couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on your hips, the way his thumbs had moved in small circles. About the look on his face when he’d let go, like he’d done something he couldn’t take back. You wished you could try talking to Ruthie about it, but you also knew that if you slipped on the wrong word or revealed the tiniest detail, she’d catch onto it like a vulture and somehow figure out exactly what happened.
And now you were at Sunday brunch with Topper and both set of parents, and your mother kept looking at you like she could tell something was wrong. Topper kept reaching for your hand under the table, and all you wanted was to be literally anywhere else.
“—so, we’re thinking late April for the engagement party,” Topper’s mom was saying. She had her phone out, scrolling through her calendar with one hand while cutting eggs Benedict with another. “That gives us plenty of time to plan something before you two leave for school.”
You looked up from your untouched fruit salad. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The engagement party, hon.” Mrs. Thornton smiled at you warmly. “Nothing official, of course. You’ll do the actual engagement after graduation, I’m sure. But we thought it’d be nice for both of you to have a celebration before you head to Chapel Hill. Really cement things.”
Your mother made an approving sound. “That’s a lovely idea, Cynthia.”
“I just think it’s important to acknowledge these milestones,” she continued. “Topper and—” She said your name like it was already hyphenated with his. “—they’re so good together. And with our families being so close together, it just makes sense to start planning now.”
“Mom,” Topper said, and there was a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “We haven’t even—I mean, we’ve talked about it, but—”
“Oh, I know, sweetie. I’m not trying to rush anything. I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page about the timeline.” She looked at you expectantly. “You are planning on going to Chapel Hill, aren’t you?”
Four sets of eyes turned to you. Topper's parents. Your parents. Topper himself, looking hopeful and nervous and so certain that the answer would be yes because of course it would be yes, why wouldn't it be yes?
“I haven’t decided yet,” you said.
Everyone went very still.
"What do you mean you haven't decided?" your mother asked. Her voice was light but there was an edge to it. "Your applications were due weeks ago."
"I applied to other schools too."
"Yes, but—" Your mother set down her fork with a soft clink. "We've discussed this. Chapel Hill makes the most sense. It's a good school, it's close enough to visit, and—" She glanced at Topper. "—well. It makes sense for other reasons too."
“I know what reasons you mean, Mom.”
You could feel Topper’s hands tighten around yours under the table. You could feel the anxiety radiating off him even though his face stayed neutral. “Babe,” he said quietly. “I thought we talked about this.”
“We did talk about it.”
“And I thought—” He stopped. Started again. “You said you were fine with Chapel Hill.”
"I said I'd think about it."
"That's not—" He stopped again. Glanced at his parents, at yours, clearly not wanting to have this conversation in front of an audience. "That's not what it sounded like."
"Maybe you heard what you wanted to hear."
That came out sharper than you'd meant. Topper's face did something complicated. His hurt bled into frustration bled into confusion. Your mother made a small sound of disapproval. Mrs. Thornton looked like she wanted to say something but wasn't sure if she should.
𖦹
You were drunk. Not falling-down drunk, not blacking-out drunk, but drunk enough that the bonfire had halos around it and the sand felt unsteady under your feet and when Topper talked it took you both an extra second to process what he was saying. Topper was drunker. He had been drinking since before he’d picked you up, had kept drinking in the Jeep on the way there, had been working his way through a twelve-pack since you’d arrived at the beach an hour ago. His movements kept getting looser and more expansive, and he’d told the same story about the golf tournament twice in the past twenty minutes.
You were sitting in the sand near the bonfire, backs against a piece of driftwood, Topper’s arm heavy on your shoulders. The party was in full-swing around you. Sixty kids scattered across the beach, music thumping from someone else’s truck, the ocean dark and loud behind all of it. Someone was taking shots. Someone was throwing up behind the dunes. Madi was making out with some guy from The Cut. It was all normal.
"I don't get why you're being so weird about this," Topper was saying. Or had been saying. You'd lost the thread of the conversation somewhere around your third drink. "It's not a big deal."
“What’s not a big deal?”
“Chapel Hill,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re acting like—it’s all this huge thing. It’s just college.”
Oh. This again. The conversation from brunch wasn’t over despite both of you pretending it was for the past eight hours.
“Can we not do this right now?”
“Do what?”
“This. The college thing. I’m really tired of talking about it.”
“Well, I’m tired of not knowing what’s going on with you.” Topper’s arm over your shoulder tightened. Insistent. “You’ve been weird for like a week.”
“I haven’t been weird.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause it feels like you’re mad at me.”
"I'm not mad, Top. I'm just—" You stopped. Tried to find words through the alcohol fog. "I'm just trying to figure stuff out."
"What stuff?"
"School stuff. Future stuff."
"Our future?"
"My future."
“Same thing.” He said that, too, like it was obvious. There was no version of future that didn’t have you and him together. “Right?”
You took another sip from the drink in your hands. Was it? It couldn’t be the same thing. You were a person separate from him, separate from “you and Topper,” separate from everyone else’s plans. You did exist outside your relationship, right?
“Right?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” He pulled his arms away from your shoulders. “What does that mean? We talked about this. We made plans.”
"You made plans. And I just—I went along with them because everyone was so happy about it and I didn't want to—" You gestured vaguely. "I didn't want to ruin it."
Topper stared at you. "Ruin what?"
"This. Us. The whole—" You stopped again. Nothing was coming out right. "Everyone's so sure about everything. You're sure, my parents are sure, your parents are sure. And I'm just—I'm not."
"Sure about what? About me?"
"About everything."
"That's not—" He stood up suddenly, swayed slightly, caught himself. "That's not an answer. Do you want to be with me or not?"
"I do—"
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is I don't know if I want everything else that comes with it! The engagement party planning, the apartment hunting, the whole—" You stood up too, because this conversation felt wrong sitting down. "Everyone treating us like we're already married when we're nineteen."
"So you don't want to marry me."
"I didn't say that—"
"That's what it sounds like."
"That's not—Topper, you're not listening—"
"I am listening. You're saying you don't know if you want a future with me."
"I'm saying I don't know what I want for my own future! Period! Not just the part with you in it—the whole thing!" Your voice was getting louder. A few people nearby were starting to look over. "I don't know what I want to study or where I want to go or who I want to be. And everyone keeps acting like those are already answered questions and they're not. Not for me."
Topper ran both hands through his hair. "Okay. Okay. So you need time to figure it out. That's—I can give you time."
"It's not just time—"
"Then what is it? Just tell me what you need and I'll—I'll do it. Whatever you need."
"I need space." The words came out before you could stop them. "I need room to think without everyone—without you—asking me what I've decided every five seconds."
The second the words came out, you wanted to take them back. You did mean them, but you could see what they did to Topper’s face.
His face did something awful and twisted. Like you'd physically hit him. "Space."
"Not—I don't mean—" You stopped. The vodka was making everything harder. "I just mean I need to figure this out on my own. Without everyone weighing in."
"Everyone meaning me."
"Everyone meaning everyone. My parents, your parents, you—"
"So you want to break up."
"That's not what I said—"
"That's what space means."
"No it's not—"
"Then what does it mean?" He was angry now, genuinely angry. Topper never got angry. "Because from where I'm standing it sounds like you want to break up but you don't want to say it."
"I don't want to break up!" You were yelling now. "I love you! I just—I need time to figure out what I want that's not about us. That's just about me."
"But I'm part of your life. We're—we're together. You can't just—" He stopped. Shook his head. "You know what? Fine. You want space? You got it."
“I love you,” you said, because that was meant to be grounding. That was supposed to fix things. Love was supposed to be the answer to it all, wasn’t it? And you needed him to hear that. You needed him to understand that this wasn’t about not loving him. “I love you. Isn’t that what matters?”
Topper looked at you for a long moment, and his face was doing something you'd never seen before. He looked hurt and frustrated and something that looked almost like resignation. "I don't know anymore," he said quietly. "Maybe it should be enough. But right now it just—it doesn't feel like it is."
His words hit you like a physical blow. You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
“I need a break,” Topper said. He wasn’t yelling anymore. He sounded like he was just tired. “Not from you. Just from this. This conversation and this night. I—I can’t do this right now.”
"Okay," you said quietly.
"I'm gonna stay here. At the party. But you should go home." He looked at you, and there was something almost gentle in his expression despite everything. "You look exhausted, babe. You should go home."
"I can stay—"
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I think both of us need to cool off. Think about shit. And we can’t if we’re both here drunk and—” He gestured vaguely between you two. “—doing this.”
“How am I supposed to get home?” you asked, because he had drove you and apparently he was insistent on being the one that stayed at the party.
“I’ll figure it out. Just—give me a second.” He turned his back to you, looking around the area. “There.” He pointed. “Rafe’s here. He’ll drive you.”
Your stomach dropped. “He doesn’t have to—” Your voice came out wrong, high and panicked. Topper didn’t notice.
“He can drive. He’ll drop you off.” Topper was already walking toward Rafe standing at the bonfire. “Yo! Rafe.”
Rafe looked up to see Topper, then you standing a foot behind him.
“What’s up?” he called back.
“Do me a favour?” Topper reached him and put a hand on his shoulder. You followed him close behind, hesitant of your steps. “Can you give her a ride home?”
Rafe’s eyes flicked to you, an eyebrow raised, then moved back to Topper. “Something wrong with your car?”
"Nah. I just—we had a thing. She needs to go home and I'm staying here and I don't want her to drive." Topper's voice was still doing that too-casual thing, that trying-to-hold-it-together thing. "You're good to drive, right?"
"Yeah." It came out too quickly.
"So can you take her? Please?"
Rafe looked at you again and held your gaze for a beat too long. Or maybe you were imagining that?
"Yeah. Sure. No problem." He shrugged.
"Thanks, man. I owe you." Topper turned back to you, and his face softened slightly. "Get home safe, okay? We'll talk tomorrow. When we're both—" He gestured vaguely at himself. "—not like this."
"Okay," you said.
"And I do love you. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"Good." He kissed your forehead—quick, careful, almost formal. "Text me when you get home."
And then he walked back toward the bonfire, toward Kelce and the others, and left you standing there with Rafe.
The silence stretched out. You could hear the ocean, the music, people laughing somewhere down the beach. Could feel Rafe not looking at you, determinedly staring at something over your shoulder.
"You don't have to—" you started.
"My truck's in the lot," Rafe said, cutting you off. His voice was flat. Careful. "You ready to go or do you need to say goodbye to people?"
"I'm ready."
"Okay."
He started walking and you followed, and the distance between you felt like miles even though you were only a few feet apart. Neither of you said anything as you crossed the beach, as you climbed the short path up to the parking lot, as you reached his truck.
He unlocked it. You got in. He got in. Started the engine. He quickly pulled out of the lot and onto the main road.
The silence in the truck was suffocating. You could hear your own breathing, could hear the road under the tires, could hear the distant thump of the bonfire music fading behind you. Could feel Rafe's presence next to you like a physical thing; it was too close and too far away at the same time.
“Thanks for doing this,” you said finally.
“It’s fine.”
You watched streetlights pass through the windshield, painting the cab of the truck in alternating light and shadow. Rafe's hands on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched. Everything about his body language screaming that he didn't want to be here, didn't want to be doing this, didn't want to be alone in a truck with you.
Which was fair. You'd both been doing a good job of avoiding each other all week. And now here you were, trapped together, and the air between you felt electric and dangerous and wrong.
“You guys good?”
“Yup.”
Your throat went tight. You pressed your forehead against the cool glass of the window and tried to breathe evenly and tried to think about what on earth had just happened. The fight. Topper’s face. The way he’d looked at you like he didn’t know who you were. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe you didn’t anymore either. Your eyes were burning; you blinked and felt the wetness on your lashes. Great. Perfect. You were crying now; drunk-crying in Rafe Cameron’s truck after fighting with your boyfriend who you loved but maybe didn’t love enough or maybe loved in the wrong way completely. You didn’t even know anymore.
A tear slid down your cheek, and then another. You tried to wipe them away quickly but they kept coming, and your breath was hitching in that embarrassing way that meant you were about to properly cry, and you turned your face more toward the window so Rafe wouldn’t see.
“Hey,” he said, his voice was flat and careful at the same time. “You sure you’re good?”
“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice cracked on the words.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m not.”
“I can see you crying.”
“I’m fine. I’m just—” You wiped at your face again. “Drunk. Just drunk. It’s stupid.”
Rafe remained silent and kept driving. His jaw was doing that thing it did, and his hands stayed on the wheel, and you thought maybe he was just going to ignore it and drive you home in silence while you cried quietly in the passenger seat like some pathetic drunk girl who couldn’t keep her relationship in check.
But then the truck slowed and his turn signal clicked on. He took a right down a side road you couldn’t place in your haziness, one of those residential streets that branched off the main drag, lined with scrub pine and chain-link fences and houses set back from the road. It was dark and quiet and empty. He put the truck in park and cut the engine.
You could hear every single thing now; you could hear your breathing, still hitching and uneven, the tick of the cooling engine, the distant sound of the ocean even though you were blocks away from the beach.
“I’m sorry,” you said, and your words came out shaky. “I didn’t mean for this to—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be—I’m fine. Really. You can just take me home. I’m sorry.”
Rafe let you talk without interrupting.
“I’m just drunk,” you continued, because in your mind stopping would mean actually feeling and sitting in the silence and acknowledging what had just happened with Topper and what was just happening in the truck. “And I got into this argument with Topper, but it’s fine. We’re fine. We fight sometimes. It’s normal. I love him. I do—”
Your voice cracked again. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to stop the tears, but they kept coming anyway.
“He's such a good person. And he loves me and he's never done anything wrong and I love him but sometimes I feel like I can't breathe around him and I don't know if that's normal or if that means something's wrong with me or if I’m just crazy—"
You were rambling. You knew you were rambling. But you couldn't stop. The vodka and the tears and the week of avoiding thinking about any of this had cracked something open and now it was all spilling out in Rafe Cameron's truck and you couldn't make it stop.
Rafe still hadn't said anything. Was just sitting there listening. Which was unusual. Rafe didn't listen. Rafe interrupted, Rafe made snide comments, Rafe left the room when conversations got uncomfortable. But he was just sitting there. Letting you empty it all out.
“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I shouldn’t be saying this. You’re—you’re his best friend. I shouldn’t be—”
“I don’t think you’re being crazy,” Rafe said, almost shrugging.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “Anyone would feel like that. He doesn’t wanna deal with shit he doesn’t wanna hear. It’s about him, not you.”
You looked at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m not trying to make him the bad guy.”
Rafe let out a short laugh. “I know.”
“He’s not. He’s good. He’s—”
“I know he is.”
“Then why—”
“‘Cause good doesn’t mean he’s right,” he said.
You felt your breath hitch slightly and felt more tears coming. You hugged yourself without realizing it. You wrapped your arms around your middle like if you could just hold yourself together physically, you can keep it together mentally.
Rafe’s hand left the steering wheel and settled on your thigh assuredly. Not brushing the hem of your shorts, but close. His hand was close enough that you could feel the heat of his palm through the denim. His fingers spread, thumb, resting at the edge where the fabric ended and your bare skin began. Suddenly you thought that the shorts were too short, too much leg showing, too much everything. You should tell him to move his hand.
“Are you okay?” he asked again, but you had a feeling he didn’t mean your situation with Topper as much as the situation with your bodies touching.
“Yeah,” you said quietly.
“Good.”
Rafe didn’t know what he could blame his actions on. He didn’t have a reason in Ruthie’s bathroom, but now, he had no reason. None. You were crying to him about Topper; he wasn’t catching all your words because you were rambling more than talking, but he could’ve sworn you mentioned the word love and loving Topper about three times throughout your entire monologue. But was it his fault when you turned to meet his eyes—was it his fault when you looked at him like that?
Because you did. Because you looked like everything he'd been trying not to think about for two years, everything he'd been mean about and cruel about and dismissive about because acknowledging it would mean admitting that Topper's girlfriend was the prettiest girl Rafe had ever seen and also the one girl on this entire fucking island he couldn't have.
Your eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, mascara smudged underneath that should’ve been messy but only made him think you were letting him see something more real and something nobody else got to see. Your cheeks were flushed from crying and probably the alcohol, that pink spread down your neck to your collarbone, and Rafe’s eyes followed it without permission. He cataloged and memorized it. Your lips were glossy; it was probably the lipgloss you always wore that Rafe had watched you apply about a hundred times at parties, that you reapplied obsessively like it was a nervous habit. It was now smudged at the corner from where you’d been crying and wiping your face and Rafe wanted to fix it.
Or ruin it more. He hadn’t decided. Both maybe. Fix it by ruining it. Ruining it by touching it.
Your hair was falling out of whatever you’d done to it earlier and you looked vulnerable in a way that made Rafe’s chest twist uncomfortably because he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t be cataloging the way your tank top had rode up slightly when you’d turned toward him, showing a strip of your skin that was rising and falling too fast. He shouldn’t be noticing that your breath was still uneven, and your chest was rising and falling too fast, and the strap of your bra was visible under your top (white, lace-edged), and Jesus Christ, he needed to fucking stop. But his hand stayed exactly where it was.
But Rafe couldn’t stop because you were looking at him in a way he couldn’t name. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He only knew you were looking at him with those eyes—red and wet and too wide—and your lips were parted slightly and you weren’t pulling away from his hand on your thigh and this was so fucking dangerous.
“You gotta stop looking at me like that,” he said through a rough chuckle.
Your throat moved when you swallowed. “Like what?”
Like you want me to kiss you. Like you’ve forgotten Topper exists. Like I’m not the worst possible person you could be alone with right now.
“You know.”
And he knew you knew. It was evident in the way your breath caught, the way your eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second before flicking back up. He could tell in the way you didn’t pull away when his thumb moved against your thigh. He should move his hand. He should drive his truck and take you home and never be alone with you ever, ever again. He should do literally anything other than sitting here in the dark with his hand on your thigh thinking how easy it would be to slide it higher, to find out if your skin was as soft as it looked, to make you make a sound that wasn’t crying.
But you were still looking at him and not pulling away. You were sitting there with your lips parted and eyes glassy and that fucking lip gloss catching the light from the streetlamp and Rafe’s brain had officially short-circuited.
This was Topper’s girl. Topper’s perfect girlfriend who baked fucking cookies and volunteered and lead charity events and smiled at everyone. She was soft and sweet, everything Rafe wasn’t. And now you were here, in Rafe’s truck, looking at Rafe like that, and Rafe was only human. He was only twenty and fucked up and good at making horrible decisions.
His hand moved again higher this time. Just enough to feel where denim ended and skin began. It was enough to make you inhale sharply.
“Rafe,” you said. You only said his name, and he was sure he’d heard you say it about a hundred times before, but the way you said it breathy and uncertain made every rational thought in Rafe disappear. Not stop. Not don’t. Just his name.
“I know,” he said. “We can’t. I know this is—” He stopped. His hand involuntarily tightened on your thigh. “I know.” He took in a sharp breath. “You’re crying. And you’re looking at me like that. And you’re—” He shook his head. “Fuck.”
You only looked at Rafe and he watched you try to figure out what to say, how to respond, what any of this meant.
“Rafe,” you whispered finally. “We can’t.”
“Iknow.” The words came out quickly. “I know all of it. I should move my hand and drive you home and never be alone with you again.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“‘Cause I don’t wanna.”
The words hung there. Too honest. Too raw. Rafe watched you process them, watched your face do something complicated, watched you bite your bottom lip—that nervous thing you did—and his eyes locked on your mouth.
On that lip gloss. On the way your teeth pressed into your bottom lip. On the little indent it left when you released it.
God, he wanted to kiss you. Wanted it so badly he could barely think straight. Wanted to know if you tasted like strawberries or if that was just the gloss. Wanted to know if you'd kiss him back or push him away. Wanted to know if you'd been thinking about him the way he'd been thinking about you.
Wanted to know if that moment in Ruthie's bathroom had meant something or if he'd imagined the way your breath had caught when his hands were on your hips.
“We’re gonna regret this,” you said quietly.
Oh, Rafe wasn’t sure about that part. Rafe's thumb moved again. Slow. Deliberate. Drawing a circle against your skin right where your shorts ended, right where he could feel how warm you were, how soft.
"Rafe," you breathed.
His voice came out low. Rough. "Tell me to move my hand and drive you home and I will."
“You should—”
“Not what I asked.” His eyes locked on yours. “Tell me to stop.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Rafe watched you struggle with it and watched you try to find the words, try to be good, try to do the right thing.
"I can't," you whispered finally.
And that was all Rafe needed. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. He wanted to give you time to say no, he almost needed you to say no. He wanted to give you time to remember you had a boyfriend because the time he got (two years) was enough to make him not care about your boyfriend being his best friend. You didn't pull away.
You weren’t even breathing. He could tell because his chest had stopped moving and you’d gone completely still under his hand like a deer that didn’t know whether to run or stay.
You only sat there frozen as Rafe closed the distance between you, as his free hand came up to cup your face, as his thumb brushed across your cheekbone right where the mascara was smudged.
"Last chance," he murmured. His lips were an inch from yours. Less. "Tell me no and I'll stop." His thumb traced your cheek once, and then again. He wanted to give you time. He wanted to give you an out.
Your eyes were huge and locked on his. Rafe could see you warring with yourself and he could’ve sworn he saw the moment you made the decision, the moment you stopped fighting it.
"I don't want you to stop," you whispered.
Good. He kissed you, slow at first. Like he was testing, giving you one more second to change your mind. His hand rested on your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone because he couldn’t stop touching you. His other hand tightened on your thigh. You made a small sound, maybe it was surprise, but he hoped it was want. Your body turned further toward him, and his fingers rested between the skin of your thighs, warm and soft and fuck.
Then you kissed him back, and something horrible in Rafe snapped. His lips worked harder and his hand slid from your face into your hair—fisting it, tangling in it—tilting your head back to get a better angle, so he could kiss you better, the way he’d been thinking about for two years. You made a small, surprised sound, and Rafe swallowed it whole.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “We’re so fucked.”
Your hands found his shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling him closer even though there was nowhere closer to go in the cab of his truck. The center console dug into his ribs but he didn’t care. He would’ve climbed over it if he could.
“Rafe—” you gasped when his lips moved to your neck.
“Hm?” His teeth grazed your pulse point.
“Rafe,” you said again, voice breathy and all perfect.
He hummed against your skin. “Yeah, baby?”
You shivered against him.
“I’m sorry.” Your hands went up his back and landed on his neck, nails softly grazing against the skin under his hair. The touch was so light it almost hurt Rafe, as though you weren’t allowed.
“Don’t.” Rafe’s lips met the corner of your jaw before he pulled back just enough to look at you. He rested his forehead against yours, breath uneven, and his hands stayed in your hair, fingers still tangled like he’d forgotten how to let go. Maybe if he held on long enough, this moment wouldn’t end and tomorrow would never come. “Don’t apologize to me. That’s not what this is.”
Your hands stilled on his neck, and the barely-there touch made all hairs on his body rise.
“What is it?” you asked softly.
Rafe laughed once, but all humor was devoid. What was it? Fuck if he knew. A really, really good mistake. He’d wanted this so long that it didn’t even feel real now that it was happening. His thumb slid along your jaw, tilting your face back toward him so you had no choice but to meet his eyes again. “You’re upset.”
He leaned back and in, kissed you again. It was shorter this time, firmer than before, like he was reminding himself what it felt like rather than losing himself in it; he would likely never have you in this position ever again. So he memorized it, your taste and the way your mouth fit against his and the sounds you made.
When he pulled away, his hand slid back down to your thigh, thumb pressing there, grounding both of you.
“You gotta breathe,” he murmured. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”
You let out a breathy laugh. “You’re one to talk.” Rafe liked your voice too much.
“Hey,” he said, voice now slightly playful. “I’m not the one crying.” He cleared his throat when you didn’t respond. “You okay?”
You nodded.
“Good,” he said, and forced himself to pull away. Your hands stayed on his neck—fingers still curled there, warm—and he had to physically remove it. He took your wrist and gently guided your hand back to your own lap. “Because if we keep going like that, I really can’t take this back.”
He forced himself to start the truck because he wasn’t sure how true his words rang. His body felt like it was boiling about twenty emotions together at once; how could you take this back? He’d made you cross a line. He’d pulled you across it, really. The engine turned over. The headlights cut through the dark. Rafe put his truck in drive because if he sat there one more second looking at you with your swollen lips and smudged mascara and his fingerprints still visible in your hair, he was going to do something even more unforgivable than what he'd already done.
The drive to your house was silent. It was heavy and loaded with every single thing that had just happened and couldn’t happen again. Rafe kept both his hands on the wheel this time because he couldn’t trust himself to do anything else.
You sat with your arms wrapped around yourself, staring out the passenger window, and Rafe couldn't tell if you were crying again or just thinking. Either way, he didn't ask. He didn't know what he'd say if you were. He’d have to acknowledge what he’d just done if he asked.
Your street appeared too quickly. The familiar houses, the broken streetlight, your driveway with your parents' cars parked in it. All the normal pieces of your normal life that had nothing to do with what had just happened in Rafe's truck on some random side street.
“I should—” you started.
“Yup.”
You reached for the door handle. Stopped. Your hand just rested there on the metal, not pulling, not opening. “This didn’t happen?”
“Okay.” He kept his eyes on the steering wheel, suddenly feeling a hundred times smaller. “Didn’t happen.”
“We can’t—this can’t happen again.”
“I know that. So go inside.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Text Topper. Tell him you got home safe. Forget about this.”
“Will you forget about it?”
No. Absolutely fucking not. He’d probably remember this for the rest of his life; he’d remember the way you tasted, the sound you made, the way you’d kissed him back. He’d remember all of it and it’d torture him everytime he saw you with Topper, every single fucking time he had to pretend this never happened, every time he had to be Topper’s best friend and not the guy who’d kissed his girlfriend in a parked truck after she cried.
“Yeah,” Rafe said, nodding. “I’ll forget about it.” For some reason, the lie tasted worse on his tongue than the truth would’ve.
You stared at him for a long moment before opening the door. You climbed out onto the sidewalk, and Rafe watched you smooth down your shorts, fix your hair, try to put yourself back together into the girl you'd been before you got in his truck. You leaned in before closing the door. “Thank you,” you said. “For the ride and listening and—” You stopped yourself. “Just thank you.”
Rafe nodded once, sharply. You turned away from him and went inside. He sat there for a long time. Staring at your dark house. Trying to process what he'd just done. Trying to figure out how he was supposed to look Topper in the face tomorrow knowing that he'd had his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours and you'd kissed him back.
His phone buzzed.
Topper: she get home okay?
Rafe stared at the text. His best friend's name on the screen. At the trust implicit in that question, the assumption that Rafe had done exactly what he'd been asked to do and nothing more.
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, unhinged inner monolog from rafe, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), oral (female receiving, fingering, MAJORR size kink, spanking, daddy issues, condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, which rafe gets off on, slut-shaming, derogatory name calling, manipulation, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, 18+ only, mdni
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: It's here! The full fic. Word count: 23k. Please let me know what you think - reblogs and feedback mean the world to me. Read the warnings before you read, and enjoy!
“Her.”
Rafe looks over at the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”
Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.”
“And?”
“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.
“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.”
“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??”
Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends stare at him in disbelief. He sometimes wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him.
That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies” money. Yeah, they didn’t pique his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.
Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.
“Well, what about that one?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through.
Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.
You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.
“Who is she?”
“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.
“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.
“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”
“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”
Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any.
Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable.
He licks his lips.
“How long?”
“Huh?”
He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.
Topper raises an eyebrow.
“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”
Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”
They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—
“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and—
“A week.”
“Mm?”
“A week to fuck her. With proof.”
Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it.
“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”
“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.
“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”
Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.
You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.
He’d have fun ruining you.
***
“You sure do love reading, don’t you?”
It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.
You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.
“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”
Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…”
“You find books more interesting than people?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug.
“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—
“Are you making fun of me?”
You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes.
“What?”
You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.”
“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.
“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”
Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more.
“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.
“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”
“I’ll be your friend.”
He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive.
You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too.
“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”
“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.
It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that.
“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.
“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.
“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means…
“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.
You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?”
He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right.
“You could call it studying.”
You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing.
“What’s your name, homeschool?”
You tell him.
He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”
You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it.
Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could.
That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.
***
Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.
You’re alone. As usual.
“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.
“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”
He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?
“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect.
“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”
He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way.
“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”
“Friends?” You don’t have any.
“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”
Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.”
Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.
He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.
“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”
Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue.
“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”
He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…
“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.
“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.
“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”
“Say it. Now.”
You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.”
The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this.
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”
Rafe nods, “Hmm.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“
“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”
You blink, “What?”
He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”
“It’s not that–”
“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”
He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.
“I asked you a question, homeschool.”
“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”
“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.
“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”
He stops, allows you to catch up.
“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”
“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”
You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”
“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”
*
Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…
”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.
“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.
“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”
He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.
Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.
“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.
“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.
“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”
“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”
You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”
He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”
You look aghast, “No! I would never–”
“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”
“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”
“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”
You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.
“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”
He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.
He nods, “You look pretty.”
Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”
He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.
*
On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.
“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.
Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.
“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.
“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”
Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”
He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.
“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”
Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.
“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.
“No?”
“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”
Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.
“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.
You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”
“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.
“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”
The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.
“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.
You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”
You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.
Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.
“Rafe?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”
That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”
“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”
“H-Huh?”
“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.
“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.
“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”
It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.
“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”
He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.
“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.
“Wow, that was cool!”
“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”
Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.
He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.
“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”
He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”
That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.
He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.
He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…
He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.
*
On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.
“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”
You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.
“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”
Rafe grins, “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”
He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.
“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”
You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.
“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”
But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.
“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.
Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”
“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”
He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”
“You sure about that?”
He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”
Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.
All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.
You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.
*
Rafe: Hey.
Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?
He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.
Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.
Rafe: What are you up to?
A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.
Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?
It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.
He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.
“H-Hello?”
“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”
He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?
“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”
A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”
“What like vacuuming and shit?”
“Yes.”
Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.
He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.
“Uh, Rafe?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
A pause.
“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”
“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”
“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.
He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.
“I’d rather speak to you than them.”
“That’s not true, Rafe.”
“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”
“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”
“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.
“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”
“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”
“You’re funny, Rafe.”
You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.
“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.
“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”
He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.
“A-Are you still there?”
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–
“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.
“Rafe?”
He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.
“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.
“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”
“Like, uh, at your house?”
“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”
That just makes him even more determined to be your first.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”
“Rafe…”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.
“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”
That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.
“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.
“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”
*
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”
Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.
“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.
“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.
“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”
Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”
Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”
“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”
“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”
“What?”
Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”
“Well, yeah, but –”
“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”
“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”
Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.
He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”
Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”
Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.
“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”
“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”
Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.
He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.
That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.
“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”
“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.
You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”
“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”
He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.
“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.
“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”
“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.
He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.
You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.
“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.
Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.
Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”
Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”
He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”
“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”
He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.
“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.
You blink, “Um, water?”
He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”
“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”
“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”
You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.
“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.
“People have been talking about me to you?”
“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”
He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.
“Do you always drink after school?”
“Huh?”
“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”
“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”
He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.
Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.
“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”
Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”
He shrugs, “A few.”
You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”
“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.
“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”
Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.
“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”
You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”
“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”
He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.
“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.
You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”
“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”
“Hey!”
He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.
You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.
“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”
Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”
You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”
Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”
Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”
He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.
Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”
He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”
He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.
He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”
Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”
Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”
He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.
“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”
Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…
“There. Comfy?”
“Well, I guess, but…”
He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.
He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.
And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.
When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.
“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”
Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”
“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”
Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.
Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.
He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.
And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.
“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”
“Rafe, maybe not too much–”
“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.
“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.
“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”
He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.
Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”
You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”
“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.
It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.
Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.
“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.
“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”
He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–
“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”
He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”
He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”
Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”
Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.
“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.
It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.
“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”
Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.
“That’s okay,” he says.
You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”
Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.
You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”
Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.
Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”
He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”
“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”
Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.
He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.
“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”
What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.
“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.
Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.
You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.
Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.
Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.
*
Kelce: One day left, loverboy.
Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.
Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.
Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.
He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.
That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.
Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.
How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.
The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.
He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–
His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.
“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”
“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”
“I’m scared.”
You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”
He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”
“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”
“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”
They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.
“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”
“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”
He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”
“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”
Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.
“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.
“Rafe! You came!”
You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.
“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.
At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.
“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”
It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.
“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.
“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”
“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”
He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.
You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.
Despite everything, his dick hardens.
“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”
He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”
You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.
He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.
He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”
“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.
“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”
You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”
He smirks, “I could distract you.”
“H-How?”
He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.
“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”
You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.
“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”
“H-Huh–”
“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”
You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”
It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.
He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.
Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.
“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”
He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”
“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”
“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”
Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”
He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”
“Y-You.”
“Yeah. And who’s older?”
“You are.”
“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”
You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.
Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.
He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.
He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.
“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.
“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.
“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”
“Stand up, baby.”
You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.
You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.
“Take your leggings off.”
You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.
You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.
“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”
“Wh-What?”
“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.
“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”
“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”
He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.
“Stand up straight, look at me again.”
You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.
“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.
Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.
And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.
His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.
“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”
You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”
God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.
“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”
“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?
Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.
You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.
“You have an accident, princess?”
You look absolutely aghast, “No!”
Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.
“Oh my God–”
He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”
“What?”
“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”
For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”
“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”
He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”
He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.
“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”
Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.
Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.
“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”
“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”
Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.
“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.
Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.
“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.
“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–
You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.
And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.
“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”
Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”
“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”
He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.
“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”
You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”
“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”
It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.
He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.
But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.
“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”
Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.
“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.
“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”
He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”
You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”
“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”
Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.
He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.
“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.
You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”
He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.
“Take it out.”
“N-No!”
He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”
“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”
You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”
He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”
As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”
You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”
“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”
You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.
“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”
You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”
“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”
In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.
“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”
“I am?”
“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.
“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.
Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”
“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.
“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.
“Yeah?”
Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”
God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.
Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.
“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”
‘I don’t know.”
SMACK.
Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”
“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”
“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”
You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.
You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.
“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”
He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.
“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.
But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.
“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”
It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.
“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.
“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”
‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”
“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”
Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.
“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.
“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”
“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”
“But it hurts!”
“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”
A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”
“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”
“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.
Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”
You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”
“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”
You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”
He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.
“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”
You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.
“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.
“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”
You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.
“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”
“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“
You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.
“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”
All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.
It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.
Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”
The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”
He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.
That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.
“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”
“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”
“Nooo…”
He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.
“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…
He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…
“Rafe, I… please…”
“Baby…”
His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–
“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”
“Fuck.”
Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.
He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
“Y-You’re not mad?”
He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.
“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”
“You pr-promise?”
“I promise.”
He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.
You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.
The wind laughs and laughs all night.
*
The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.
Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.
Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.
He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.
Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.
He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.
What the fuck did that mean?
His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.
That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?
Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.
Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.
Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?
“You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.
He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.
*
“There he is! The loverboy himself!”
His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.
“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”
“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”
Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”
He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.
He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.
“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.
“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”
“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.
“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.
“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.
Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”
“Then show us. That was the deal.”
He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.
“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.
“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”
Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”
He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.
“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”
He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.
And immediately locks eyes with you.
And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.
“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.
A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.
Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.
And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.
𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)
Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?
Should reader forgive Rafe?
Favourite scene/part?
Anyways, that's it. Now I'll anxiously wait to see what you guys think. PLEASE PLEASE consider reblogging this fic if you plan on liking it and want me to continue it. Thanks so much for all your support when I posted the sneak peek. I hope this lived up to your expectations! <3
(JJ Maybank x pogue! reader x Rafe Cameron ) ..in which you found yourself torn between two worlds when your best friend, JJ Maybank, who you've been in love with since forever starts dating Kiara. In a jealousy haze you start hooking up with Rafe Cameron, the infamous kook prince. Do you manage to keep everything casual and under control? No, is it fun? Also kind of no, given you hate yourself each time you managed to orgasm. And especially since Rafe's favorite activity is to pick on you and your friends outside the bedroom..
"Plead the Fifth"
variants or less commonly plead the Fifth Amendment or plead the fifth
chiefly US
"For someone facing criminal charges, pleading the Fifth means exercising their right to remain silent and not incriminate themselves. If you worry about answering questions out of fear that you may be guilty of a crime, you have the legal right to plead the Fifth."
Childhood best friends, the best set-up for a perfect romance. The nights spent at each other's houses, doing things for the first time together, seeing each other in your most vulnerable state and still wanting to hang out with one another. These were all the perks of having a childhood best friend. What was not ideal though, is falling in love with said best friend and having him not reciprocate those feelings. Then it turned into the most messy situation you could ever think about without wanting to throw up.
You never condoned cheating. At least you thought your morals were strong enough not to. But watching JJ kiss and go on dates with Kie instead of you, bent the rules in your moral code just a little. A little kiss. Just one was enough for you. Like a proper, respectable kiss of course. No prudish shit. You though you deserved it, given you'd been in love with JJ for years. It was annoying at this point. But, as surprising as it sounded JJ seemed to be loyal enough to Kie. The town's infamous flirt, the bed slayer. The guy who would never commit, committing to Kiara Carrera and being loyal to her. What a fucking joke.
However, you couldn't help but watch him as he walked through the house. He was currently laughing with John B and Pope, obviously very drunk, but also very happy. He was talking and laughing with such ease, he seemed completely in his element. His messy, blonde hair looking so good on him.. he looked so handsome, you thought. But you also couldn't help but feel slightly pissed off. How could he be doing all this with Kiara, instead of you? Why her, and not you?
It was barely afternoon, and pregaming for the upcoming party turned into a bit more at the Chateau, everybody clearly tipsy already. Except for you. It was hard to do anything while watching Kie and JJ snuggle up each other or admire JJ from afar like a pining schoolgirl. You sunk into the couch even further eyeing the cheap vodka bottle on the coffee table, meant for pregame shots for the party tonight. Fuck my life, you grumbled internally adjusting your glasses.
JJ had noticed you had been avoiding him quite a lot recently. And this hadn't gone by him without him noticing. He knew very well what you were thinking. You were a shitty actor, never able to hide how you felt about people and things. Even after all these years.
He looked in your direction. You were watching him like a damn puppy. He couldn't tell if you were angry or jealous, but either way the look on your face made him feel a little guilty. He excused himself from the boys and started walking over towards the couch you were sitting on.
He took a seat next to you, the couch dipping when he sat down. He glanced at you for a moment, trying to read your expression. He knew something was off about you.
"You alright over here, all on your own?" He asked finally, a cheeky undertone in his voice.
Just as he sat down you reached for the bottle, unscrewed the cap and glanced at JJ a bit startled by his presence. "Yep. No need to check up on me.." you popped the p in the first word nodding and smiling tightly at him..
JJ raised an eyebrow at you, a slight smirk on his lips as he watched you reach for the bottle. He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms behind his head in a casual manner. His eyes flicked over you, noticing the slight tension in your smile.
He chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Oh really? Cause you look pretty damn lonely in here all by yourself."
"Kie and Sarah left the couch like 10 minutes ago.. i wasn't alone or anything.." you spoke casually, leaning back and bringing the bottle to your lips, taking a pretty big gulp of cheap vodka. The liquid burned your throat as it slid down, and it was a pleasant feeling given you felt lightheaded and there was knot in your chest just from speaking to JJ.
JJ's eyes followed your movements as you took a gulp from the bottle, his smirk widening into a full-blown smile. He chuckled when you mentioned Sarah and Kie leaving the couch, almost like he knew something you didn't.
He leaned a tad bit closer to you, his voice a bit lower than before.
"You sure, sugar? Cause to me, it looks like you're hiding away from us all. Like you're avoiding somebody.."
"Why would i be avoiding anybody?" You turned your face to the side as he leaned closer, causing you to come face to face with his smug expression, your breath catching in your chest just a little as you lowered the bottle. You still raised your brow in a questioning look, a small amused smile on your face.
JJ's smirk widened even further as he noticed the way your breath hitched when he leaned in closer. He was getting a kick out of teasing you like this, and he could tell that you weren't completely indifferent to his presence either, no matter how much you tried to hide it.
He shrugged his shoulders casually, his eyes never leaving your face. "Oh, I don't know.. Maybe because you've been giving me a death glare all day. Or maybe you just don't like me. That could be it too."
You kicked his shin gently with your sneaker as if to tell him 'don't be ridiculous' before rolling your eyes, "i wasn't glaring at you, but you're right. I don't like you." the last part was sardonic, of course and he knew it too. It was still fun to be sarcastic to JJ, he knew how to match it better than anyone from your friends.
JJ winced slightly as you kicked his shin with your sneakers, not because it hurt him, but because he knew you did it intentionally. He chuckled at your sarcastic response, knowing damn well that you didn't mean any of it. He leaned even closer to you, his arm now brushing against yours.
He shot you a cocky grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh yeah? That's a shame because I absolutely adore you."
"Yeah, yeah.. thanks for the heads-up. I'll consider changing my behavior towards you, then." you chuckled amused, although it was more because you were suddenly nervous. Pathetic. This was the guy you've known since you were 7. You saw him pick his nose and throw up after smoking weed together in the skatepark at 13 together. You shouldn't be attracted or flustered by anything he did or said, especially now that he was off limits as Kiara's boyfriend. So to cancel all that out you raised the bottle to your lips once again, taking a long gulp from it.
JJ chuckled at your sarcastic response, loving the way your banter went back and forth between the two of you. He could tell that you were still affected by his closer presence, but you tried to cover it with your witty comebacks. He watched as you lifted the bottle to your lips, his eyes lingering on your slightly pursed lips as you took a long gulp.
He let out a low whistle, the corner of his mouth curling up into a Cheshire cat grin. "You trying to drown yourself in that bottle, sugar?"
"There's this thing called pre gaming..." you mumbled sarcastically, scoffing at his jab and placing the bottle back on the coffee table and adjusting your glasses.
JJ chuckled at your sarcastic response, a familiar smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back a bit, his hand now casually resting on the back of the couch.
"Oh, I know what pre-gaming is." He shot back, his eyes now fixed on your face. "Just making sure you know your limits, considering you're such a lightweight."
"I'm planning on getting smashed when we get to the party.. in both senses of the word.." you spoke determined nodding faintly, the last part being mumbled more to yourself than for him.
JJ's eyebrows shot up at your response, his eyes widening slightly. He chuckled, amused by your confidence in your plans for the night. He leaned forward again, coming slightly closer to you.
"Both senses of the word, huh? And what exactly do you mean by that, sugar?"
"What do you think it means?" you asked, giggling slightly at his feigned ignorance.
JJ's smirk widened even more at your giggling, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He leaned in even closer to you, almost too close. His gaze held a hint of something else, something more intense.
"Well, I think it means you're planning on getting absolutely shitfaced at the party.." he said, his voice slightly lower than before. "And maybe something else.. Am I right?"
"Bingo!" you flashed him a thumbs up grinning a little and whisper shouting the fake praise, "nothing out of the ordinary anyway.."
JJ chuckled, his eyes never wavering from your face. He tilted his head to the side as he responded with an amused smile.
"Oh nothing out of the ordinary? You planning on finding some random guy at the party later or what?"
Unbeknownst to JJ, you already knew who you were gonna find. And you should feel guilty about it. You usually did, after the orgasms fizzled out and the self loathing settled in. But you little secret was your way of getting back JJ, despite not wanting the pogues to find out about it. You were getting fucked into the mattress and the JJ out of you and the person got.. well, sex?
You shrugged leaning back against the couch. Before you had the chance to speak though, Kiara's voice greeted her boyfriend warmly and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind the couch, cutting the conversation short before you said something dumb.
Kiara's voice interrupted the conversation, her voice cheerful and affectionate as she greeted JJ and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind the couch. JJ chuckled, turning his head to face her, his expression softening as he looked at her.
"Hey Kie.." he said, his voice soft and sweet. He placed his hands on her forearms, gently squeezing them.
The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.
In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in beside you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart. You mumbled a small 'hey dude' towards Kiara, the greeting half hearted as you settled on scrolling on your phone, ending up in your messages app.
JJ didn't notice the change in your demeanor, his focus entirely on Kiara. He leaned into her touch, his hand tracing small circles on her forearms. He glanced towards you for a moment, but quickly turned his attention back to Kiara.
Kiara smiled warmly at you, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil going on inside your head.
"Hey Y/n.. you good?" she asked, her voice kind and caring.
"Mhm.. where did you and Sarah go?" you asked, your attention on the phone as you pulled up someone's chat and typed a text, a small smirk settling on your lips as you sent the message and waited for a response. 'Party at ur place tn? im almost offended u didnt invite me personally.'
Kiara shrugged, her arms still wrapped around JJ's neck.
"We were in JB's room, changing for the party later on.." she answered, her eyes flicking over to your phone for a moment before looking back at you. "Whatcha doing on your phone? Texting someone?"
Just as Kiara finished her question your phone lit up with a notification, the mysterious person replying to your text. You tucked the phone in your back pocket without checking it, your eyes fitting between JJ and Kiara. You didn't wanna deal with that today so you stood up casually, taking one final swig of the vodka, "y'know what guys..? i remembered i have to help my mom at something before the party.. I'll see you all later." you shouted, so the rest of the group could hear you along with JJ and Kiara, grabbing your skateboard from the floor next to the couch.
Kiara's eyes followed you as you stood up and finished the vodka, a bit surprised by the sudden exit. But she just smiled and waved at you, "Oh okay.. well, see you later then!"
JJ's eyebrows furrowed as he watched you grab your skateboard, his eyes narrowing as he listened to your excuse. "Wait, you're leaving already? But the party starts in an hour. Roughly.."
"I just said i need to help my mom with something.." you smiled as genuinely as you could, the weight on your chest getting heavier with each second you spent looking at JJ who had Kie's arms still wrapped around his shoulder loosely from behind. You were sure you died 3 months ago when they got together and this was hell. It sure felt like it. Maybe this was the ninth circle of hell..
"Right, your mom.." JJ said, his expression slowly turning into a frown. He knew you too well to trust that excuse. It was obvious that you were coming up with an excuse to leave and avoid the party.
Kiara glanced at JJ's expression before looking back at you. "Everything okay, Y/n? You're not ditching the party.. right?" she asked, her eyes slightly wide with worry.
Your eyes were fixed on JJ and his frown as Kiara spoke and you couldn't bring your self to tear them from him as you spoke, "Nah.. i would never ditch a Cameron's party, I know how Sarah gets with these things.."
JJ held your gaze for a moment, his frown still evident on his face. He could tell that you weren't entirely honest.
Kiara let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "You're right about that. She goes all out for her parties, and then ends up freaking out when people start making a mess."
She smiled warmly at you, her eyes sparkling with understanding. "Okay.. well, text one of us if you can make it later tonight, alright?" she said, gesturing to JJ
JJ nodded silently at her words, his eyes still fixed on you, his expression still troubled and confused.
"I'm good. I'll text Pope later so you guys can pick me up, yeah?" you grimaced slightly at the thought of texting JJ or Kiara, mainly because you knew they were always together and more than not ignoring the texts or calls so they could makeout or... whatever they did. You turned to John B and Pope and nodded in greeting, "Pope lemme catch you not answering my texts and I'll break this board over your head..!" you shouted teasingly at Pope, who was playing beer pong with John b across the room.
Pope and John B laughed and shouted back at you in unison.
"Ay, we'll pick you up, don't worry!" Pope said, shooting you a playful wink before focusing on the beer pong game again. Kiara chuckled at your teasing threat, shaking her head slightly.
JJ was still staring at you, his frown deepening as he saw Pope's wink and your interaction with them. He looked like he was still troubled by your sudden and suspicious departure, and was contemplating following you outside.
"Well, I better get going.." you said, hoisting your skateboard under your arm.
Kiara nodded in understanding, and John B and Pope shouted a quick goodbye as they continued their game.
JJ's frown deepened as he watched you prepare to leave, the tension in his shoulders evident. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like 'whatever..', he was about to say something but Kiara cut him off.
"See you later!" Kiara called out, a wide smile on her face as she waved at you. John B and Pope echoed her goodbye with shouts and waves of their own.
The music was blaring loudly outside the dark bedroom you were locked in. You were hot, sweaty and barely naked for the convenience of the quickie. It was easier to straighten yourself up instead of dressing yourself back up from scratch while drunk. You were panting and moaning, trying to keep the sounds to a minimum as your hands rested on Rafe's chest, rocking your hips as you chased your last bits of pleasure before you finished. "Fuuuuck.." you drawled out lowly in ecstasy, your head thrown back, eyes closed shut.
Rafe's breathing was labored, his chest moving rapidly with each harsh breath he took. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, guiding your movements against his, his fingers digging into your skin.
"Shiiiittt... You feel sooo good..." he groaned out, his voice husky and rough. He watched you as you rocked your hips, your head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as you chased your orgasm. The sight and sound of you had him groaning even louder, his grip on your hips tightening as he pushed himself deeper inside you. "You close, baby...?" he panted just as quietly as you.
Your eyes opened to gaze down at the older boy underneath you, nodding wordlessly, your lips parted in pleasure. Your hands slid up from his chest into his hair, carding your fingers through is light brown hair, your second orgasm in that night washing over you after a few more thrusts, causing you to whimper quietly and your body to shake softly.
Rafe watched you intently as your eyes met his, your nod sending a wave of excitement through him. He felt your hands moving up, your fingers tangling and pulling gently on his hair, his eyes closing briefly from the pleasure it gave him.
"Yeah, that's it.. come for me, baby.." he cooed, his breaths coming in quick harsh gasps as his body tensed beneath you. He could feel your body shaking and quivering against him, and it sent him over the edge. A low growl escaped from his throat as he came, holding on to your hips tightly.
He sat up quickly, grabbing your jaw and pulling your lips down onto his in an urgent kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and delving deep into your mouth. His hands moved over your body, tracing every contour and curve taking fistfuls of your skirt and crop top, before finally his arms wrapped round you and he pulled you down on top of him, settling you on his chest as he tried to even out his breathing again.
You kissed him back sloppily before pulling away and swiping the back of your hand over your damp forehead, covered in a sheer layer of sweat and adjusting your glasses. You let him slip out of you, making sure to safely climb off from his lap given you were shitfaced drunk, opting to lay beside him on the bed to catch your breath.
Rafe let out a breathless laugh as you flopped down beside him on the bed. He was also sweaty and out of breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain his breathing. He looked over at you, taking in your disheveled and flushed appearance, his eyes lingering over your body for a moment before he spoke.
"You're somethin' else, you know that?..." he said, his voice low and rough.
"You don't have to talk to me after we do this you know that right?.." you mumbled, grimacing to your self as you stared up at the ceiling in a slight daze, your words slurred. Just like usual you were starting to feel the guilt and self hatred fill you as you regained your breath. It was had not to, given Rafe was a psychopathic rich asshole, who's favorite past time was to pick on you and your friends. That was when he wasn't fucking the living shit out of you at parties or whenever you decided you wanted to call him up for a quickie."Talkin' is optional.." you mumbled breathlessly.
Rafe rolled his eyes at your words, his patience growing thin as you started to spiral. He glanced over at you, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Jesus, here we go again... I thought the sex always shut you up.."
You raised a shaky hand to flip him off without sparing him a glance, your drunk brain focused more on the song playing outside the bedroom, where the party was still in full swing.
Rafe let out a huff of annoyance, rolling his eyes at your rude gesture. He sat up, grabbing his discarded shorts from the floor.
"Oh yeah, real mature..." he grumbled, pulling his shorts on and standing up from the bed.
You stood up too, you legs slightly shaky as you adjusted your underwear and denim skirt along with your bunched up crop top. "You're the one who's hooking up with a 17 year old. What do you expect, Cameron?"
Rafe shot you a glare, his expression turning cold as he pulled his shirt back on. "Don't start with that age bullshit. You're the one who keeps coming back for more. And you're not a kid so drop the innocent act."
"Wow you are so good at pillow talk Rafe.." you mumbled as you sat down on the bed to clumsily put your vans back on.
Rafe let out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh, please. I don't hear you complaining about it when I have you under me.."
"Good point, this point's yours, 1-0." you mumbled in amusement, shaking your head at him.
Rafe smirked as he watched you tie your shoes, his eyes roaming over your body again, lingering over the way your skirt was slightly hitched up, revealing more of your thighs.
"I'm always winning.. 2-0" he said matter of factly.
"Don't get cocky with me Cameron.." you raised one brow, standing up from the bed and walking over to the door stopping before you exited the bedroom, "I'll text you if i wanna go another round, in case JJ breaks my heart by being the boyfriend of another girl..." you looked over your shoulder pouting slightly.
Rafe rolled his eyes again, his arms crossing over his chest.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll wait by the phone.." he said sarcastically, his gaze roaming over you again. He couldn't help but admit that the thought of making you forget about JJ was a bit satisfying. If not a bit pathetic.
One thing that you liked about the whole situation with Rafe was that he never complained about being used, in a way. He got sex and you got your distraction for the moment from your feelings for JJ; which will never be reciprocated. Rafe didn't want love and neither did you and it kept him away from the pogues, so it was a win-win situation. Except for the fact that if they found out, they'd hate you. But that was a problem for future you. Just like the hangover looming over your head, dangling like an anvil waiting to drop and crush you.
You rolled your eyes at Rafe before exiting his bedroom and making your way down the hall and downstairs through the throngs of people still partying. You were blinded by the sudden change in light and the blaring music, but you pushed through to the drinks table, one of your hands trying to tame down your messy and sex mussed hair.
The room was crowded with people dancing, laughing, and drinks flowing left and right. As you made your way downstairs, trying to fix your hair, some people looked up and eyed you. Some greeted you with smiles and small nods, while others looked at you more curiously, perhaps noticing your disheveled state. But everyone seemed too drunk or distracted to pay too much attention. You eventually reached the drinks table, where a wide selection of alcohol and mixers were laid out.
As you surveyed the selection, someone suddenly sidled up to you, their voice cutting through the thumping music.
"Well, don't you look like you had fun upstairs.." a male voice said, clearly amused. You turned your head to see Topper standing beside you.
"I don't have any spare change, strange homeless man.." you spoke sarcastically, not sparing a glance in Topper's direction, too overstimulated and drunk to care.
Topper let out a chuckle, shaking his head at your sarcastic remark. "Still as charming as ever, eh?" he teased, his gaze roaming over you, taking in your messy appearance. It was evident that he noticed your mussed hair and flushed cheeks.
"Rafe's upstairs Topper.. please stop bothering me before anyone thinks we're friends.." you rolled your eyes, still scanning the drink options.
Topper chuckled and held up his hands in surrender, feigning innocence.
“Hey, I’m not bothering you.. I'm just making small talk, no need to get your panties in a twist.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice, his smirk growing into a sly grin. "And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your little.. activities upstairs.."
"You better... your best friend enjoys the activities as much as i do.." you settled on mixing some sprite with vodka in a cup to sip on for the rest of the night.
Topper chuckled again, shaking his head in amusement at your words. "Oh, trust me, I know all about it. And I have no intention of spreading any rumors or gossip. You and I both know that wouldn't end well for either of us."
He paused, taking a sip of his own drink before continuing, a cocky smile on his face. "But, you know, I have to admit.. I'm a little jealous."
"And here i though you were still obsessing over our little Sarah.." you took a sip to test the drink before glancing in his direction while raising your brow.
Topper shrugged casually, a small, sly smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. At the mention of Sarah, he seemed to almost grimace, as if thinking of her brought back less than positive thoughts. "Sarah? That chapter is closed... For now at least.."
He turned to fully face you, studying your messy hair and disheveled state, a hint of amused curiosity in his gaze. "But you on the other hand... You're becoming quite the little party princess these days.."
"Well go hit on someone else Topper I'm not even interested in your best friend, Rafe— and he already made me finish multiple times.." you mumbled, shrugging in mock disappointment.
Topper chuckled, raising his hands in a placating gesture. A small hint of annoyance flared in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with his usual cocky attitude. "Easy princess.. I wasn't trying to hit on you. And I already knew you and Rafe weren't an item. I was simply making conversation.."
He paused, a grin spreading on his face. "Not my fault you're a little sensitive about it.."
"I ain't sensitive... I'm just not feeling it tonight, yeah? and you're still here bugging me.." you groaned, leaning against the drink table scanning the room for any signs of your friends.
Topper huffed in slight annoyance, his cocky smirk faltering just slightly. It was clear he wasn't used to being brushed off. "Fine, fine... I get it, I'll leave you alone.. But don't expect me to always be so polite and understanding, Y/l/n."
He downed the rest of his drink and set the empty cup on the table, before looking at you once more. "You know, you've really changed lately.."
"You don't even know me Topper.. Just leave already." you grimaced and tore your eyes from the crowd to shoot him a dirty look.
Topper raised his hands in mock surrender again, taking a step back. It was evident that the conversation was not going the way he wanted. His cocky demeanor started to slip, replaced by slight annoyance and resentment. "Alright, alright. I'm going.. No need to get so pissy with me."
He shot you a final dark glance before turning and disappearing into the crowd of party-goers, leaving you by yourself at the drink table.
You breathed a sigh of relief as Topper left, glad to be free from his unwanted company. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you sipped on your drink as you glanced around the room, trying to spot any familiar faces in the sea of party-goers.
As you took a moment to collect yourself and scan the crowd, a familiar presence suddenly appeared beside you. JJ stood silently beside you for a moment, his intense blue eyes taking note of your disheveled hair and slightly flushed cheeks, silently deducing what had happened previously.
He raised one eyebrow slightly but didn't say anything at first, just leaned back against the table and looked out at the crowd, watching the people dancing and laughing. After a moment, he spoke up.
"You look like you've been through the wringer." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but also a slight note of concern
"How come you're alone?.. where's Kiara?" you spoke rather bitterly, the alcohol not stopping you from being grumpy as you stared at the people around you dancing and drinking.
JJ chuckled softly at your bitter tone, knowing that the alcohol was getting the better of you. He shook his head slightly, amused by your display of grumpiness. "Kiara's around somewhere, chatting it up with some of the other girls.."
He glanced over at you curiously, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And don't change the subject. You look like you've had a raucous night thus far."
"You're just letting your girlfriend walk around alone..?" you mumbled, scrunching up your face in confusion and taking a sip of your drink, still not glancing at JJ.
JJ chuckled again, clearly finding your confusion and prodding amusing. "Yeah, I am. Why? You worried about her or something? Trust me, she's more than capable of handling herself."
He paused for a moment, studying your face as you avoided his gaze, sipping on your drink. "You're deflecting again, by the way.."
"Dunno.. just thought you'd be all over each other right now.." you chuckled wryly, "and i just hooked up with some dude.. that's why i look like a racoon.." you turned to side glance at him, a small proud smile tugging at your lips.
JJ raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, a mixture of amusement and disbelief on his face. He chuckled softly as you mentioned hooking up with some guy, but also couldn't help but notice the proud grin you had.
"Really now? And who's the lucky guy?" He leaned in slightly, his tone becoming a little more teasing as he spoke.
"..Secret." you narrowed your eyes, still smirking up at him as you turned to face him fully, your head tilted to the side as he leaned in slightly.
JJ chuckled again, clearly enjoying your coyness and slightly teasing demeanor. He leaned against the table, mirroring your position as he studied your face, an amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, a secret, huh? I see how it is."
He paused, a hint of mischief in his tone as he continued, leaning a little closer with a raised eyebrow. "Come on, don't keep me in suspense."
"I'm not spilling J.." you chuckled in disbelief, your brows furrowing at his insistence, your eyes roaming over his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his lips were a bit swollen, probably from kissing Kiara. His blonde hair was messy and he just looked so handsome to drunk you.
JJ chuckled along with you, enjoying your banter. He noticed your eyes roaming over his face, clearly taking in his flushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips, a result of his time with Kiara.
He couldn’t help but notice the way you were looking at him, your eyes lingering on his face, your own cheeks slightly blushed from the alcohol (and your hookup). He smirked faintly, enjoying the attention. "Come on, you can't keep me in the dark forever. I won't snitch, I promise."
"Nah.. not spilling." you tskd at him shaking your head and finally breaking the eye contact by turning your face away a little and taking a sip from your drink.
JJ chuckled, the smirk on his face growing wider as you stubbornly refused to give up the mystery guy's name.
He leaned even closer, leaning himself against the table to get more in your face. "Oh, you're such a tease.. Come on, just tell me his name. I'm really curious about this guy who has you looking so disheveled and satisfied.."
The way he leaned closer, the way he smirked, the way he looked at you.. It sent a strange little spark of excitement through you, even in your slightly drunken state. It was almost like a game, how he was trying to tease the mystery man's identity out of you, and how you were refusing to give in.
You took another sip of your drink, trying to hold back the fluttery, light feeling that was starting to bubble up inside.
"Not a chance, JJ. You'll have to pry it out of me with a crowbar.”
JJ chuckled softly at your stubborn refusal, enjoying the playful back-and-forth between the two of you. Your stubbornness was both admirable and frustrating all at once, but it only served to make him more intrigued and amused.
He took a step closer to you, invading your personal space, and lowered his voice to a huskier tone, challenging you with a smirk. "Is that right? Is that what it'll take, huh? A damn crowbar..”
"Watch the personal space, blondie.. you have a girlfriend now, don't forget." you chuckled, raising one brow as he continued to crowd you from the side, causing you to grimace in amusement.
JJ chuckled again, enjoying the way you were trying to push him away, all the while still not giving up the secret of the mystery man you hooked up with.
He didn't move away though, he continued to crowd your space, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he teased you. "And what's that supposed to mean, huh? Just because I have a girlfriend doesn't mean I'm not allowed to get up close and personal with my friends.."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your cheek as he spoke, his voice low and teasing. "Besides, Kiara's fine with me having my own personal space.. and if I wanna invade yours, she won't mind either.."
"What an understanding girlfriend Kiara is.." you mumbled, letting out a small soft laugh, almost brushing your nose against his when you turned your head to the side to glance at him.
JJ laughed softly along with you, reveling in the proximity of your faces, your nose almost brushing against his.
"Yeah, she's cool like that.."
He paused, his gaze lingering on your face, his features slightly more serious as he spoke in a lower tone. "Besides, she knows she's the only one that has me wrapped around her finger.."
Great wow, lady boner gone, you thought sarcastically at the last part of his statement. What a way to bring you back to earth after almost suffocating you with the tension. "I don't doubt that..." you mumbled, turning to gaze forward again, your eyes scanning the crowd again, adjusting your glasses and taking another sip from your drink in hopes to squish the feeling down.
JJ chuckled again, noticing the way your demeanor shifted after he mentioned Kiara having him wrapped around her finger. He could sense the tension and excitement between the two of you just moments before, but now it seemed to have dissipated a little.
He watched as you averted your gaze and took another sip of your drink, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He knew he had to say something to bring back the banter and tension from before, so he leaned in again, his voice softer this time. "Hey, don't get all sulky on me now..”
"Why would i be sulky.. I'm happy for you." you spoke, shrugging after casting another sideway glance.
JJ raised his eyebrows, a touch of skepticism in his expression as he observed your reaction. He knew you well enough to sense something was off, but he wasn't sure what.
He studied your features for a moment, searching for any hints of jealousy or discontent, but your face remained neutral.
"You sure that's all it is? Just being happy for me and Kiara?"
His gaze lingered on your face, trying to read your expression, hoping to get a glimpse into what you were really feeling. He knew you well enough to know that sometimes you put up a front, masking your true emotions behind a neutral facade. Which was both admirable and annoying because if JJ liked to do anything, he liked to pry.
He leaned a little closer, his voice quieter, as if sharing a secret. "You can be honest, you know... if something is bothering you.."
"And why would i be bothered?" you asked, turning to face him again, your faces close again, "seems to me like you want me to be bothered or somethin'.." you added, your brows raised teasingly, feeling a little bolder given you were shitfaced.
JJ chuckled softly, his eyes locked on yours, a mix of amusement and something else, something more, in his gaze. He loved it when you got bolder with alcohol coursing through your veins.
"You think so, huh..?” he said, a hint of playfulness in his tone.
He leaned in even closer, his breath mingling with yours, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Maybe I do.. Maybe I want you to be bothered, to be jealous.."
You scoffed, shaking your head calmly although on the inside you were freaking out. Your faces were so close and you could just close the distance between you and kiss him once, just like you had been dreaming. But you didn't of course, no amount of vodka could make you cut your own head like that. "..and why is that?" you settled on asking, tilting your head to the side a little.
JJ held your gaze, the smirk on his face only growing as he watched the subtle shift in your demeanor. He knew it was driving you crazy, having him so close like this, but he relished the effect he had on you. Was it a bit asshole ish of him? Probably. But when did he care about being an asshole. "Maybe I like when you’re bothered and jealous.. Maybe it makes you feisty, more fun to tease.."
He leaned in even closer, mere inches apart, his voice dropping to a whisper once again. "Maybe I like seeing you all worked up, just for me.."
You knew he was just teasing you. Obviously. You knew you had to pull back slightly and back away a little, tell him it wasn't funny and such. But you found yourself wanting to push back, ricochet this tension, "trust me you'll know if i was jealous.." you smirked, dropping your gaze to his lips deliberately and then back into those blue eyes you knew so well.
JJ's smirk only widened as he watched your gaze drop to his lips and then dart back up to his eyes. He was enjoying this little push and pull, this back and forth of tension and flirtation between you two.
He leaned in even closer, his breath warm on your cheek as he spoke in a low, huskier tone than before.
"Oh yeah? And how would I know if you were jealous, huh? You gonna spell it out for me, or are you gonna show me?"
"There's no need. I'm very happy for you as your best friend.." you whispered, your words sounding almost sarcastic, the statements almost getting lost in the sound of the blaring music of the party around you both.
JJ chuckled softly at the sarcastic note in your voice, seeing right through your feigned happiness for him and Kiara. He knew there was more to it, there was always more to it when it came to you and him.
He leaned in even closer, almost so that his lips were brushing against your ear, his whisper hot and tickling against your skin. "Oh yeah? You sure about that, huh? You sure you're not just saying that to cover up how you really feel?"
Your eyes almost fluttered closed as he whispered in your ear but you managed to keep them open and yourself up on your feet. Surprisingly, given you were also drunk like a sailor. Your fingers reached up to adjust your glasses chuckling, "oh come on, I'm being honest here... Scout's honor J.." you mumbled breathlessly still smirking.
JJ chuckled at your attempt to keep yourself balanced and upright, his eyes roaming over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and slightly glassy eyes. He knew you were drunk, and he knew he should pull back, but damn it if that didn't make you even more attractive to him.
He smirked back, his arm instinctively moving to help steady you on your feet, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. "Alright, alright. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.. for now... scout's honor, huh?
"Whatever.." you mumbled waving a dismissive hand in his direction, your face turned away again as you sipped from your drink. If he wasn't gonna pull back you would have seriously did something you would have regretted in the morning. You forgot what you were talking about anyway, the whole tension and the fact that he smelled like weed and cologne always made your brain short circuit. You really were cursed.
JJ let you wave off the conversation and take a swig of your drink, watching as you sipped on it while turning your face away. He could still feel the tension between the two of you, thick and palpable like smoke. It was like the air was charged with electricity whenever you were this close together. It didn't change when he got with Kie. Although he desperately hoped it would.
He studied your face for a moment, noticing how the alcohol was clearly affecting you, making your mind hazy and your movements looser. He had an uncontrollable urge to touch you, to take your hand in his or brush his fingertips along your jawline, but he held himself back.
The party was in full swing around you now, the music blaring and the lights growing even more blinding, but it all felt distant and irrelevant to JJ in this moment. All he could focus on was you, standing there with your flushed cheeks and swaying slightly on your feet, looking so damn endearing and tempting at the same time. He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowered to a soft murmur. "You're really feeling the drinks, huh..?"
"Yeah.." you responded weakly, chuckling breathlessly as you studied the crowd dancing and drinking, your vision blurry and your head fuzzy.
JJ watched as you chuckled weakly, your gaze trained on the partygoers around you, all lost in their own world of dancing and drinking. The alcohol was clearly taking its toll on you, and seeing you like this, slightly woozy and disoriented, stirred something in him.
He leaned in a bit closer not able to contain himself from doing so, his lips close to your ear again, his voice gentle yet with a hint of concern. "Maybe you should sit down for a while.. You don’t look so good, you’re not gonna pass out on me now, are you?"
"Nah i won't pass out." you shook your head, locking eyes with him when he pulled back slightly, "but maybe you should go find your girlfriend, don't you think? wouldn't want people to think we're up to something standing so close.."
JJ's gaze held yours for a long moment as you locked eyes with him, a flicker of something passing between you two before you mentioned Kiara. He knew you had a point, they were technically together, and it probably looked a little suspicious seeing him so close to you instead. But a small part of him didn't want to leave you. He didn't want to go find Kiara, he wanted to stay right where he was, close to you.
He chuckled lowly under his breath before speaking. "Yeah... Yeah, I probably should..."
"Yeah you should find Kiara.. your dear girlfriend.." you mumbled, turning to lean your back against the table, your hands gripping the edge of it for balance, tipping your head back and groaning to yourself. You were feeling lightheaded and it felt like the room was spinning around you, mouth watering slightly.
JJ watched as you turned away and leaned against the table, your grasp on the edge of it and the sound of your groan sending a pang of guilt through his chest. He knew he should go find Kiara, he was her boyfriend after all, but seeing you like that, a small voice in his head whispered to stay. Or maybe the devil on his shoulder did, he was too tipsy to tell which.
He shifted on his feet, glancing around the room aimlessly for a moment before looking back at you, his tone softer as he spoke. "Yeah... I really should go find her..."
But he didn't move. He stood there for a moment, torn between his duty to Kiara and the inexplicable pull he felt towards you. He watched you leaning against the table, your head thrown back and your eyes closed, and he couldn't help but think how delicate and beautiful you looked in that moment. He had seen you like this before, drunk and swaying, but there was something different about this time, something that made his heart ache a little.
He let out a sigh, his conflicting thoughts weighing heavily on him. He knew he was being selfish, that he should go find Kiara and do the right thing. He had a girlfriend, and he couldn't just stand here mooning over you. But he couldn't seem to make himself move.
He stepped closer to you, his voice a low murmur, almost too low to hear over the music. "You really look out of it, you sure you'll be okay if I leave you here?"
"I dunno... maybe. Maybe not.." you mumbled almost mischievously, grinning drunkenly, your eyes still closed and your head thrown back.
JJ rolled his eyes at your drunkenly mumbled response, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his expression. He knew you were too drunk to care about how you looked or sounded at this point, which was both endearing and frustrating.
He leaned in a little more to study you closely, his gaze on your face, taking in your closed eyes and the lazy grin on your lips. "You're such a pain in my ass, you know that?"
He let out a soft huff, his heart skipping a beat at how effortlessly cute you looked in this state, all disheveled and tipsy. But he also knew you were in no condition to be left alone, especially with all the drunk guys at the party who would probably try to take advantage of your vulnerable state.
He leaned against the table next to you, his shoulder bumping against yours as he spoke. "I can't just leave you here like this, you're probably gonna pass out or something if I let you be.."
"What bout' Kie?.." you slurred, swaying a little and fake pouted to yourself, throwing your head back a little more.
JJ raised an eyebrow at your slurring voice, rolling his eyes as you swayed drunkenly and pouted like a little kid. He knew you were just being a nuisance right now, but there was also a part of him that found your drunken antics amusing.
He let out another huff, his tone slightly annoyed but affectionate all the same. "Of course we have to think about Kie... But also, you're my friend, I can't just leave you here all by yourself when you're like this.."
You let out another loud groan. You always hated when he friend-zoned you in the middle of the conversations, and you were happy you were too drunk to say anything at the moment resorting to just groaning. "Thanks.. what would i do?.. without a best friend like you.." you chuckled wryly, head still thrown back and eyes closed.
JJ smirked at your groan and the mock appreciation in your voice. He knew you hated being friendzoned, but that was because you both knew it wasn't just that. There was always something more between the two of you, something neither of you could fully ignore or deny.
He leaned a little closer, his voice a low murmur as he spoke, a hint of teasing in his tone. "You'd be lost, that's what you'd be. Drowning in your own misery and despair without me.."
JJ chuckled dryly as he spoke, his eyes on your face, watching the way your eyelashes fanned across your cheeks in the dim light. He knew you were far too wasted to notice his slight flirting, which made it all the more fun for him. He was treading a fine line between just friends and something more, and it was a line he had been dancing around with you for a long time now.
He leaned even closer, his lips practically against your ear as he spoke, his voice soft and rough. "But let's be honest here, you'd be lost without me.."
Your eyes fluttered open, letting out a sound between a scoff and a snort, your fingers reaching up to adjust your glasses "think it's the other way around but.. 'kay." you mumbled, rolling your eyes at his statement steadying your self on your feet.
JJ grinned at your response, enjoying the way you tried to sass him even in your drunken state. He always loved your stubborn attitude, it was one of the things that attracted him to you in the first place.
He chuckled softly, watching you adjust your glasses and trying to steady yourself on your feet, a small part of him finding your clumsy efforts adorable. "Oh really now? You think I'd be the one lost without you, huh?"
"Well.. not entirely sure given you have Kie babysitting you now.." you nodded side glancing at him and bumping your shoulder against his at an attempt on casualness.
JJ rolled his eyes at your side glance and the bump of your shoulder, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Oh please, Kiara's not babysitting me, she's my girlfriend. There's a difference."
He studied your face for a moment, his gaze flickering over your features. "Besides, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know .."
"And here i thought you didn't even have the word 'girlfriend' in your vocabulary.." you mumbled teasingly, your eyes still scanning the crowd of drunk teenagers dancing around you both, the music blaring loudly throughout the Cameron house. Mainly to distract you from the tension growing between you and JJ.
JJ huffed a small laugh at your teasing remark, rolling his eyes at the implication that he was a ladies man who couldn't possibly commit to a relationship.
"Hilarious."
He shot you a dry look, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Real funny, I'm not as much of a manwhore as you make me out to be, you know.."
"Hey.. I'm just sayin'.. didn't know you could be loyal." you chuckled, looking up at him, leaning against the drinks table to your side.
JJ rolled his eyes again at your comment about loyalty, but he couldn't help but smile a little. "Well, surprise surprise. I do have a heart capable of being loyal. I know, shocking, right?"
He smirked at you, his eyes locking with yours as you leaned against the drink table, his voice a little more teasing than usual. "You always have such high opinions of me, don't you."
"I've known you my whole life unfortunately.. these opinions are facts." you shrugged feigning disappointment.
JJ chuckled softly, shaking his head at your feigned disappointment and your "factual" opinions about him. He knew you were mostly teasing, although there was a hint of truth in your words. You had known him practically his whole life, you probably knew him better than anyone, and that thought both exhilarated and slightly irritated him. "Aw, you're breaking my heart here, you know that. I thought you had some faith in me."
"I mean hey.." you turned to face him, smirking and narrowing your eyes up at him, "you wanna tell me you actually had been loyal to Kie these 3 whole months..?" your smirk widened into a small grin, whispering.
JJ's mouth opened and closed, his mind racing for a moment as he tried to come up with a witty response to your question. He knew he couldn't truthfully say that he had been %100 loyal to Kiara these past three months. No, that would be a straight up lie.
He leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur, a hint of guilt in his eyes. "You... you don't play fair, do you..?"
Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, a small snort of laughter escaping you. You wouldn't admit it but the thought that he wasn't completely loyal to Kie, excited you a little. Maybe that was the alcohol talking. "I knew it." you mumbled, eyes wide and teasing after laughing for a couple of seconds.
JJ's eyes widened as you let out a snort of laughter, his heart skipping a beat at how adorably amused you seemed by his lack of loyalty to Kiara.
He tried to play it off with a small smirk, but there was a hint of guilt in his voice. "Yeah yeah, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes. Congratulations for figuring me out."
"What are we talking about here.. making out? hand stuff..?" you asked lowly, stepping a little closer "or like the real deal?" you grinned, unable to hold your giggles.
JJ's cheeks flushed a light pink at the bluntness of your questions, his mind immediately going to the things he had done that weren't exactly loyal to Kiara. Some things he hadn't even told anyone yet.
He glanced around, making sure no one else was listening before he leaned closer to you, his voice a low murmur, his eyes a little wary. "Wouldn't you like to know weather boy.."
JJ mentally cursed himself for that response, he should've just made the joke and moved on, now you'd keep pushing for more information, you always did. But then again, he knew you didn't know the whole extent of his lack of loyalty, so what harm could a bit of honesty do?
He took a deep breath before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "It wasn't the real deal if that's what you're asking..."
"So we're talking 'bj from a stranger'? or..." you narrowed your eyes still smirking, your gaze fitting over his face.
JJ's cheeks burn a brighter red at the boldness of your question, at your unwavering gaze that seemed to see right through him. He was surprised you weren't more shocked, but then again you had always been fairly blunt and direct. He glanced around again, still ensuring no one was near enough to hear the details of his indiscretions.
He leaned in even closer, his voice was almost hoarse as he spoke, his heart beating faster. "More like a few make outs ... a few handjobs …"
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You were a little taken aback but more than anything amused. Way too amused. And your mind was now filled with the image of how JJ looked when he got a hand job or made out with someone. Also very not fit for the situation. "Damn.. that's all?" you found yourself asking, studying his face intently.
JJ raised a eyebrow at your reaction, expecting a bit more shock, but you just seemed incredibly amused by it all. Which surprised him.
He chuckled a little wryly at your question, a smirk playing on his lips. Your intense gaze on his face was making it hard for him to think straight. "Yeah, that's all."
He smirked a bit more, raising an eyebrow as he looked back and forth between your eyes. "Did you want me to say more?"
"I'm just.. that's not that bad.." you shrugged, pressing your lips together in amusement. God you were enjoying this. You felt a weird sense of satisfaction flood your hazy and drunk mind as you looked to the side, breaking the eye contact with him, scoffing in slight disbelief.
There was some part of JJ that was surprised at your nonchalant reaction, at how okay you seemed to be with the lack of loyalty he had towards Kiara. You were usually pretty judgmental when it came to that sort of stuff, but you just seemed amused by it now. Almost satisfied, even. Which puzzled him, and aroused him at the same time. He leaned a little closer to you, trying to catch your eyes with his again.
"Yeah? 'Not that bad' huh?" He teased with a sly smile.
JJ paused for a moment, studying your face as you seemed to be deep in thought, your eyes avoiding his gaze. There was a sense of satisfaction in your demeanor that he could not miss, and it made him curious, intrigued. Did you actually like the idea of him being a bit disobedient? His mind started to race as he studied your face, his lips parted slightly.
He leaned even closer, his voice a low murmur "Why do you seem so... satisfied with this?"
"I.. i don't-.. I'm not satisfied.. i just find it amusing." you stammered, letting out a small nervous chuckle, glancing back up at him, "maybe cause I'm wasted.." you shrugged, still trying to suppress a small smile.
JJ raised an eyebrow at your stammered response, a small smirk forming on his face at your nervous chuckle. He knew you well enough to know when you were hiding something, and the way you were trying to suppress your smile was a dead giveaway.
He leaned against the drink table you were standing at, his eyes locking with yours, a hint of challenge in his gaze. "Yeah? Amused or.... excited..?"
"Now why would i be excited, you're an unfaithful asshole?" you asked lowly, raising your brows as you stepped closer to him, a small teasing smirk playing on your lips.
JJ chuckled at your blunt words, his eyes darkened as you stepped closer to him. The tension between you was growing, and he liked it.
He leaned back against the drink table a bit more, his eyes flickering over your face, a devilish smirk on his lips. "I don't know, you tell me. You're the one who's been grinning this whole time, like you're getting some sort of kick out of this conversation..."
"Hey.. that's because i knew it. You confirmed my suspicions and I'm happy about being right." you shrugged, returning his gaze heads on, still grinning like you didn't actually mean the words. Because they were only half true. If you were gonna admit it fully to yourself, you felt like you found the biggest loophole in history, one you could easily slip through. But you discarded that for now. It wasn't like what you were thinking was morally correct. That shit was messy and you wouldn't mind just being right. You couldn't do that to Kie, as much as you wanted to.
JJ chuckled at your response, his eyes glittering as he studied your face. Your grin was playful, almost cocky, like you were holding something back. "Your suspicions? You knew I wasn't being loyal to Kie, huh?"
He crossed his arms over his chest, his smirk widening. He loved when you were like this, cocky and confident, it was hot.
JJ's heart was racing as he stood a breath away from you. The proximity to you combined with the adrenaline rushing through his veins was making him feel a little dizzy, but in the best possible way. He could see a hint of something in your eyes, and it fueled him on.*
He leaned a little closer, his hot breath caressing your ear, as he spoke in a low, sultry voice. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now.."
Your brows raised, your eyes widening slightly at his unexpected words. You could feel the small flush creep up your neck and you let out a low laugh. "Are you trying to bait me..?" you asked, a small smirk playing on your lips.
JJ chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and desire as he saw your reaction to his words. Your flushed face only fueled him further.
He reached out and gently caressed your flushed skin with the back of his hand, a sly smile on his face. "Bait you? Me? I'm just sayin' what's on my mind, sugar."
JJ felt a rush of confidence and boldness, fueled by the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He moved a little closer, his hand still tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice lowering even more.
"And I can tell you, you've got my mind going to some very interesting places.."
"I can't figure out if you're being serious or this is just some weird experiment to see if i bite the bait.." you narrowed your eyes, your eyes tracing over every detail of his face. You were freaking out internally of course, his words and touch and the way he called you sugar were all sending your mind in a drunken frenzy. Especially with the southern drawl his low words carried.
JJ smirked, his smirk widening at your narrowing gaze. He could see you trying to decipher his intentions, and he was enjoying the effect he was having on you. The way your eyes were tracing over his face, the way you responded to his touch and words... It was exactly what he was aiming for, and more. And he could feel the tension building between you.
He leaned even closer to you, his hand still gently resting on your jawline. He looked right into your eyes, his voice sultry. "Oh, I assure you, doll, I'm very serious.."
JJ leaned closer, so close that his body was now pressed against yours. He could feel your breath on his skin, smell the alcohol on your breath, and it was driving him crazy. He ran his hand down your neck, leaving a trail of heat behind as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, full of desire and tension. "You have no idea how much self-control it's taking me right now not to do some very bad things to you.."
"So it's that easy, yeah?" you asked, your expression smug and intense "you're biting my bait too y'know..?"
JJ paused for a moment, taken a little off guard by your words. He hadn't expected you to fire back so quick, and with such attitude. But he liked it, he found it sexy and intriguing. And he knew you were right, he was definitely biting your bait, hook, line, and sinker.
He smirked again, his eyes darkening with desire as he looked at you. He leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear as he responded in a low, dangerous voice that sent a shiver down your spine. "Yeah, doll, I guess I am..."
"I kinda like the tension though.." you nodded vaguely, "it's not wrong to have tension with your best friend... what is wrong though.. is what you're trying to bait me into..."
JJ chuckled, his hand slowly tracing along the side of your neck, sending chills down your spine. "Oh, the tension is definitely worth it. You have no idea how much."
He paused for a moment, his eyes locked on yours, his gaze intense and sultry. "You're right, sugar. We are best friends. And sometimes... best friends do very wrong things to each other.."
"You're talking to me like you're talking to a child.." you chuckled softly, your gaze glued onto his face, "still doesn't make it any less... treacherous and wrong." you shrugged grinning.
JJ's smirk widened as you chucked, enjoying the way you were responding to him. He felt a thrill of excitement coursing through his veins, feeding off your energy. "Nah, I know you're not a child. You're a grown woman, capable of making your own decisions. Just like I'm a grown man.. with very few limits.. very few morals.."
He paused for a moment, his head slightly tilting as he looked deeply into your eyes. "Sometimes wrong things feel so goddamn right.."
"Very few limits and morals, huh? and what if i have a strong moral code and i like doing the right things..?" you prodded, narrowing your eyes again, pressing your lips together in a questioning look.
JJ's smirk turned into a sly grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He knew you were playing a game, just as he was, and he was enjoying it immensely. "You're funny as hell, doll."
He chuckled softly, his hand moving down to rest on your hip, holding you against the drink table. "We both know you don't have a strong moral code. You like breaking the rules just as much as I do. We're both just very good at hiding it."
"This isn't about my rules. I don't have rules here.. i can hook up with as many guys as i want at this party.." you chuckled, crossing your arms over your chest, "including you. You're the one who's supposed to be loyal to one person." you mumbled mischievously, smirking up at him.
JJ's eyes darkened at your words, a dangerous glint appearing in them as he smirked back at you. He took a step closer, his body pressing closer against yours, his hand slowly sliding down your hip, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "Yeah, maybe I am. But you don't seem real broken up by that fact, sugar... In fact, you seem to be enjoying it quite a lot.."
He lowered his head to your ear, his voice a low, sultry murmur "Admit it.."
"I'm tempted to.. but you know what they say in court.. anything you say can be held against you or something.." you chuckled once again at your own words, still fixing with your gaze, your eyes glinting with curiosity behind your glasses.
JJ smirked again, enjoying your quick-witted response. He knew you were playing with him, trying to get a rise out of him. But he was enjoying this little game of cat and mouse the two of you were playing. He took another step forward, his body now fully pressed against yours, his hand slowly sliding around your waist, pulling you against his chest.
"Hmm.. yeah, that's true. You can always plead the fifth, sugar." He leaned in closer, his lips just a breath away from your ear, his voice low and sultry.
"Plead the fifth..?" you snorted softly in amusement at his quick rebuttal to your smartass response. You always liked that about JJ. He could always take what you dished out no matter the context. Perks of being childhood best friends, i guess.
JJ chuckled at your snort, his smirk widening into a cocky, confident smile. He knew you could give as good as you got, and he loved it. There was something so sexy and exciting about your quick-witted banter.
"Yes ma'am. The ol' fifth amendment. The right to shut your damn mouth and keep your secrets to yourself." He gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head up so that your eyes met his once more, his voice dropping down to a sultry whisper.
"You're such a smartass.." you shook your head raising your brows. "Maybe i wanna speak my mind and not plead the fifth amendment. I'm a law abiding citizen after all.." your grin widened, continuing to challenge him, pushing the limit.
JJ chuckled at your words, enjoying your playful defiance. The more you pushed him, the more his desire and excitement grew. He loved it when you played this game with him. "A law-abiding citizen, huh? Sure, doll. Whatever you say."
He smirked, leaning in closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear again. "We both know your mind is filled with all kinds of not-so-innocent thoughts right now. Confess, sugar.."
"Can't confess anything.. i plead the fifth." you shifted the weight from one foot to the other, turning your face a little to the side, your noses brushing against each other as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.
JJ chuckled gruffly at your playful stubbornness, enjoying the way you leaned into him and the way your faces were now so close together. It was taking all his self-control not to just push you up against the wall at this point and kiss you senseless. But he wanted to play your game, and he wasn't about to give up yet. "Damn.. You're driving me crazy just by talking about not talking.."
He paused, his voice lowering to a sultry whisper, his breath hot against your ear. "I wish I could just kiss you right now, sugar.."
You weren't sure how you were still standing right now. Especially since you were already really drunk. That was one sentence you hoped to hear from JJ since you started liking him. But it wasn't the right setting, given Kiara was in the same house and she could always decide to come looking for her boyfriend. The same boyfriend clinging to you and practically begging you to hook up with him. As bad as it sounded, it felt like a win for you, even though it shouldn't.
"Oh yeah..?" you asked lowly, still smiling up at him, those 2 words being the only ones you could manage in that moment.
JJ's smirk widened as he watched you struggle to formulate a response. He knew he had you right where he wanted you. And he was enjoying it. His hand was still resting on your hip, his fingers gently tracing circles on the skin underneath your shirt. He relished in the way you leaned into him, the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes darkened with desire.
"Yeah.."
His voice was low and husky with a hint of pleading, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in closer his lips mere inches away from your skin. "I wanna kiss you so bad right now.."
"I heard you the first time.." you teased, turning your face to the side again, your nose brushing against his cheek once again.
JJ chuckled, his smirk widening in amusement as he felt your nose brush against his cheek. He couldn't resist the urge to move even closer to you, his body now fully pressed against yours, trapping you between him and the table. "Oh, I know you heard me. But I just like hearing myself say it. I like the way it makes you squirm.."
He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continued to speak, his voice dropping down to a low murmur. "And I know you feel it too, sugar. I can see it in your eyes, I can hear it in your breathing. You wanna kiss me just as much as I wanna kiss you. Admit it.."
"Maybe... but just as a little experiment y'know?" you whispered back, your gaze fixed intently on the side of his face, "i mean we've been best friends for so long.. can't blame me for wondering, yeah?"
JJ chuckled again, his smirk widening into a cocky smile. "A little experiment, huh? I like the sound of that.."
His hand traveled from your hip to your waist, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "Yeah, totally. I guess I can't blame you at all for wondering how different it'd feel.. being with your childhood best friend and all.. that must've popped into your head at some point, right sugar?"
"Did it pop into your head..?" you turned the question around, mirroring his smirk.
"Oh, it definitely popped into my head.." JJ's smirk widened as he spoke, his eyes scanning your face for a moment, taking in every detail. He loved the way you matched his smirk with your own, the way you were playing the same game as he was.
"More times than I can count, if i'm being honest..." He nodded, his body now completely pressed against yours, his breath warm against your ear.
"You have no idea how many times I've imagined what it'd be like to kiss you.. to touch you.. to make you moan my name as I-" He cut himself off, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he pulled back slightly, his gaze fixed intently on your face.
You met his gaze heads on again, knowing that he was imagining the same thing as you. It was like your own moans were echoing in your mind as you imagined being on top of JJ, despite the blaring music around you both. You pressed your lips together to suppress a nervous smile, adjusting your glasses and holding his gaze silently, not backing away but not saying anything either.
JJ seemed to pick up on your nervous smile as he held your gaze. He couldn't help but smile too, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and desire. He knew you were thinking the same things he was, and it was driving him wild, in the best possible way.
"You're good at this game, doll.."
He mumbled, his grip on your hip tightening just a little as his eyes flicked down to your lips for a moment, taking in their soft shape and fullness. He wanted to kiss you so badly, it was taking all his self-control to hold back.
"I am.. feels like we've playing for years, right?" you spoke, chuckling softly, the sound almost lost in the party sounds around.
JJ chuckled in agreement, nodding slightly. "Yeah, it definitely feels like it..."
He paused for a moment, his gaze still fixed on your lips, his eyes tracing their shape, his mind wandering to all sorts of dirty imaginings that he was desperately trying to push away. But standing this close to you, seeing you looking up at him with those eyes and that smirk, it made it very difficult for him to stay focused and not lean in and kiss you right there and then.
"Y'know.. your lips are a lot pinker and fuller than I've always imagined.." He mumbled, his thumb gently tracing the outline of your bottom lip, feeling the softness against his skin. His eyes darkened as he looked down at you, the heat and desire behind them almost palpable.
"What about about my lips?" you asked, raising a brow at the word 'imagined', swallowing down a small lump that was forming in your throat.
JJ's gaze was still fixed on your lips, tracing the shape of them lazily with his thumb, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You have no idea how many times I've thought about what it would feel like to kiss your lips.. to have them on mine.." His voice was low and rough, his mind obviously consumed by his own thoughts of you and the two of you together.
"Oh my god, i thought you were gonna end that sentence in another way.." you snorted a small nervous laugh, stepping back a little to laugh gently and nervously, placing your hands on your knees.
JJ couldn't help but chuckle as you stepped back and laughed nervously. He could see that you were feeling a little flustered and he couldn't blame you, he was feeling the same way.
"What? Did you think I was gonna say something dirty, sugar?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, his smirk widening.
"Yeah.. i mean when guys talk about my lips, they're always like: 'you have dick-sucking lips..'" you giggled again, locking eyes with him and shrugging.
JJ chuckled again, unable to keep the smile off his face at your words. Yeah, definitely flustered. He took a step closer to you again, leaning against the table next to you, his arm now brushing against yours.
"Yeah, guys these days can be pretty crude, huh?" He looked at you, his gaze locking with yours for a moment, his thoughts betraying him as he imagined what it'd look like to see your lips wrapped around him, your eyes looking up at him like now..
He had to stop himself from groaning aloud, his mind replaying the imaginative scene in front of him over and over, sending a wave of heat through his body. You on your knees, your lips around him, you hand following suit.. He took a slow, deep breath, trying to control his mind and his body's reactions, before speaking again.
"They've got no tact or class.. it's all just crude one-liners and vulgar comments.."
"I know right..?" you mumbled in amusement, watching every micro-expression on his face, letting out a small knowing chuckle.
JJ shot you a quick sideways glance, his eyebrow twitching as he noticed your knowing chuckle, realizing that you were paying attention to every small movement he made. He could tell you were picking up on the way he was reacting to you, and he knew he had to be careful with his words and reactions.
"Yeah.. it's annoying, honestly.."
He tried to play it cool, leaning against the table and crossing one leg over the other, hoping you didn't pick up on exactly what he was thinking.
"Well... you were telling me just a few moments ago how you... wanna hear me moan your name. So you weren't very far from crude one liners or vulgar comments." you adjusted your glasses, mirroring his smile.
JJ's smile widened at your words, his chest swelling with pride that you remembered his words from not even 5 minutes ago. He felt your mirrored smile, noticing the confidence behind it and knowing that you loved how easy you could make him flustered.
"Hey now.. I'm just being honest. I don't have to be crude about it." He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, trying to appear calm and casual.
You giggled, watching him intensely for a few moments. Before you were going to speak up though, Kie cut you off, greeting JJ and standing in front of both of you with Sarah. The greeting caused you to break the eye contact with JJ, grinning at the girls, who unknowingly walked into something. His girlfriend walked up to him slinging her arms around his neck, smiling at him lovingly.
JJ barely had time to react before Kie was in front of him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her body pressed against his. He had to resist the urge to wince at the interruption, his gaze flicking from her to you before he put on his usual cocky grin.
"Heyyy, Kie."
He greeted her, wrapping his arms around her waist, all the while silently wishing she would disappear or at least go somewhere else, so he could go back to flirting with you. Which he felt bad for thinking.
Kie leaned against him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, her arms still wrapped around his neck. She was completely oblivious to the tension between him and you, blissfully unaware of the fact that he was completely captivated by you just moments ago. She pulled back from him enough to look up at his face, her expression fond and affectionate. "I missed you."
She said softly, her voice sweet and loving. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the affectionate look in her eyes. But he pushed those feelings away, his eyes flickering back to you for a moment.
JJ forced himself to smile down at her, to look at her like a man who was smitten would, but it was hard. All he could think about was you. You and your soft, full lips, and your sharp, quick wit, and the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke to him. His arms around her waist felt tight, almost stiff, like he was holding her against him for the sake of keeping up appearances.
"Yeah, I missed you too, baby." He replied, managing to keep his voice even. His eyes flicked back to you again.
You could feel yourself grow annoyed again. Just like you would when seeing Kiara with JJ. You looked away from the scene and smiled at Sarah again, leaning back against the table casually, "Hey y'all.." you greeted both of them, adjusting your glasses. You were desperately trying to push down the conversation you just had with JJ, how he was practically begging you with his eyes to hook up with him. Or how you were practically undressing him with yours.
Kie turned to you and smiled at your greeting. She had no idea that what was going on just before she had arrived had any significance. She was oblivious to the fact that JJ's mind was consumed with thoughts of you.
"Hey! How are you? Did you just get here?" She asked, genuinely wondering without realizing that JJ's eyes hadn't left you since she'd showed up.
You shook your head and tskd at her question, a small smirk on your lips, "Nah.. i was upstairs.. doing something." you mumbled, your gaze fitting to the side as you remembered your small hookup with Rafe barely an hour ago.
Kie raised her eyebrows at your response, her expression curious and interested. She knew you well enough to know that 'doing something' could mean a variety of things, none of them boring or uninteresting. "Oh really? And what were you doing?"
She asked, her tone playful, like she was trying to coax the information out of you.
"Too bad i plead the fifth.. you guys will never know." you smirked teasingly, glancing between Sarah and Kie before shooting JJ an amused look knowing you talked about 'pleading the fifth' to one another.
Kie groaned, pouting at your response, knowing that it was unlikely she would get any information out of you. She was always curious, and your mysterious demeanor only served to heighten her interest. She opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off as she noticed the look between you and JJ.
JJ's heart skipped a beat as you shot him a look, the connection between the two of you palpable for a brief moment. He had to restrain himself from breaking into a smirk, remembering your previous conversation.
His mind went back to moments before Kie had interrupted, the way he'd been fixated on your lips, the way he'd wanted to taste them. He tore his gaze away from you, forcing himself to look at Kie instead, his arms still around her waist. But his eyes kept flickering back to you, unable to stay away for long. He was torn between the two of you, feeling guilty for the thoughts he was having and the feelings you were stirring up in him.
Kie noticed JJ's distracted gaze, the way his eyes kept darting towards you, even as he held her in his arms. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy and insecurity, wondering what was going on between the two of you.
"What are you thinking about, babe?" She asked, her tone slightly sharper than before.
JJ's heart skipped a beat again at Kie's question, realizing that he had been caught looking at you. But he quickly shook it off, plastering on a charming smile and looked down at Kie.
"Nothing, baby. Just... zoning out, I guess." He lied, his gaze flickering back to you for a moment before returning to Kie.
You on the other hand were looking down at your phone, pulling up the chat with Rafe to text him quickly. 'U owe me 50$ prick i told u i wasnt delusional jj was just begging me to hook up with him.' You texted the Cameron boy, chuckling to yourself at the memory of the bet you made with Rafe about JJ never liking you back that way, after you guys hooked up one random day.
A few moments later, your phone vibrated with a reply from Rafe. 'Yeah yeah. I'll give you your 50 bucks when I see you.' He would never forget about something that he owed, especially if it was a bet that he lost.
JJ's mind was still on you, despite trying to focus on what Kie was saying. He couldn't stop thinking about your conversation before she had interrupted, the way you had looked at him with that sly, seductive smile on your lips.
'Might be sooner than u think his girl just interrupted the whole thing. They're snugglin in front of me rn' you typed out the response quickly, following it with a over the top chain of broken heart emojis, chuckling as you did so, before tucking the phone back in the back pocket of your denim skirt.
'Damn. Wish I could see that.' He replied, adding a few of his own laughing emojis.
JJ and Kie had migrated over to some sort of couch and were sitting down next to each other, Kie practically on top of him, her head resting on his shoulder. Despite the close contact, JJ couldn't help but glance over at you, his eyes drawn to your figure, his mind still swirling with your words from not even 10 minutes ago.
'Where r u?' you typed, looking around you as if expecting to see Rafe in the crowd of drunk teenagers, still wearing that amused smile on your face. You noticed that JJ and Kie were now sitting down on the couch, Sarah next to you preparing herself a small drink at the drink table you were leaning against.
'Just around... why?' he responded, adding a few winking emojis.
Kie had cuddled up against JJ, her arm linked with his, her body pressed close to him. He tried to act natural, but his attention kept getting pulled back to you. The way you were casually leaning against the table, your legs crossed, the smirk playing on your lips. He desperately tried to keep his eyes from drifting down your legs again but was failing miserably.
'How vague.. u sound like a murderer' you rolled your eyes adding a 🔪 emoji at the end before pressing send and tucking your phone back into your pocket facing Sarah. "What you drinking?" you asked curiously. trying desperately not to look at the couple on the couch just a few feet away.
The phone vibrated again with a new message from Rafe, his response containing a laughing/crying emoji, followed by 'Not really in the murdering mood today lol'. Sarah looked up from the drink she was making, a smirk on her face.
"Just a shot mix. You want some?" She gestured to the different bottles of alcohol on the table, some half empty and others barely touched.
'Is that cs u have a party at ur house rn or what?' you replied to Rafe instantly, your shoulders shaking a little with suppressed laughter, "Nah.. I'd have a vodka orange if you wanna make that for me.." you shouted slightly at Sarah over the music, casting a small glance in JJ's direction and catching his eyes, given he was already looking at you.
'Oh yeah that too lol'
He texted back, his reply making you chuckle again. Sarah nodded at your request, grabbing a bottle of vodka and orange juice from the table, beginning to pour the drinks.
Meanwhile, JJ was caught staring at you again, his gaze fixated on you, like he couldn't tear his eyes away. You glanced in his direction, catching his eyes. He felt a jolt go through him at the eye contact, his heart beating a little faster. He hastily looked away, trying to maintain a nonchalant attitude.
'Stop puttin lol after every text rafe u look like my mom who js discovered lolling' you texted back amused. You broke the eye contact with JJ when you had to text Rafe back, your expression melting into one of amusement and awkwardness.
'Sorry lol' he responded, chuckling to himself at the thought of looking like a mom who just discovered texting shorthand.
JJ watched as your expression changed suddenly, noticing the mix of amusement and awkwardness on your face. He couldn't help but wonder what you were texting, who you were texting, and if it was about him. He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and composed, all the while wanting to get up and tear your phone out of your hands to see who you were texting.
'Ur so dumb' you texted Rafe back before adding 'but seriouslt where r u' you added quickly, misspelling a word, evidence you were clearly more drunk than last time you saw each other. You looked back at Sarah, smiling as she handed you the drink, chatting with her while laughing and gesturing while talking for a few minutes.
Rafe laughed to himself at your misspelled word, finding the occasional tipsy text message amusing. 'I'm coming' he replied, adding a few eye roll emojis.
JJ tried his best to keep himself together, still glancing up every now and then to look at you. Every time you laughed, he felt a pang in his gut. He wanted to be the one making you laugh, to be the reason you were showing your bright smile. Sarah noticed JJ's repeated glances towards you, an amused smirk on her face.
'Where r u comin? im downstairs wirh ur sister and JJ dont make it weird' you texted, stopping your conversation with Sarah midway to text Rafe back, a small sense of anxiety washing over you at his text. You caught JJ's eyes again, a small knowing sparkle in them before looking away and at Sarah "what?" you asked her, grimacing in amusement and confusion.
'Oh you'll find out later' Rafe responded, adding a few eye emojis.
JJ watched as you read the text message, noticing the mix of emotions that flickered across your face, the sparkle in your eyes that he knew all too well.
Sarah chuckled at your grimace, taking another sip of her drink. "Nothing. Just observing is all."
'Haha real funny Rafe, later when tho?' you replied sarcastically, suppressing an excited smirk at Rafe's text to not weird out your friends. "What do you mean? what are you observing?" you asked Sarah, looking up from your phone in confused amusement and obliviousness.
Rafe chuckled to himself, enjoying getting you all worked up with his mysterious text messages. 'Whenever I want.' He responded, purposely keeping you in suspense.
Sarah chuckled again, casting a small glance towards JJ before turning back to you. "Oh, nothing. Just your little staring contest with JJ." She teased, her voice filled with amusement.
'Don't forgt ur the one hooking up wit me whenever i want' you replied to Rafe, not bothering to fix the typos, "I'm not starin' at JJ.." you mumbled, raising one brow in Sarah's direction and taking a slow, awkward sip of your drink.
Rafe chuckled at your text message, feeling a mix of desire and excitement at the thought of you. 'Is that a threat or a promise baby?' he responded, adding a few eggplants and fire emojis.
Sarah snorted into her drink, clearly amused by your response. She leaned in towards you, speaking in a low voice. "Oh really? So why does he keep looking over here every couple of minutes then?"
"Hold on.." you shushed Sarah, grimacing at your phone, 'rafe pls delete the eggplant and fire emojis or else im never sleeping with u ever agan,' you warned Rafe shaking your head at the screen of your phone before switching it off, "Dunno.. but I'm not staring, he is.." you shrugged, glancing at JJ once again, the grimace from Rafe's text still on your face.
Rafe chuckled to himself at your reply to his text, feeling a mix of amusement and annoyance at your threat. 'Damn, alright I'll remove them.' he responded, quickly deleting the emojis and sending a sheepish face.
Sarah raised an eyebrow, watching your interaction with your phone with amusement. She then followed your gaze over to JJ, who was indeed looking at you. "Uh huh.. and why do you think he's staring at you then?"
"I'm not sure..." you mumbled, humming. 'Wanna makeout?' you asked Rafe after glancing at Kie being all over JJ and feeling the jealousy spike up inside you.
Rafe smirked when he read your text. 'Always. Where you at?'
On the couch, JJ was still letting Kie snuggle into his side, but he couldn’t tear his attention away from you. Even as he listened to what Kie was saying, his mind wandered back to you. He watched as you seemed to be texting someone, a frown growing on his face.
'Downstairs having a drink with ur sister.' you answered quickly and looking up from your phone at Sarah, smiling awkwardly, "I gotta do something real quick.. is it ok if I'm gone for like... 10 minutes tops." you mumbled downing the remnants of your drink and fidgeting slightly.
Rafe quickly typed a response. 'Be there in 5.'
Sarah seemed surprised by your sudden need to leave, but she tried to stay casual. She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Uh, sure I guess. What for?"
'Where? we're not makingout downstairs with my freinds around' you texted hastily before looking up at Sarah, "Just.. party things y'know?" you answered vaguely, shrugging.
Rafe's response came back quickly, filled with a slight hint of annoyance. 'The pool house. Hurry up'
Sarah shot you a quick skeptical look, sensing that you were being coy with your answer. But she decided not to pry any further. "Party things huh? Sounds important." She replied sarcastically.
'The pool house? how romantic r u there already?' you asked him, raising one brow at your phone before looking back up at Sarah, clearly distracted, "It is.. Do you guys have a pool house?" you asked Sarah, already looking at the glass doors leading to the pool in the backyard.
Rafe's response was quick. 'Yep. Just waiting for you.'
Sarah nodded, gesturing towards the glass doors. "Yeah we do, it's right over there. But it's usually just a place for people to chill and make out."
'Omg u were so making out with someone else there be4 i asked.' you texted back sighing outloud, "Yeah.. thanks.. I'll be right back yeah?" you smiled awkwardly sparing one last glance at Kie and JJ, your eyes falling onto the couple making out sloppily. Gross.
Rafe's reply was filled with sarcastic agreement. 'Obviously. Hurry.'
Sarah chuckled at your response, a knowing smirk on her face. "Yep, sure." JJ noticed your glance towards him and Kie, and for a split second, his eyes flickered up at you. He saw the slight frown on your face before his attention got called back to Kie.
You walked over to the glass doors, pushing them lightly to open them. You could see the pool house just a few feet away, the warm glow of lights behind it lighting up the night. You stepped outside, the cool night air hitting your skin, sending a small shiver down your spine. There were people scattered around the pool but the crowd was mostly inside. You didn't know if you were glad or not at the fact.
You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a soft click, locking it for good measurement. Your eyes fell on Rafe standing by the couch with a smug look on his face, as if he knew you were gonna end up here, with him again.
"Don't give me that look.. you owe me 50 bucks by the way.." you scolded teasingly before reminding him that you won the bet.
Rafe's smirk grew wider, his eyes flickering up and down your figure. "Yeah yeah, whatever. I'll give you the money later."
He stepped closer towards you, his arms wrapping around your waist. His scent was potent, a mixture of alcohol, expensive cologne, and smoke.
"I thought you were never gonna come." He drawled in a low voice, pulling you closer to him.
"Uh, well.. blondie was making out with his girl and doing boyfriend things and i got bitter.." you shrugged, placing your hands on his shoulders lazily "so i was like: i can also makeout with Rafe.." you continued, chuckling dryly.
Rafe chuckled too, his hands slowly rubbing up and down your hips. He leaned in, his lips gently tracing along your neck, leaving a trail of light kisses before making his way up to your ear.
"I don't mind you being bitter. It's kinda hot.." he whispered in a husky voice, nipping your earlobe before continuing his journey down to your shoulder.
"The thing is I'm not bitter over you.. why do you find it hot that I'm basically using you to get another guy out of my system..?" you asked furrowing your brows as you let him kiss your neck freely, already used to the ministrations.
Rafe paused his assault on your neck, his lips hovering just above your skin. He hummed lowly before straightening up, looking at you with a lopsided smile. "Maybe cause I like being used..?” he admitted, a hint of playfulness in his tone. His hands continued to rove up and down your body, seemingly not able to stop touching you.
"That's kinda kinky.. you seriously need a therapist, i think.." you chuckled, narrowing your eyes at him teasingly.
Rafe smirked at your comment, his hands sliding down to your hips, his grasp firm and possessive. He chuckled heartily, amused by your retort. "Yeah well you're the one who came chasing after me cause you're jealous of another guy's girl. So who's really the crazy one now hmm?" He pulled you closer, your body flush against his now.
"Whatever.. i just want easy sex and you're giving it everytime.." you teased leaning in to ghost your lips over his lazily.
Rafe hummed in agreement, his eyes flickering down towards your lips. He leaned in, his lips connecting with yours for a brief second, before pulling back slightly.
"And you're always ready and willing. That make us even right?" he teased back, his hands roaming down to rest on your backside, giving you a firm squeeze.
The pool house was dark and secluded, the only source of light from the single window in the back. Rafe backed you up against the wall, his body pressing flush against yours as he trailed his lips along your jaw and down your neck. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you close as he muttered against your skin.
"And you look so damn good in this skirt. You were just begging for attention out there weren't you?”
You scoffed, slight annoyance flickering in your eyes as he spoke but still gripping his shoulders tightly, "no... I'm just effortlessly hot.." you mumbled pulling him for another brief kiss.
Rafe chuckled against your lips, his tongue quickly sliding out to graze your bottom lip before pulling away again with a smirk. His hands slid down from your hips to the hem of your skirt, gently rolling it up so that his fingers skimmed along your bare thighs.
"Effortlessly huh? I think you're just begging to be taken right now." he drawled, his voice huskier than before.
"Don't think i have time for that.. beside we already fucked 2 times tonight.." you furrowed your brows again, mulling over his words as if it was a tough decision.
Rafe chuckled at your response, clearly amused by your mock indecision. He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered. "That's even better. You're probably pretty sensitive after two times... I don't think you'd even take that long for a third."
He nipped at your earlobe, his hands continuing to caress your thighs, before he pulled back slightly to look at you. His eyes were darkened with lust, lips curving up into a smirk. "We don't even have to take our clothes off this time. I can just make you lose it with my fingers.. and maybe my tongue too if you're good for me."
His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of a challenge in it.
You smirked, raising one brow at him curiously "you're suggesting something that doesn't give you pleasure?"
Rafe's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the back and forth banter between you. His hands moved higher up your thighs, but he didn't move any further, wanting to wait for your response. "Oh no, trust me, I'll get plenty of pleasure. There's nothing more I like than watching you squirm and moan around my fingers."
He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above your neck. "But we both know you just want to forget about that guy back there.. and I'm here to help."
"How selfless of you.." you mumbled teasingly, shaking your head as he leaned in closer.
"Yeah, i'm a real saint." he smirked, his hands moving further up your thighs and under your skirt, fingers brushing along the lace edge of your underwear.
He leaned in to kiss along your neck again, alternating between nips and gentle kisses, before he pulled back slightly and lifted his head from your skin. "Now, are you gonna put that sarcastic mouth to better use or not?" he purred in a low voice
"Nah.. I'm too drunk for that.. if you got a condom we can make this quick.." you mumbled shrugging.
Rafe chuckled in response, clearly amused by your bluntness. He shook his head, his hands moving up to grip your hips firmly before spinning you around so that you were facing away from him, your front pressed up against the wall.
"You always know what to say, don't you? No need to be drunk to be naughty." he whispered in your ear, his fingers working the button of his shorts open.
He pulled down his shorts just enough, his boxers still on, but already showing the bulge that pressed against your backside. He pushed you back gently, his hand on your back so that you were leaning against the wall more, before he leaned in, his mouth trailing along your neck and shoulder again.
"You gonna be a good girl and stay quiet for me, or do I need to shut that sassy mouth of yours myself?"
"I don't think i need to be quiet.. we're at a party asshole.." you sighed, your hands working to hitch your denim skirt up even more.
Rafe chuckled at your response, his hands sliding up your thighs to help you pull up the skirt. He leaned in, his body pressed flush against yours, his breath hot on your neck.
"Yeah, but I don't need everyone to hear what a pretty little moans you make every time I touch you. I wanna keep that to myself.." he drawled
He leaned down further, his lips and tongue trailing down your neck, nipping the skin every now and then when he found a certain sensitive spot. He slid one hand to the front of your thighs, his fingertips gently skimming along your lace underwear for a moment before slipping under the fabric.
He nipped at your ear, his fingers teasing along your slick folds as he whispered to you. "You're already so wet for me. You're just desperate to forget about him, aren't you?"
You tskd softly, your mind flashing back to JJ and the conversation you had with him before being interrupted by his girlfriend "if things went differently maybe i'd be hooking up with him right now, instead of you.." you mumbled, sighing softly as his fingers moved in small circles over your clit lazily.
Rafe's fingers stilled for a moment, his hand pausing as he heard your words. He let out a low, sharp huff of annoyance, clearly not pleased by your comment.
"Why don't you just shut up then and pretend it's him." he muttered, his voice slightly harsher than before.
"Sorry..." you mumbled meekly realizing how rude that sounded, glancing at him over your shoulder.
Rafe stared down at you for a moment, his eyes locked with yours. Despite your apology, there was still an edge to his gaze. He huffed irritably, his fingers moving again against your clit. "Don't apologize. Just pretend its him doing this and keep your mouth shut unless you're moaning." he ordered, his tone firm.
He bent down slightly, his mouth trailing down your neck and shoulder again, leaving a trail of gentle kisses before nipping at your skin. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.
"Is this what he'd do? Would he be this gentle?" he whispered, his voice rough
Your breathing quickened as he spoke, small soft gasps coming out as you tilted your head back a little against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed, "I dunno.. I'd like to believe he would be.." you mumbled before letting out a small moan.
Rafe's tongue dragged along the skin of your neck, sucking on one spot for a moment before he pulled back. His hands moved back to the lace of your underwear, slowly pulling them down your legs.
"Well you should stop thinking about him right now." he purred in your ear, "You're all mine right now and you should be moaning my name."
He pushed you a little harder against the wall, his body pressing up against you, his free hand going up under your shirt, slowly gliding up over your stomach and upwards. He leaned down and kissed you between your shoulders, his touch firm. He moved back up to your ear, voice low
"Who's making you feel so good hm?" he teased
"You.. " you answered weakly, your palms sprawled out onto the wall for some support as his fingers quickened their pace, your head still tilted back against his shoulder.
He took one of your hands off the wall and brought it behind your back, his hand gently pinning it against the small of your back, keeping you pressed against the wall. His other hand continued to dance across your stomach, his fingers slowly inching down over your hip. "Good girl. It's only me." he purred, nipping at your ear again.
He took his hand from your stomach and brought it to the back of your head, gently grabbing onto a fist full of hair, tilting your head back to give him access to your neck again. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, before he gently tugged your hair, pulling it back so that your back arched towards him.
He smirked, enjoying the way your body reacted to his touches. He leaned in and continued to kiss along your neck, his tongue trailing along the sensitive skin, before gently biting down on it.
"You like that, hm?" he purred "You like how I'm manhandling you, making you arch your back against me like this?"
You hummed, your body already pliable in his hands. Despite being madly in love with JJ since you were a kid you could never deny that sex with Rafe was always enjoyable, far more than you'd admit. And that was until you came anyway, after that you were filled with guilt and self hatred at the whole thing, knowing it was so wrong on so many levels. You still did it anyway. It was a secret and Rafe was the perfect blend between kinky rough and gentle and soft.
Rafe continued to kiss, bite, and lick along your neck and shoulder, enjoying the reactions you gave him as he slipped two fingers inside you easily. He loved hearing your soft moans and gasps, the way your body pressed and arched against his. But he also knew you felt guilty and conflicted and he took full advantage of that. He nipped at your shoulder again, his voice rough as he spoke against your skin.
"This is what you need, isn't it? You need me to manhandle you, to take control." He chuckled softly, hearing your breathing quicken.
"You like it messy, messy enough to make you forget." he whispered in your ear, his hot breath against your skin.
You nodded mindlessly, trying to steady your breath by inhaling sharply, writhing against his back gently. Your legs were trembling slightly as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, rather roughly, your moans getting a bit louder.
He shifted his body, his arms wrapped around you now, turning you away from the wall and moving you over to a nearby sofa. He pushed you onto the cushions, keeping a grip on your hair and his hand on the small of your back, pushing you down so that your chest was pressed onto the sofa cushions.
"Like this, hm? You like being pushed down like this, hm?" He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, his breath hot on your bare shoulder.
His mouth followed, his tongue and lips working their way across your skin, before he nipped gently at the back of your neck, his body pressing further into yours.
"Are you still thinking of another man now?"
Your forearms rested under your head as your body arched up, raising his body as he stood behind you, your knees pressing into the sofa to support your self, "no.." you breathed out, your voice a little muffled now, raising your head to take your glasses off to prevent them from breaking.
He chuckled, his hands roaming over your sides and hips, fingers tracing the curves of your body. He bent down, his mouth near your ear again, his voice low and gruff.
"Good girl."
His hands moved up to the bottom of your shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up over your back, his palms caressing your bare skin as it was exposed.
He continued to push the shirt up, until it reached your shoulders. He stopped there, pressing a kiss against the back of your neck, before gently pushing you back down onto the sofa. "Stay like that for me, will you?" he whispered, a hint of a command in his tone.
He moved away from you for a moment, taking in the sight in front of him. His eyes roaming over your body, laid out on the sofa in front of him, bent forwards with your head turned to the side, facing him.
His eyes darkened, a hint of a smile on his lips, before he slowly moved back towards you, stopping in behind you. His undone belt brushed against the soft flesh of your ass, causing you to let out a quiet sigh.
"You look so pretty, all bent over for me." he murmured, his hands moving to your hips, grabbing on tight as he pulled you towards him, closer to the edge of the sofa. He smirked as he watched you, your body obeying his every command, without question.
"Can we just.. make this quick Rafe.. please?" you asked furrowing your brows, your back arching up a little more into his hands, your back side grazing against his crotch.
He paused for a moment, his smile widening as you pleaded for him to make it quick. He knew you wanted this just as much as he did, even if it was a secret. He moved your hair out of the way, gently tugging your head back, so he could look into your eyes. "Why, are you in a rush or something?"
"Yeah.. if my friends come looking for me I'm screwed." you let out a breathless scoff, locking eyes with him.
He let out a huff of annoyance, clearly not pleased to hear that your friends were looking for you, and would probably put a stop to this. He continued to glare down at you for a moment, before giving in.
"You owe me." he muttered, one hand still tangled in your hair, holding you in place.
He moved to tug him self out of his boxers, pushing his shorts even lower down his hips. He didn't even bother taking them off all the way, he just left them on his thighs.
"You better not let me get caught either. Then we're both screwed." he said, his voice low as he positioned himself behind you.
"Mhm.. I'm more screwed given they all hate you.." you hummed, still looking at him over your shoulder in anticipation, fingers reaching to push your underwear tot the side once again.
He huffed again, clearly disliking the fact that your group didn't like him. He grabbed one of your hips, holding you in place as he slowly pushed his hips forward, pressing up against you. He brushed the tip of his cock over your folds teasingly, his voice taking a condescending tone.
"If only they knew what we were doing right now, instead of whatever they're doing.."
He leaned down, his chest now flush against your back, his other hand moving to the back of your hair, grabbing a tight fist full once again, pulling your head back to look at him.
"They'd hate me even more I think."
"Yeah and I'd be shunned from them completely, given I'm.. fucking the guy who's constantly picking on them.." you furrowed your brows, trying to speak through the clouding lust in your brain along with the ridiculous amount of alcohol in your system. You suppressed a moan when you felt him slip inside of you.
He chuckled at your words, his grip still on your hair, holding you in place as he slowly rocked his hips against you. "Mm, yeah, you're just a little traitor, aren't you? Doing this with me, the 'bad guy'."
"Are you even inside?" you mumbled, knowing the question got under his skin even though you could definitely feel him.
He huffed out an amused breath, clearly taking the bait of your question, even though he knew exactly what you were doing.
"Tch, you're a goddamn brat, you know that?" He pulled your hair a little harder, forcing your head back so he could look you in the eyes, a slight frown on his face. "And you better watch that damn mouth of yours, or else you'll get more than you bargained for."
He shifted his hips, slowly pressing further into you, and watching as you reacted to the fullness of his cock. "And yes, I'm in, you impatient little thing. Always so needy for me, aren't you? Even with your little Pogues around, you can't keep my name out of your mind and my dick outside of you.."
You let out a choked breath, your eyes fluttering closed as the small breath melted into a moan, tilting your head back a little and arching your body up.
He smirked at the sound of your moan, his hand slowly unraveling from your hair, but his grip on your hip tightens as he pulled you further back to meet his ruthless thrusts. "You're so cute, trying to hold in your little noises. Like they'll be able to hear us all the way out there over the music."
He moved his free hand around front to your throat, his fingers running over your skin before wrapping loosely around it, just enough to feel the vibrations of your moans against his hand.
"But I know there's a lot you're gonna have to repress for the rest of the night, hm? You're gonna have to look them all in the eye when you go find them and act like nothing happened between us."
"I already did that... we fucked 2 times like an hour ago remember?" you mumbled, your words mixed with your soft moans, digging your knees into the edge of the sofa as you arched up further, almost to the point of it being painful, enjoying the feeling of his hand around your throat.
He smirked, clearly enjoying the desperate way you were arching against him, chasing any friction you could get. He gave a gentle squeeze to your throat, watching to see how you'd react.
"Yeah, I do remember. But these little friends of yours seem pretty clueless. I bet they have no idea what's happening in here, hm?"
He chuckled, knowing that your friends were almost definitely too stupid to piece together what had happened, or what was about to happen.
"They probably think you're just in the bathroom or something, fixing that raccoon look you've got going on, huh?" he teased, his hand at your throat raising you so you were pressed flush against him, your back to his chest.
"You don't have to be an asshole you know?" you grumbled, soft gasps escaping your lips in strings, your head tilting to rest on his shoulder as he pressed you flush against his chest, still thrusting inside of you.
He chuckled, amused at your attitude, even in this position. He leaned his head down, nipping at your neck, his breath hot on your skin.
"Tch, I'm just messing with you. I think you know that by now." He murmured, his hand on your hip running across your stomach. "Besides, I always knew you kinda liked it when I'm an ass."
He continued to kiss and nip at your neck, leaving marks that would probably be hard to cover, but he didn't care. He wanted to make sure your friends saw. He wanted them to know.
"But I doubt they'll notice anything. They'll all be too distracted to pay attention to any of that." He paused, his hand wandering across your skin, before it started to move lower. "Except maybe for that one of yours. What's his name again?"
He didn't give you time to answer, knowing you would probably refuse to anyway. The hand that was at your stomach continued to move lower, his fingertips tracing over your skin, before they finally reached their destination. His fingers zeroed on your clit, circling it at a pace to meet his thrusts.
"Who are you talking about?" you asked, your mind fuzzy from the alcohol and all the sensations being inflicted on your body right now, arching against his chest as your face scrunched up in pleasure and confusion.
He huffed out a chuckle at your confusion, his words a growl in your ear.
"Ugh, the dark-haired one." He started to move his fingers, slowly and gently tracing over you, feeling you squirm and shudder against him. "The one who always looks like he's about to punch me?"
He chuckled at your response, a little impressed that you were even still remembering the names of your friends, and that you were still talking through all of it.
"Tch, yeah Pope, that's the one. I've seen him looking at you, in his little puppy dog way. You think he's gonna notice how distracted you are?"
"Stop speaking.. you're ruining the mood and you're not even right." you gasped out, unable to keep your eyes open "he's smitten with Kiara.. if anything he's in the same situation as me.."
He rolled his eyes at your response, a smirk still on his lips.
"Mm, if you say so." He said in a mocking tone, although he had to admit, you looked and sounded adorable right now, all pressed up against him, desperate for him in the middle of a party full of your friends. "But you are still mine, aren't you, baby?"
"Eh, are you going soft on me now.. taking about being yours and shit..?" you teased, smirking even though he couldn't exactly see it, "thought this was casual.."
He raised his eyebrows, a bit of annoyance at your teasing, but also liking how you could make fun of him even when you were like this.
"Shut up." He said, his hand wrapping around your neck again, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"It is casual, don't get ahead of yourself. I was just thinking I'm the only one who gets to do this to you, is all."
"Yeah.. guess so.." you replied, your voice strained as your pleasure continued to build. You felt his thumb slip past your bottom lip gently after his hand slid up from your neck to gripping your jaw.
He grinned at how your voice sounded when you answered him, your breath hitching from the way he was touching you. He couldn't help but admire how you felt in this moment, all desperate and wanting only him. He slowly pushed his thumb into your mouth, resting on your tongue, watching as your lips closed around it, without him even having to tell you to.
He gave a small gasp as you took his thumb into your mouth, feeling the heat of your tongue. He pressed you further into him, his chest to your back, his hand still tight on your hip as he rocked his hips into you.
"You're such a good girl, aren't you? Taking my fingers into your mouth like that, without me even having to tell you." He murmured, his voice low and his breath hot by your ear.
You hummed mindlessly, arching and writhing against his chest, your lips closing around his thumb and swirling your tongue around it, your moans muffled by it.
He groaned, enjoying the feeling of your mouth around his thumb, feeling you writhe against his body. "Damnit, you're making me struggle to focus, you know that?" He breathed out, slowly pulling his thumb out of your mouth, replacing it with two of his fingers instead.
He started to push his fingers into your mouth, in and out, getting them nice and wet. He could tell your eyes were still closed, your brain too clouded with desire and alcohol to do anything but follow what he wanted you to do.
"There you go, baby. Just like that. Look at you, all needy for me. You know that's a dangerous thing to do at a party like this, right? Letting me get you so worked up while everyone else is just a few rooms away?"
Your breathing was harsh and ragged, your mouth working around his fingers too lost in the pleasure. Your head was fuzzy, too fuzzy. The alcohol and the arousal making you lightheaded and helping you forget why you were here with Rafe in the first place. The thought of JJ with Kiara or anything else melting away as you chased your orgasm, your eyes fluttered shut now.
His smile widened as he watched you, seeing how desperate you were for him, hearing the sounds you were making as you worked around his fingers. He knew he had you completely at his mercy right now, completely consumed with the pleasure he was giving to you.
"Mm, you going dizzy on me, baby? You know how I get when you get all drunk and needy like this." He huffed into your ear, his breath warm and his voice low.
He loved how you were just letting go, letting him take control of you. He could feel your body shaking and shuddering against him, desperate and needy.
"I bet you're pretty close, aren't you? I can feel how hard you're shaking. You gonna be a good girl and come for me?" He purred into your ear, his teeth gently nipping at your neck.
You wanted to hold on just a little bit more. But it was impossible with him buried so deep inside, his fingers working into your mouth. You were sensitive anyway, having hooked up with him an hour ago too. So in a few moments your body shook gently, your jaw going slack a little, lips parting from his fingers and letting out a final breathless moan.
He felt you trembling against him as you came, a small feeling of pride washing over him that he was the one who made you feel like this, in a house full of people, where anyone could walk in on the two of you. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, his arms holding you up against him, before he leaned down to your ear again, his voice low.
"See, was that so hard, baby? Now, you gonna be able to walk out of here after this, or you think I'm gonna have to carry you?"
You stood there silently panting for a few moments, your head resting against his shoulder before speaking, him still buried inside you "'M good.. did you come?" you asked casually, your eyes still screwed shut.
He chuckled softly at your blunt and casual question. You were always straight to the point, even when you were drunk off your ass and had just came from him.
"Mm, not yet." He responded, his hands running over your body, enjoying the feeling of having you pressed against him.
"Too bad.. I'll owe you one, i gotta go unfortunately..." you mumbled, chuckling dryly.
His expression darkened slightly at that, a wave of annoyance passing over him. He was not a fan of being put out or having to wait for things he wanted, especially when he had just made you cum.
"Tch, really? After that little scene you gave me, you're gonna just get up and leave me like this?" He said, annoyance lacing his tone.
"Oh my god.." you mumbled in annoyance, "if my phone rings and my friends are looking for me I'm leaving, yeah?" you turned to face him, pulling him down so he was sitting on the sofa, straddling him and letting him slip back into you.
He was not expecting you to suddenly straddle him, and he couldn't stop the groan that escaped his lips when he was suddenly inside you again. He looked up at you, his eyes darkened with desire and annoyance.
"God damn it, you're so impatient. Just wait a few more minutes, I'm sure you can make your friends wait a bit longer before you go back out there—" He paused, a thought slowly forming in his mind.
His hands found purchase on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to keep you in place.
"Actually.. I think I have a better idea.." He said, a sly smile slowly coming onto face.
You raised one brow, your hips moving instinctively in a slow lazy pace, "which is..?"
He chuckled at the way you moved your hips, a smirk still on his face. He leaned in a little closer, his hands gripping your hips a little harder to keep you from moving any further.
"How about you keep riding me, but I'll answer the phone for you when one of your friends calls you. I'm sure they won't know whose voice is on the other end.."
"Rafe.. don't be stupid, they'll know it's you. I'll make you finish and then I'm leaving.. i was supposed to be gone for 10 minutes.." you spoke quietly, your head tilting back a little as you continued to rock your hips gently, your body still sensitive from your previous orgasm.
He huffed slightly, a bit annoyed that you were shutting him down but he knew you well enough to know that you weren't going to listen. In the end, JJ's ego always came first after all.
He wrapped his hands around your body, his hands pulling you closer again.
"Damn it, you're going to be the death of me one day, you know that.." He murmured into your neck as he moved his mouth to your skin.
He continued biting and sucking at your skin, his teeth and lips leaving little marks along your neck, his hands starting to lead your movements with his touch.
"You're.. gonna.. owe me twice.. tonight.." He said, his voice sounding a little strained now, clearly trying to hold himself back from just speeding up and taking you like he wanted to now.
"Whatever.. just speed up I'll be fine.. i feel like a dick if I'm the only one finishing." you grumbled, your hands digging into his shoulders, your head still thrown back.
He chuckled at your words, amused at your annoyance and eagerness as you tried to urge him to go faster.
"You always say you'll be fine.. But I know how sensitive you can be after I make you cum, and I'm pretty sure you're sensitive as hell right now. You sure you can handle it?"
He said, a hint of teasing in his tone. His hands on your hips started to speed up now, pushing you down to drive himself deeper inside of you with a greedy sound.
"Damn it, you're so tight right now.. it's like your body is just clinging to me, trying to keep me inside you." He let out another huff, clearly struggling to keep himself from going further, his grip on you getting harder and tighter as he chased his release.
You chuckled at his amusing yet arousing words, your voice coming out in choked gasps and moans. You met his movements, raising and sinking yourself onto him as his hands guided you, picking up the pace.
He groaned in pleasure as you met his movements, the way you were bouncing on his lap just making him struggle more to keep control of himself. He was struggling to be careful with you, but he knew you wanted more and so he stopped holding back.
"Mm, you're getting sloppy. Just like me. I know you want it harder, don't you?" He growled into your ear, nipping at your neck again, before sucking on the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder met.
He started picking up the pace a bit, no longer trying to be gentle with you. He could tell you didn't want him to be careful and he knew he wanted more of you, especially now since you weren't sticking around for long, so he felt like he had to take as much from you as he could.
"God baby, you're taking me so good.. So good.." He said, his mouth still on your neck as he continued to guide you with his hands on your hips.
Another small sound between a chuckle and a whimper escaped your lips, your head leaning forward while your hands slid up from his shoulder to wrap around his throat gently as your hips slammed down onto him more harder and sloppier.
He was a little taken aback when you wrapped your hands around his neck, not expecting it but he quickly enjoyed the feeling of having your slender fingers around his neck as you continued to ride him, your hips picking up the pace as he guided you more and more with his hands on your hips.
"Fuuuuck, you like it like this, don't you? You like being in control, don't you.." He growled in your ear, his voice becoming more feral as his body reacted to your touch more and more.
He could feel himself getting closer now, your body just taking all of him in, your movements becoming harder and more desperate as you rode him. He let out another moan, his hands gripping your hips so hard he was sure there would be bruises on your skin come morning. "Yeah.. yeah, I know you do.." He panted,
"You want me to spit in your mouth..?" you asked, letting your eyes flutter open and narrowing down at him as you grinned. You weren't expecting him, Rafe Cameron, to actually agree to your proposal. But you were drunk, and you just wanted to see his reaction. Your hips were still moving fast and sloppy, not losing the pace.
He was actually a little bit taken off guard by your question, blinking up at you with a look of surprise for a moment. But as he looked up at your smirk, he couldn't help but smirk right back, clearly intrigued by the sudden request - and slightly amused by it.
Without even a moment of hesitation, he gave a nod, licking his lips as he spoke. "Yes. Give it to me."
"Seriously?" you asked, raising your brows while a disbelieving grin spread over your lips still riding him clumsily and eagerly, already chasing your second orgams in the last 10 minutes.
He gave another nod, his eyes darkening further as he looked up at you, his smirk still on his face. He was clearly enjoying this, enjoying the way you were riding him and enjoying where this was going.
"Yeah, I'm serious. Unless you're just all talk and no action." He said, a challenge laced in his tone, clearly baiting you now.
"Nah.." you shook your head licking your lips as your hand cupped his jaw, tilting his head back and letting his mouth fall open. You leaned in, staring at his open mouth and smirked before spitting into his mouth. You leaned back, still smirking as your hips picked up their frenzied pace, grinning down at him.
He gasped softly in surprise as you leaned in and actually spat into his mouth, but he quickly recovered, swallowing the liquid and looking up at you with an intense, dark look in his eyes. He licked his lips, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he looked at you with a hungry expression, completely and utterly turned on right now.
"Fuuuck.. that was hot." He groaned, his voice becoming hoarse as he spoke, unable to keep himself together anymore as you picked up the pace on his lap.
He couldn't control himself anymore, his hands grabbing your hips to hold you down on his lap as he began thrusting up into you, his head dropping back in pleasure as he let out a guttural moan.
"You.. you can be so filthy sometimes... I like it.. I like it a lot.." He panted between moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he just let himself thrust up into you mindlessly.
"Says the one who just let me spit into his mouth.. dunno who's filthier." you mumbled between moans, your hands grasping at his jaw and throat as you sank and rose on his cock, your head tipping back in pleasure again.
He let out a low, gravelly laugh at your comment, his smirk returning to his face as he looked back up at you, his eyes dark and hungry as he watched you riding him.
"You've got a point there..." He said, his voice still a little strained as he spoke. "But I'd say we're pretty equal on the filthiness meter right now.. you just spat in my mouth."
"And you let me.." you repeated, your voice also strained, "and I'm pretty sure you liked it..."
He chuckled again, his voice still low and huskier than normal as he spoke again. "Yeah, I did. It was hot. And I liked it. I like all the filthy things you do and say."
His hands moved up to your waist and he lifted you up for just a moment before pulling you back down onto his cock, groaning loudly as he did. "Fuuuck.. don't know what possessed you to do that, but it was one of the most sexiest things I've ever seen."
His head dropped back again, he closed his eyes for a moment and let out a loud moan, his grip on your waist getting harder as his hips began to thrust upwards into you as you moved on top of him.
"You're driving me crazy.. you know that, right?" He panted, his voice a low whisper, clearly struggling to stay in control right now as he continued to move his hips against yours.
"You clearly liked it cause you're a filthy bastard, Rafe.." you mumbled almost inaudibly, your mouth parting a little open in pleasure.
He opened his eyes and looked up at you, a smirk on his face again, though it was more of a wicked, cocky smile than anything else.
"Yeah I do.. I'm a filthy bastard who loves when you do dirty things.. and say dirty things." He hissed, clearly enjoying himself right now, and obviously not bothered by your comment, instead it just seemed to turn him on even more.
He leaned forward and nuzzled into your neck, his lips gently sucking on the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder met, his tongue moving against your skin as he spoke, his voice a low, gruff against your ear. "Tell me what else you want me to do, baby."
"Finish preferably.. we're in a time crunch here.." you mumbled, chuckling hoarsely, your hands carding through his hair.
He chuckled against your skin, his lips still on your neck, sucking on the sensitive spot, leaving a few love bites before continuing to kiss his way up to your ear. His voice was still that same growl as he spoke into your ear.
"Good thing I'm close then.. I don't think I could hold back for much longer anyway."
He lifted his head from your neck and looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry again, his hands still gripping your hips tightly, his body clearly eager.
"Tell me how you want me to finish, baby. Do you want me to pull out or am I gonna have to find somewhere else to finish?" He panted, clearly struggling to keep himself together right now, his voice still low and his grip on your hips still firm.
"Dunno.. I'm giving you the privilege of choosing where to finish.. Just not inside.." you nodded vaguely, your head burying into his neck and grazing your nose against his cheek and jawline.
He groaned at your words, clearly struggling to hold himself back for a moment longer, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it was almost bruising. But he managed to nod in agreement, leaning forward to kiss gently at your neck again, his tongue licking against your skin as he spoke.
"Mmm... in that case.." He said, his voice low and shaky "I think I know just where to finish.."
He grabbed your hips and moved you off his lap, his lips moving from your neck to your ear, his voice a low, gravelly growl in your ear as he spoke again.
"Get on your knees." He said, his tone low but demanding.
He sat back a bit, watching intently as you got off his lap and onto your knees in front of him, still sat on the couch. He settled for standing over you, his eyes dark and hungry as he watched you now on your knees on the couch in front of him.
"I knew there was a reason I like hanging out with you." He said, his voice still low and a hint of a smirk on his face. "Now be a good girl for me and open your mouth, baby."
"Oh, you owe me a hundred bucks if i let you do that.." you mumbled incredulously, raising one brow before opening your mouth and looking up at him intently.
He chuckled as he looked down at you, clearly amused by your words. He gently reached down and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his hand resting on your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin, before he spoke again.
"A hundred bucks, huh? For this? I don't know.. I feel like I'm getting the better end of the deal here." His smirk widened as he spoke.
"You're such a lucky guy.." you mumbled sarcastically, rolling your eyes up at him. "Hurry up before i change my mind.." you scolded him, glancing down at his length in his other hand, getting ready to finish the job.
He chuckled at your sarcastic remark, his voice still low and huskier than usual as he spoke again.
"Oh I know I am, don't worry about that." He said, his smirk growing a little bigger as he watched you look down at his length in his hand.
"Yeah, I think I need to stop underestimating how filthy you are.." He said, his voice a little more shaky than normal, his hand still rubbing your cheek almost lovingly as he spoke.
He moved his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, gently grabbing a handful of your hair as he spoke again.
"Don't get sassy with me now, princess.. you've already got your mouth open for me and everything.. just be a good little girl for me and let me use that sweet mouth of yours just for a minute, okay?"
He ran his thumb over your bottom lip as he spoke, his eyes still dark and intensely watching you, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his voice becoming a rough, demanding growl.
"Now stick that tongue out for me, baby."
Your annoyed expression melted away a little as you stuck your tongue out, watching him and then his hand intently, your eyes full of anticipation.
He groaned when you stuck your tongue out, his eyes locked onto your tongue, watching it with almost primal need as he began gently rubbing the tip against your tongue, his breaths coming out in low, shaky moans as he did.
"Fuuuck.. you have no idea how hot you look right now.. with your mouth open like that, on your knees like that.."
He ran his free hand through your hair as he spoke, his voice still a low, huskier than usual and clearly struggling to hold himself together at this point. "I'm never going to look at you the same way after this, you know that right?"
"I don't care Rafe.. we don't even see each other outside sex.." you snorted in amusement before going back to sticking your tongue out, letting it brush against the tip of his cock again.
He chuckled softly at your blunt comment, his hand still gently running through your hair as he spoke again, his voice still low and strained.
"That's what makes it so dirty, though.. you're going to be my little secret.. just mine and no one's else's.. that sound good, baby?"
He gently ran his hand through your hair, his grip getting a little bit tighter as he spoke again, his voice a little more impatient now.
"Now be a good girl and open your mouth a little more for me.. I need to be able to put a bit more of myself in that pretty mouth of yours.."
He paused for a moment, watching your mouth as you opened it a bit more, his hand still holding on to your hair, his breaths coming out in a low, gravelly moan.
"Fuuuck.. yeah, princess.. that's it.." He spoke, his voice still a rough whisper, his eyes still watching your mouth intently, his hand guiding himself closer to your mouth.
Your eyes were fixed intently on his face, dropping down to his hand that was guiding himself closer to your mouth. You weren't exactly sure how you managed to get here, with Rafe Cameron standing over you, about to finish in your mouth. It was the kind of situation that would've made you sick with self hatred if you were sober. But you weren't. And all these things were done purely from the heartbreak of being in love with JJ, who was with someone else instead of you. So here you were, in the pool house of the Cameron's house, after hooking up with Sarah's meaner older brother at a party at her house. With your friends somewhere in the house. Insane.
He didn't seem to notice your thoughts swirling through your head, his own mind a blurry mess in the heat of the moment. He'd noticed earlier that you weren't your normal snarky, sarcastic self, but he hadn't thought about the reasons too deep. He never did
He was a fair bit preoccupied with the sight of you on your knees in front of him, your mouth open, ready to do exactly what he wanted you to do. He wasn't thinking about much else other than that. The sounds of people inside the main house were just a background noise to him and the only thing that was focused on was getting himself off.
He didn't notice the small sounds of people around the pool house either. Didn't notice the other drunk teenagers all around them, just having fun, ignorant to what was happening. Not that it would've bothered him if they knew. After all, he was Rafe. The bad part of the Cameron legacy.
All he could think about was the sight in front of him. You, on your knees in front of him, your mouth open and tongue out, looking up at him with those eyes of yours. It was just so incredibly hot, and the fact that you would normally never do something like this just made it even hotter for him.
He gently grabbed your hair in one hand, holding you in place with a little more force, not too much though. Just enough to remind you who was in control here. His other hand was still wrapped around the base of his now almost painfully hard length, which was now just an inch or two away from your mouth. He could feel himself getting more and more impatient, and he didn't think he could last much longer. He needed to finish and he needed you to let him do it in your mouth.
Suddenly, the sound of voices and commotion came from inside the house. He could still faintly hear music being blasted inside, but he could also hear the sound of people and talking. It was a bit too faint for him to identify what people were saying, but he knew enough that there were people in the house and they were getting closer to the pool house.
He paused for a moment, his mind becoming a bit clearer as he realized that the voices were becoming louder, clearly approaching closer and closer. "Fuck.. there's people coming..."
Your brows raised, closing your mouth and glancing back a the door of the pool house behind you, "So..? didn't you lock the door?"
"Yeah, its locked but-"
He was cut off as the sound of voices got louder outside the door, it seemed as though whoever had come in was now outside the pool house. Suddenly a voice rang out from the other side of the door. "Rafe? You in there bro?"
Rafe's body tensed up, his hand still holding onto you firmly, not wanting anyone who was outside to know that you were here and currently on your knees for him, his cock still in your mouth.
"Yeah, I'm in here." He called back, voice a bit harsh, trying to sound cool and unbothered, and not at all like someone who was in the middle of getting a handjob/blowjob by someone.
Being drunk and restless to get this over with you started moving your mouth over him gently, knowing he was close already, your hand accompanied by it. You could hear Topper, Rafe's best friend outside of the door, still speaking but you didn't care, in fact it made it even more exciting.
Rafe's mind was suddenly torn in 10 different directions at once, it was almost impossible to think clearly with you still moving your mouth over him and now the sound of Topper's voice outside of the door. He could hear Topper talking, asking some questions about something, but he couldn't hear exactly what.
He tried to respond to his friend, his voice sounding a bit strained and breathless, trying to keep up the pretense that he was doing something other than this. "Yeah, I'm just hanging out bro."
Topper's voice responded from the other side of the door. "Oh alright then, mind if we all come in and hang then?"
Rafe's mind raced, trying to think of an excuse to turn them all away, but he couldn't think quickly enough in his current position to come up with a reason that would make sense and keep them away.
He didn't respond for a few seconds, brain racing, but then he finally spoke up, his voice sounding more strained and urgent. "Uh, I'm a bit.. busy right now bro. How about you guys hang somewhere else, yeah?"
There was a pause from the other side of the door, and then Topper spoke up again, sounding confused and a bit amused. "Busy? With what? You're literally in the pool house all by yourself."
Your eyes were fixed on Rafe's face as you worked him, his hand raking through your hair almost affectionately, a silent praise for what you were doing and also helping you to guide your head.
His eyes widened as he heard Topper's response, realizing that there was nothing he could say. His mind was racing again, trying to come up with some reasonable excuse to keep them from coming into the pool house, knowing that if they came in at any moment and found him like this it would be a complete disaster. "Nah, but I'm just in the middle of something, man.... I'll come find you guys later, okay?"
His voice was still strained and sounded breathless, not at all like his usual confident and casual tone.
There was another pause from outside the door, before Topper finally responded, still sounding amused but with a hint of annoyance in his tone. "Nah, come on bro, we wanna hang out in here. Quit being a dick and open the door."
An amused look flickered in your eyes as you gazed up at him and you knew he was close as you sped up, you were surprised he was still able to talk as your hand and mouth worked on him so eagerly.
He took in a shaky breath as you sped up, his mind starting to go blank again thanks to how good you felt. He couldn't think straight, and when he tried to focus enough to speak to Topper and keep them away, he struggled to find the right words to say. Luckily his friend was still patiently waiting on the other side of the door. "Seriously, I... really can't right now, bro. I'm doing something."
Topper's voice came back impatiently a few seconds later. "Doing what? What could you possibly be doing that's so important? What are you, taking a massive crap or something?"
There was a small round of snickering from the other boys outside the door, everyone was starting to get impatient waiting for Rafe's response.
You were surprised at how dense Topper was. But it was exciting, your hand and mouth working together over him and watching his face contort in silent pleasure and his hand in your hair tightening ever so slightly. His hips would buck forward once in a while and you could tell he was impossibly close now.
With every passing minute the situation was growing more and more dire, Topper and the other boys were getting more and more fed up with his excuses as to why he couldn't let them in. Rafe's mind was racing to try and find some way out of this, but he was too focused on what you were doing to him to think straight. "Look, I'm not taking a crap okay? I'm doing... something else."
There was another pause from the other side of the door, before Topper spoke up again, sounding a bit smug now, as if he had just figured out what Rafe was doing.
"What's that? Are you having a private meeting with the five-finger-death-squad or something?" A few more laughs and chuckles echoed from the outside, everybody now certain that Rafe was having some kind of private meeting with his hand in the pool house.
Guys are so dumb, you thought when you heard Topper's answer. You would've snickered at his stupid joke which in retrospect wasn't even funny but your mouth and hands were a bit full at the moment, watching Rafe's face intently, trying to lock eyes with him.
If he wasn't on the edge of cumming he would've thought that Topper's joke was a lot funnier than it was, but at the moment all his mind was focused on was your mouth currently wrapped around his length and what it was doing. He looked down at you, eyes locking with yours, and tried to communicate silently that he was close, not really having the breath to vocalize it since he was too busy trying to stay quiet for the sake of his friends on the outside of the door. Meanwhile the boys were starting to get more and more eager and impatient, and Topper spoke up again, no longer able to keep a straight face with his next words.
"You don't need us to come in there to help out with that, we wouldn't mind waiting outside, bro."
There were a few more laughs and chuckles from outside in the crowd, the boys finding the whole situation quite funny and amusing, but also slightly annoying that they weren't being let in. Meanwhile Rafe's mind was struggling to come up with some witty comeback, something to say that would make them all go away, but at the same time he was losing his focus fast.
Your eyes were locked on his, your pace picking up knowing he was just about to finish, scooting closer to the edge of the couch you were knelt nest to and closer to him to take more of him in your mouth, bobbing your head a little faster.
He could see the expression on your face change as you scooted closer, feeling your body move closer to his. There was something in your eyes and expression that told him what you were about to do, he knew how much you liked to tease him and push him to his limits, and it was clear you were going to do just that here with the way you started to speed up even more. "I-I really can't right now- oh for fu-"
He cut himself off, biting down on his tongue to keep himself from moaning loudly. The last thing he needed was for his friends to hear him moan.
The other boys on the outside were listening intently, eager to catch whatever sounded like it might be a moan coming from inside the pool house. Topper was the one to speak up, his tone filled with both annoyance and intrigue as he tried to figure out what Rafe had just said. "What was that? Did you just moan, bro?"
Rafe's eyes widened at Topper's words, knowing if he made another noise like that they would know for sure what was really going on. He tried to respond, and for a few moments he actually seemed like he was going to pull it off.
"What? No I didn't moan, I just- oh fuu-" He started to speak, managing to string together a sentence, but then halfway through a slight moan escaped his lips.
This was definitely the funniest and hottest situation you were in. And the fact that this was Rafe Cameron out of all people was somehow even better. You wished you could laugh out loud, instead you sped up the process by swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock while bobbing your head, and it was obvious he was gonna finish any second now.
He was right on the edge and he knew it, and he was sure you knew it too which made it hotter for some reason. It was like you were trying to get him over the edge by any means necessary as quickly and as quietly as possible, and he was close. He glanced back at the door, his mind still half focused on his friends outside and whether or not they'd heard that last moan, but it was hard to keep his mind off what you were doing to him. As soon as he looked back down at you, he could see you were starting to pick up your pace and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out any longer at that rate.
Meanwhile outside, Topper and the others were listening intently, trying to catch any sound that might give away the secret of what Rafe was actually doing in there. Topper's voice was the first to break the silence, clearly picking up on the last small moan Rafe had let out. "Dude I think he was actually moaning, that's funny as hell bro."
All the other boys were snickering and giggling at Topper's observation, realizing that Rafe was indeed doing some private meeting with his hand just like Topper had been guessing earlier. Another boy's voice piped up from the outside, some guy named Chase. "You think he's watching something raunchy in there or something?"
Topper and the others laughed at the suggestion from Chase, one of the other boys speaking up as well.
"Maybe he's watching porn or something." The thought of Rafe in there watching porn seemed to make everybody chuckle again, and it continued for a few more moments before the room quieted down again as they waited for any more sounds.
You were listening to the conversation outside and it was hilarious. You let Rafe slip out of your mouth and worked him with your hand, your tongue sticking out slightly to get him to finish there, as fast as possible before his friends somehow found a way to come in. You were still watching his face intently, amusement sparkling in your eyes.
As soon as you pulled your mouth away he felt the urge to moan much more easily, but he forced himself to be quiet for the sake of his friends on the other side of the door. He looked down at you, seeing the amusement in your eyes and knowing you were enjoying yourself immensely, and it was at that moment that he realized he was officially screwed, it was only a matter of time until his friends found out what was really going on. "Oh god - shiiiit-"
Another string of giggles and laughs came from outside as they listened to the sound of Rafe struggling not to moan and curse. Topper's voice piped up again, sounding more and more amused as the situation continued to progress. "Bro, it's like he's fighting off a demon in there or something, Jesus."
A few more strokes of your hand and you felt him finish all over your tongue. It was insanely hot and amusing at the same time, given his friends were outside the door and here he was, doing this.
The feeling of you stroking him to completion almost sent him into a complete spiral of pleasure as he had to bite his tongue even more tightly in order to keep himself from moaning loudly. Once he calmed down enough to regain control of himself, he looked down at you, his expression a mixture of both amusement and disbelief. He couldn't believe you had just made him do that and his friends were right outside the damn door. He whispered down to you, trying to keep it quiet enough that the others wouldn't hear. "I can't believe you just did that in front of my bros..."
You hesitantly closed your mouth and swallowed, flipping him off silently. He definitely owed you for this one.
He chuckled lowly, shaking his head as he watched you swallowing before flipping him off. Part of him couldn't believe what had just happened, but at the same time he was also extremely amused by the whole situation, especially his friends listening on the outside.
He looked down at you with a smirk, "I'll make it up to you for this."
"Yeah, right.. you owe big time Cameron.." you whispered, standing up from the floor and straightening your skirt and crop top from the previous activity along with your underwear, grabbing your glasses from the couch and putting them back on, "Do i have to face your friends..? Isn't there another exit out of this pool house?" you asked quietly as you watched him zip up his jeans and straighten his belt.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he fixed his pants and belt. He knew that after what had just happened in here he definitely owed you now more than ever.
"You don't need to worry about my friends, they'll get over it," He replied, shaking his head at your question. "And no, there is no secret way out of here, sadly. You're gonna have to walk out the front door like a normal person. But don't worry I'll handle anything my friends say."
With that said, he walked over to the door and opened it up, stepping back to make way for you to go out first. His friends were all still standing there waiting as the door opened, but they all froze for a moment as they saw you stand up inside, looking a little disheveled with your glasses on. The room was silent for a few moments as nobody said anything, until Topper decided to speak up, his voice filled with disbelief. "Seriously, bro? She was in here the whole time?"
"Hi guys.." you stopped awkwardly in the doorway, glancing at the group of kook guys outside the pool house, "How's the party?" you asked, snorting in amusement.
His friends burst out laughing as you said hi, still surprised and amused by your presence. They couldn't believe that you had been in the pool house all along, especially not with Rafe. Topper was the first to respond, shaking his head with a grin.
"The party is... definitely a lot more interesting now that we know you were in here the whole time."
"Just.. keep it to yourself yeah? and stop cockblocking your friend.." you sighed in mock annoyance, your eyes fitting onto every single guy sitting outside the pool house and then onto the drunk teenagers scattered around the pool behind the group of kooks.
His friends burst out laughing again at your comment, some of them nearly falling over as they pictured what you and Rafe had been up to in there. One of the other guys spoke up, eyeing you up for a moment before speaking. "Oh we'll definitely keep our mouths shut, don't worry about that."
You nodded slowly and awkwardly, adjusting your glasses and shooting them a thumbs up, "Right.. well, fuck you Cameron. You owe me big time, aside from the 50$ from the bet so.." you turned to Rafe flipping him off again before turning around, "I'm just gonna make this less awkward than it already is..." you spoke without turning around, walking slowly along the edge of the pool to make your way back into the house.
A/N: The drafts for this one are messy, but what do the Rafe girlies think? Surprised I'm a Rafe girl too? Idk what to think ab the smut.. Part 2?
summary: Everyone knows the frat sweetheart is off-limits. But that rule didn’t exactly don’t stop the rumors. Some swear it’s Rafe. Others say Art. A few gossips led to Bob. Maybe it’s all three. And now? Patrick’s name is in the mix too. No one can decide who you are really with… but if secrets keep piling up, don’t be surprised when your name shows up on the campus gossip page.
warnings: 16.4k words. mature themes. alcohol use. smoking. unprotected p in v. fingering. oral sex (m!receiving & f!receiving). group sex. semi-public sex. voyeurism. exhibitionism. internal ejaculation. clit stimulation. spit play. dumbification undertones. filming / photography. degradation & humiliation. rough sex. breast play. belly bulge. breeding kink. overstimulation. brat-taming undertones. cuckolding. d/s dynamics. dubcon undertones. size kink. read & consume responsibly.
note: This is something I just randomly started writing since last week. So if it feels messy, please bear with me because I didn’t write it in one sitting because I am so busy with uni. (I just write it during breaks between studying, classes, and resting) But I hope people will like it hehe.
A girl like you doesn’t end up as a frat sweetheart without people talking. That house doesn’t hand it out to just anyone. Sweethearts are chosen. Special. Protected. Kept close. The rumors don’t line up. One says you’re fucking Rafe. Another swears it’s Bob, or maybe Art. Then someone else said it’s all three. You don’t say anything, so they keep guessing. And the boys- your boys- (or the frat as a whole) they don’t talk. If they’ve seen anything, they’re not saying. If they’ve heard anything, they’re not snitching. Loyalty runs deep in that house, and whatever’s going on behind closed doors isn’t anyone’s business but theirs- and yours.
You have the title. Obviously and officially. Voted in at the start of the semester. So now you wear their color and represent them. You help with their philanthropy and sometimes you’re their spokesperson. Most of the time you help them encourage other female students to attend fraternity events. And one of your favorites is helping decorate for their events and making it look better with your artistic ideas. You know the handshake. You know the rules. And one of the rules is: no fucking the sweetheart. Which is why no one can agree on which of them got to you first.
Some say it had to be Rafe. That he vouched for you when the boys were still deciding. That he told them you had the qualities and the face they’re looking to represent them. That he’d break anyone’s jaw if they disagreed with his suggestion. Of course, he laughed after but they knew he was not joking. He didn’t say much back then at first. Just watched. Always looking even though there’s a girl is on his lap during parties but his eyes just focus on you when you interact with people.
Someone swears he started fights over you. That he punched a pledge for making a joke if he got one of the benefits when he got accepted. The benefit: you. But the worst just always happens around Rafe. He almost got kicked out for dragging someone down the stairs after they grabbed your waist. That you were the one who calmed him down. Held his face. Said something private. That he only listens when it’s you.
But the others swore it was Art. That he was the first one you actually let close. It started with something small. He started staying late to help you paint banners, offered to carry your supplies after meetings, and once fixed the broken tape dispenser on your desk like it was a deadline for university activities. People always see him get ready to help you clean up after a party when no one else stays to do the same. That he kept finding reasons to be around you. Editing for flyers. Holding the ladder while you put fairy lights for the dinner that the frat is hosting.
He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t try. That he’s planning out everything before doing anything. Just watches you with this look, like he’s memorizing what you need before you even say it. But there’s a rumor he walked you home one night and didn’t come back until morning. It was one of the party nights at the chapter and you were already tipsy when you left with him to go back to your dorm. That he left his hoodie in your room and it’s the same one you wore to the chapter meeting the next day. But the others say he wouldn’t risk it. That he’s too smart to break a rule that big. Too good at hiding it if he did. Which might be worse.
And then there was Bob. No one really noticed it at first. He’s quiet. Keeps to himself. Not the kind that likes to stand out like Rafe. Not like Art who easily caught people’s attention. Not the type anyone expected to be involved and the kind that hung back, always careful, always polite. Not flirty. Just… considerate. The type that made it hard to tell if he liked you or just couldn’t help being nice. You never sat on his lap like girls do with Rafe. Never left with him after parties the way they say you did with Art. But somehow Bob was the one to notice when you needed out of a conversation. He was the first to cut in when a guy got too close, smiling as he offered you a drink and making it look casual while his hand brushed your lower back.
But people swore they saw something on the bonfire night. When someone gets too drunk and tries to grind on you by the speaker and you look uncomfortable. There are a few who saw how fast Bob moved. How he didn’t even yell. Didn’t swing. Just stepped between you like it was instinct. But Bob covered it up fast. Smiled through it. Denied it so well that it made people second-guess what they saw. He still calls you “dude” sometimes. Still gets flustered when you touch his arm. Still acts like nothing’s going on.
And just like that, no one can agree. No one knows who you’re really with. Maybe it’s one of them. Maybe it’s all three. Who even really knows, right? It’s all speculation what they can give right now since the four of you are not opening your mouths to say something because if one of you does? It’s surely the effect will be more likely towards you, not them. But everyone agrees on one thing: That house doesn’t protect someone like you unless there’s something they don’t want anyone else to touch. Which is why it gets messy when you show up in someone’s territory.
You only went to the party because it was easier than saying no. That’s the thing since you are also representing the whole of them, what you say will matter. One wrong thing will lead people to whisper. It started when someone handed you a flyer earlier that week. You opened the rolled and stuffed flyer from the pocket of your tote bag and you didn’t even realize it was there until two days later. But when you pulled it out to smooth the crumpled paper flat, and read the name of the house. Curiosity climbed up your neck like heat.
They weren’t supposed to be your crowd. Everyone knows those two houses don’t mix. Not because of some deep rivalry, but because of something worse and shallow at the same time. It’s pettiness, ego, pride, and history. They play in the same league. They aim for the same trophies. They chase the same sorority girls. When that much testosterone and money are stacked side by side for too long. It curdles. It turns into something. Tolerating each other outside. Definitely talking shit at each other’s backs. That's what the boys do. They talk behind people like it’s some job they get paid for.
You weren’t supposed to go. Not alone. Not without a reason. And definitely not without one of them. But you didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t owe anyone anything. Not when you walked there just after ten, a jacket slung over your body to cover the sluttiest top you’re wearing with a short skirt. A small sling bag is lazy over one shoulder. Not when someone at the door clocked your face and let you in without asking for a name. Not even when the bass rolled under your shoes the second you stepped inside and felt eyes on your back- curious, cautious, trying to figure out if you were lost.
You weren’t. The house was louder than yours. Smaller with lower ceilings and LED strips pulsing red and purple along the corners. The floor smelled like beer. This feels more owned compared to your house. At least they let your opinions be heard about the interior. Here? It’s messy. There’s the big “EAT SHIT PHI!!!!!” banner in the middle which made you laugh. You don’t even know who invited you. But somehow the flyer ends up in your bag like they know it’s yours. Now you are here standing while other people are looking at you and wondering why you are alone. The heat is clinging to your skin, and people are pressed close in every corner. Shoulders brushing that made you feel irritated but you can’t blame them since the place is small.
The music’s loud enough to blur thoughts, and someone already passed you a red cup near the entrance. It’s half full with something sugary and strong. It’s the usual cheap shit drink every frat serves. You didn’t drink it. Why would you? It might be drugged, oh hell no. Not that stupid, thank you very much. There’s a boy leaning against the stair railing when you turn the corner. Tall, athletic build under a striped button-down with the sleeves rolled. He’s holding a beer and looking at you like he already knows who you are and he’s familiar but you can’t pinpoint who he is. You already saw him before- just… can’t remember where.
“Hey,” he says with lips pulling into a smirk as he straightens up. The word makes your spine prickle. His voice is smooth, casual, and too confident. “I’m Patrick,” he adds, then offers you the bottle in his hand. “Try this. Not roofied, I swear.” You take it. It smells strong and something sweet. “You from around here?” His voice is low. Not quiet, just low. Measured. Calculated like he’s testing the waters what he will do. “You’re asking like I’m lost,” you answer and a little laugh slips out. “I’m asking because I know you don’t belong to this house.” He answers with a straight face before he takes a sip of his own drink while his eyes are still on yours. “But everyone’s looking at you like they’ve seen you before.”
You take a drink after he said that- the feeling burns, but not too much. Though the burns either come from the drink or these words that feel like every corner of the campus is waiting for you to fuck up. His gaze stuck with the way your mouth and throat move after you swallow. “I’ve seen you before.” Of course he has. It's almost like half of the students here already seen you before but he says it like it’s something that should feel like a compliment. Your shoulder leans against the counter. You don’t say anything. Patrick doesn’t either. Not for a minute. His drink’s half gone before he speaks again. “You know they hate when girls like you come here.”
That gets your attention. “Girls like me?” you ask with your eyebrows knitting together. He hums before tilting his head to the side. It almost looks like he’s thinking about whether he should say the next word that will come out of his mouth. “The ones they keep close.” You don’t confirm or deny it but you know what he means by that. You just lift the drink to your lips again and watch him over the rim of the cup. That answer is good enough for him. “What’s your name again?” he asked even though you could tell he already knew. You gave it to him anyway. He repeated it once, slow, almost testing it out. You didn’t correct him. The bass from the music can feel more in the corner and even the floor is vibrating under your shoes.
“Cute name,” he said. “Too cute for those assholes.” He meant the boys. Your boys. He said it casually and maybe almost hatefully like it was funny and ironic to him. But the way he watched your reaction meant it wasn’t. You didn’t reply because you know that you didn’t have to and both of you just walk towards the kitchen when the drinks are emptied. Patrick just handed you the same cup he refilled while both of you kept standing there while sipping slowly and listening to whatever he said next. His shoulder brushed yours when someone passed behind him. He didn’t step away.
“What do they give you?” he asked. “To keep you there.” The question wasn’t loud. Just quiet enough to press into your skin. To know what he meant by that. You laughed a little like it’s stupid to hear that, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Nothing.” That made him smile. “So you give it to them for free?” His voice wasn’t mocking. It didn’t need to be. It’s more like he’s gauging you for something. Information maybe? To know something? Too curious? That grin told you everything. He was already pulling at the strings, trying to see which ones would break you first.
Across the room, someone pulled out their phone. They didn’t know you, not personally. But they knew enough. Knew who you were, what house you belonged to, and who would want to know if you were here. The text went out and hit Rafe’s phone while he was still at the house. He was halfway through a drink and leaned back on the couch with his jaw tight. Didn’t read it right away. Just glanced at the screen. Then looked again: “You see her? Short skirt. Black top. She's at the party. With them.”
There was no name attached. Just someone who owed him. One of those faces that smiled nervously like they’re scared and stayed out of the way. Rafe didn’t respond. Just stood up too fast, tossed the drink on the table, and walked out the front door. Art was already outside smoking. He saw the way Rafe moved and didn’t ask. “What happened?” Rafe didn’t answer and he just kept walking. Art stubbed the cigarette out and followed. Bob didn’t say anything either when he got walked past the porch. Just grabbed his keys and left before anyone asked questions. They didn’t speak in the car. They never needed to.
The house was loud when they got there. Lights spilled through the front windows. Bass thumped against the street. Rafe walked in first, pushing through the crowd like he already knew where to go. Art peeled off near the stairs, watching faces, and scanning rooms. Bob stayed close to the hall with his eyes moving slowly. It didn’t take long before Rafe saw you before either of them did. Through the open space between the fridge and the kitchen wall. Your back was turned. Patrick was close. He had his arm on the counter, leaning in, and his mouth tilted toward your ear. You weren’t pulling away, just letting him do it.
Rafe didn’t move, at least not right away. His hand clenched once at his side, then again. The sound around him faded. It’s like the music is low under the noise building in his chest. Someone tried to hand him a drink. He took it without looking but he didn’t drink it. His brain is frying like it doesn’t know how to work ever since he saw you there. Art found him less than a minute later and he glanced into the kitchen. He followed Rafe’s stare like he was stabbing someone, and saw what he was looking at. “That him?” he asked, calm like he didn’t already know the answer despite Rafe remaining silent.
Bob caught up seconds after. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. Patrick’s hand touched your waist. Not for long, but long enough to send a bolt of heat through Rafe’s body that made his fingers twitch against the plastic cup. You didn’t even notice because you were still talking, still smiling, and still standing too close. Then you were gone. All three of them saw it. Saw you left. Maybe they didn't even see you exactly because people keep walking in front of the view. The kitchen was empty the next time someone looked. The cup you were holding sat near the edge of the counter. Patrick was gone. So were you.
None of them said anything. They didn’t have to. The silence between the three of them is already too loud. Rafe’s jaw locked tight as he stared at the empty space where you had been. It looks like he’s ready to pick up a fight with anyone but doesn’t since they’re in another house. Art leaned against the wall and tilted his drink like it didn’t matter. But oh, it does. He’s just trying to look composed as he always does. Bob stayed near the edge of the hallway. His eyes are down but his shoulders are tense so. No one moved. “Don’t do anything,” Bob warns Rafe but he doesn't answer. “Relax,” Art said under his breath. It looks like it’s for both of them. “They probably just went to talk,” Art breathes out when he watches the side profile of Rafe who’s scarily quiet right now. “I’m serious,” Bob added. “Don’t make a scene. Not here.”
They all knew what it meant. The moment you walk away where people can see you, it’s already imposing something. It’s giving people a message because why would you leave with him? Just the two of you. Because Patrick fucking Zweig wasn’t the type to just “talk.” People know it. A guy like him doesn’t just pull girls alone just to talk about film, food, university, or whatever casual bullshit people talk about. Rafe looked toward the back hall with his jaw grinding and his fingers twitching at his side. It almost feels like he’s in a horror movie with how the walls feel like they’re closing in and going to squish people who are standing there. Art sighs before saying, “We’ll look around. Subtle.” Bob didn’t move, but his voice followed: “You go left. I’ll take upstairs.” But no one offered to check the laundry door. No one is smart enough to go inside. Or to think you’re there with Patrick.
Inside the laundry room smelled like detergent and dust. The typical room where people just stay there for a few minutes to wash their dirty clothes and forget that room exists. The lights flickered once when the door clicked shut behind you. Patrick’s hand is still loosely around your wrist. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. He just looked at you like he was already laughing at something you hadn’t said yet. You were halfway into a smile when he let go. “Sit,” he said, nodding toward the washer. “What?” His hands were already on your waist. Not rough- just sure. “You heard me.”
You made a noise like you might protest, but he was already lifting you. “You’re crazy.” Hands full of your hips. He’s lifting you easily like you weighed nothing, and then your thighs bumped the metal and you gasped a little when your ass landed on the cool lid. “Little bit.” He reached past you and pressed a button. The machine clicked, then started to vibrate under you. It’s low and slow. It’s not even intense, just right. The vibration is climbing up your thighs. Your legs shifted with it. You tried to keep a straight face but it didn’t work. Patrick watched you smile, then leaned forward until his chest brushed your knees. “See?” he said. “I knew I could make you laugh.”
“You’re such an asshole.” You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek. It’s like you are trying to stop yourself from smiling more because you know he will be smug about it. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I made you laugh.” Your knees touched his sides now while the machine buzzed louder beneath you. A soft, steady rhythm that made your body bounce just slightly every few seconds. Nothing hard. Nothing too much. Just enough to make it obvious. He stepped closer. And you didn’t stop him, especially when he pressed his lips against yours. Mouths moving together like both of you are figuring out how to kiss each other. It keeps shifting from slow, sloppy, messy, and steady before he slips his tongue inside.
His body pressed to you and he’s flicking his tongue inside your mouth like he needs to taste the whole of you. The alcohol you both drink, the bubblegum you chew earlier, and the cigarettes he smoked before the party are mixing together the flavor in both of your mouths. Making out with him feels like one of the songs you like. It’s like playing on your head while you are sucking his tongue and he’s letting you before taking back from you to catch a breath a little by opening his mouth. It actually didn’t take long and he’s already wrapping his lips around your bottom lip like he wants it to be popped out more once this is done.
The vibrations grew heavier when the cycle shifted. A deeper shiver rolled up your spine and made your hips twitch where they sat, caught between movement and pressure. His mouth didn’t leave yours. It only pushed harder like he was trying to taste every sound you couldn’t hold back. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging near the corner of your mouth. The other slipped lower. His fingers hooked under your panties to pull them to the side. The action is done slowly and easy like he had all the time in the world. He can feel the wet material of it as the fabric stays stretched and held there by his knuckles. Cold air licked across the wet skin he’d uncovered, and he smiled into your mouth when he felt your body jolt.
He didn’t look down. Just watched your face as two fingers slid into the mess between your folds. The pads rubbed once over your clit before dipping down, gliding through the slick that had already soaked past the cotton. The way your thighs tensed made him groan. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” The vibration under you didn’t stop. It kept rolling through your lower back and into your thighs, syncing with the rhythm of his hand as he moved it between your legs. He didn’t even have to try. The machine did half the work for him. All he did was push in.
Two fingers sank inside. The stretch made your legs twitch around his hips, but he didn’t pull back. He stayed close before kissing you again. It’s rougher this time. You gasped into his mouth when he curled his fingers and found the right spot on the first try. Wet sounds echoed under the buzz of the machine. Your pussy closed around his fingers like you couldn’t help but to suck him in and make it stay in place. It’s like your body is begging him to continue and don’t stop and he doesn’t. Patrick keeps pushing his fingers inside of you- it’s so sloppy and the only thing stopping his movement from being smooth is your pussy clenching from time to time.
The door cracked open behind him. Light spilled in for a second, just enough to catch on the curve of your skirt where it had bunched up at your waist. You didn’t see it. Didn’t hear it. You were too busy moaning into his mouth with your hips rocking into every thrust of his hand like you couldn’t get full fast enough. Art stood in the gap, eyes locked on your thighs spread wide around Patrick’s body. His eyes focused on how Patrick’s hand moved in between them, how it pushed and pulled, and how you keep your thighs unsteady and can’t help to keep them close but only opened by him. His tongue pressed flat to the inside of his cheek but he didn’t say anything. Not even storming in to get you from inside.
Then the door shut again. You were still whining into Patrick’s mouth, grinding down on his fingers like the vibration wasn’t enough without him. You didn’t know someone else had seen. You didn’t care. What matters right now is how all you could feel is the steady movement of his fingers. How his thumb brushes against your clit to add pleasure to you. How it circles there when you shut your legs close. How the wet sound feels so filthy and the heat rising fast in your chest. “You gonna cum like this?” he whispered before dragging his teeth along your jaw. “Right here on this fucking machine?” His fingers pushed deeper.
The washer kept humming even after the door closed quietly behind Art. He didn’t even rush. Just dragged his thumb to the knob, then stepped outside of the house. Cooler air met his face as the patio door slid open. Bob was already standing there when he stood beside him. Art exhaled through his nose. Didn’t say anything at first. He let the silence hang long enough to be noticed. Then, like he’d only just decided to speak, he glanced toward Bob and tipped the rim of his cup he managed to get on the way here. “Found her,” he said simply.
Bob turned his head. “She’s with Patrick,” Art added, stretching the pause just enough to make it mean something. “Laundry room.” That made Bob blink. His jaw twitched like he didn’t want to ask, but he already knew what came next. Art gave him a look. Barely raised his brows and his mouth tilted at the corner. “She was on the washer. Skirt up. He had his fingers inside her.” Bob looked away. Art took another sip. He’s slow and relaxed like he hadn’t just said that out loud. His shoulders rolled once like he was still working it out. His voice dropped lower. “Think we should tell Rafe?”
Bob’s silence stretched. He shifted his weight. Didn’t meet Art’s eye. Art hummed like he was weighing it out, but his mind had already made the call. He was going to tell. Just not yet. Not while Rafe was wound so tight he might knock Patrick’s head through a wall. The timing had to be perfect. Still, it felt good to say it first. To drop the words right into Bob’s lap and watch him carry the weight. Bob looked like he was choking on it. Art stayed there while his eyes were calm. He was already two steps past this. Already watching how it would ripple.
Inside the door, the machine is still humming. The rhythm under your thighs stayed steady, but the pressure had changed. There was more heat now. More stretch. The fingers were gone. Something thicker pushed inside- slow at first, then all at once. The moment he bottomed out, your nails dug into his shoulders. You didn’t remember when he unzipped. It didn’t matter. Your panties were still pushed to the side. Your skirt is still bunched under your thighs. His cock filled every inch that his fingers had worked open, and the first thrust had your mouth falling open around a broken gasp.
“Fuck,” he whispered into your ear. “Tight little pussy, holy shit.” Your walls clenched around him so hard he couldn’t move for a second. His hand gripped the edge of the washer. The other cupped the back of your head as he kissed you again, rougher now, tongue pressing past your lips while he rocked his hips forward. The machine vibrated under both of you. It made every movement shake. Your body jolted with every pump of his cock, the edge of the machine squeaking under the push of his hips. He was all the way in. Thrust after thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin filled the small room. Your cunt was soaked. Every movement dragged a wet squelch from deep inside you, louder each time he pulled out and pushed back in. He didn’t let up.
Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, mouth dragging open under his as your moans got higher, needier. The washer bucked once beneath your ass and made the angle hit deeper. Patrick grinned. “I asked if you were gonna cum on my fingers,” he said against your neck. “But I think I like this better.” His hips slammed forward. The breath left your lungs. You couldn’t even answer. Didn’t matter. He already knew. Could feel it in the way your thighs clenched, how your cunt caught around him tight and messy. You whined under your breath, then louder- until his hand came up again, fingers spreading over your mouth. “Mmmf- mmph.” He kissed your jaw, the side of your face. “Shh.” He kept fucking you like no one else mattered.
While outside, it’s still the same. Art left Bob with a dilemma with the question he threw at him. He doesn’t know what to do. Two parts of him are battling- to tell Rafe so he can find you or for you not to witness one of his outbursts again. Bob sits down with his elbows digging into his thighs and head tilted down like that will help him to solve the shit he’s in. The door was locked behind them. Art had told him- no one’s going back in. That part was settled. But nothing else felt like it was. Wind passed and kicked up a loose leaf, and dragged it across the floorboards. Bob stared after it like it had something to say. His knee bounced once, then again, and until it became repetitive. Art didn’t move. Still standing with his arms crossed, barely breathing, like he’d been carved into the porch.
“You should let this go,” Bob said quietly, voice even. “She’s not ours,” Bob said after a while, low. Art didn’t turn. “I mean it,” Bob muttered. “You know you’re not Rafe.” Art hummed. Didn’t look at him. “So don’t make it worse.” He meant it. Meant it more than he could say. They weren’t saints. He knew that. But something about the way it was happening- how easy it would be to set Rafe off, how close he was to breaking something without even being in the room- it made Bob feel sick. Not because he cared about Patrick. Not because he thought it was wrong. But because the second Rafe found out, something would snap. And when it did, they’d all be standing too close.
Art shifted, slowly. Like he’d been waiting for Bob to say it. “I’m not Rafe,” he said. “That’s why I’m not storming in there.” His hand rested on his thigh. Barely moved. But there was something sharp under his voice that made Bob’s teeth grit. He could feel it. The part Art wasn’t saying out loud. He wasn’t going to stop it. He wasn’t going to warn her. He wasn’t going to tell Rafe either- not yet. And that was the difference. Not about control. Not about rules. Art wanted to let it happen just to see what it would do. Just to see what Rafe would do. Just to see what you would do.
Bob exhaled and looked ahead, but his pulse hadn’t slowed. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve gone back and told you instead. Told you Patrick wasn’t a secret anymore. That it wouldn’t stay between you two. But the door had already shut. And even if it wasn’t locked, Art made it clear he’d closed it for a reason. Bob stayed still, tried to stop thinking about what was happening just down the hall, on top of a machine that had probably been broken for weeks.
Inside, Patrick kept your mouth covered. His hips barely faltered as he fucked up into you, pressed in so deep your legs shook against the dryer door. Your moans were buried in his palm, but he could feel every one. Could hear how high they pitched when his cock nudged your spot just right. His grin pushed into your skin again as he whispered it low, almost smug. “You like it better when they’re not the ones doing it, huh?”
You tried to beg again- just a whimper behind his palm- but your head fell back and he kissed your throat instead. “Feel that?” he whispered, cock driving slow and deep again. “Right here?” You nodded fast, body twitching. “Fuckin’- shit- you’re perfect.” His voice shook now. He couldn’t stop moving inside. He didn’t want to not when he’s a few thrusts inside you before finishing. “I get it,” he whispered like it was a secret just for you. But maybe it is, knowing the implications he’s putting in his words. “I get why none of them wanna let you go.”
It’s like his words are turning you on by just talking about them because it became your trigger point and you cum around his cock. Patrick fucks you through it and hands shaking before he spills it inside you not so long after. You barely had time to catch your breath when he pulled out of you. Your skirt still lifts up, pussy pulsing, thighs sticky and twitching, and head falling back. Your heart catches when the door opens. It is so close to jumping out of your flesh and ribs. And Patrick- he didn’t even look startled. Smug little smile on his face, like the whole damn thing had been timed. Like he heard the footsteps long before the knob even turned.
Bob didn’t speak right away. Just stood there with one hand still on the handle, gaze landing first on your legs, then at Patrick’s hands around your waist. Watching the way he’s helping you fix your skirt. You were lucky he even let you finish. Lucky he waited long enough not to rip you off mid orgasm. Lucky that he’s the one who is waiting for you. Lucky in the loosest and most humiliating sense of the word. “Jesus Christ.” Bob’s voice came flat and quiet like all the sound in his chest had dropped out.
Patrick only looked over his shoulder and tilted his head. He is not even bothering to pretend at least to panic that there’s another person inside. “Hope you don’t need to wash something.” That earned nothing from Bob. Not a laugh. Not a scowl. Not even a shift in his face. He just looked at you. Like you are the only one that matters. The one he gives a fuck about. Long enough that it made you press your knees together and sit up like it would somehow erase what just happened. Like folding your arms over your chest could block out the smell of it. The heat of it. The mess between your thighs that Patrick left like a signature.
“You done?” he asked. Not to Patrick. Just to you. You nodded, but it’s barely there and you jump down from where you are sitting. The room had already gone sour. Bob stepped back to give space. He’s not slamming the door but not exactly gentle either. Just pushed it halfway open and waited. You didn’t say anything, didn’t try to explain. What could you even say? Patrick looks like he was proud to be caught. Like he wanted it. Outside, the air hit hard in your skin and was cooler. You followed Bob down the short hallway, past the patio, past the corner where Art had been standing earlier. His spot was empty now, no sign of him, no trace- just the faint burn of his cologne still stuck in the wood railing where he must’ve leaned. You are not even sure if your skirt is sitting right and you left Patrick there because Bob looks like he doesn’t have time for it.
Neither of you spoke right away. The silence is too loud but it doesn't feel like punishment. It doesn’t feel like he’s quiet to make you feel bad. Your shoes tapped low against the curb. Bob didn’t talk as you crossed campus. Didn’t ask if you wanted him there or if it was okay to walk you home. Just trailed a step behind like he knew better than to push. You didn’t stop him. The hallway outside your dorm smelled like cheap weed and knockoff perfume. Someone’s speaker rattled two doors down. Inside your room, the lights hummed softly and the window had been cracked open hours ago, so the air felt cool but stale.
Bob shut the door behind him without looking around. You peeled off your jacket. Stood near the edge of your bed for a moment before sitting there. He didn’t sit until you did. Bob settled on the chair by your desk, elbows resting on his knees like he didn’t know what else to do with them. Neither of you said anything for a while. “I didn’t hear anything.” You blinked, startled. He didn’t even look at you when he said it. “Outside. I didn’t hear you,” he added. “I was already there just right when you two are done, but… I didn’t hear anything before that.”
Your eyes are stuck with your shoes especially with the smear of dirt on the edge of them. His words didn’t feel like a relief. Just made it worse. “Art told me first,” he said. “I thought he was messing with me. Or being petty. He sounded like he wanted it to hurt. You know how he gets. But he didn’t show me shit. Just said it. Said he saw you.” Your jaw twitched, but you didn’t respond. “He looked like he was gonna throw up.” Bob let out a small laugh that didn’t reach anywhere.
His fingers shut tight like he needed something to grip or else he’d start yelling. “I tried to talk to him. Told him not to make it a thing. That maybe it wasn’t what he thought it was. But he just-” Bob shook his head, eyes narrowing at the grass. “He already decided. Said he was gonna tell Rafe.” You flinched. Not hard, but enough that Bob noticed. “I told him not to. I told him it wasn’t his to say.” Bob gulps as he tries to keep his voice even although something is boiling under it. The room stayed frozen because there’s no other noise coming from either both of you besides the fan and the noise outside from the students outside of the room. You crossed the space and sat beside him. Not close. Just enough to let the mattress shift with your weight.
He let out a breath, something low that could’ve been frustration or something worse. “He looked like he wanted a reason to burn it all down. He doesn’t wanna process, he just wants to retaliate. And Rafe? He’s the only one Art can use to get to you.” You stayed quiet, throat tight. “I left him there. Didn’t argue. Just walked to the other side of the house and waited outside the laundry door.” His eyes finally met yours. Your fingers curled against your leg. The fabric under your nails was still warm.
“I didn’t want to see it. Wasn’t trying to catch you,” he said. “I really didn’t. I told myself it wasn’t my business. But when Art described it really well like he’s… provoking something, it makes me want to see it.” His head finally turned your way. Eyes steady, calm. “I didn’t want him to tell Rafe.” He repeats because that part never changed. You stared back, stomach twisting, mouth dry. Bob looked away first. “He’s gonna tell him,” he said. “You know that, right? Doesn’t matter what I say. He already made up his mind.”
You didn’t answer. There wasn’t one you could give him. He reached up to rub the back of his neck like the words were still crawling under his skin. It’s uncomfortable and he wants to take off his own skin to get rid of it. “I’m not saying what you did was right or wrong,” he said. “I’m not fuckin’ policing anything. But I do know Art sometimes can be petty and he knows Rafe can’t control his temper and he’s going to use it to mess everything up.” A pause hung there. He didn’t fill it. Just wait. You try to breathe through the pressure building in your throat as you sit straighter. He glanced over again and his face was softening. “I didn’t bring you here to lecture you,” he said. “I just didn’t want anyone else to get to you first. I know everything- between the four of us is fucked up.”
After that, Bob said you should take a bath. Something about washing off the night, about how you probably felt gross after everything, and yeah- maybe he had a point. You weren’t gonna argue with him. Not tonight. Not with how calm his voice was when he said it. Not with how heavy your limbs felt. Not after what happened, what didn’t happen, and whatever that was. You just nodded, slipped off the bed, and disappeared into the frat’s crusty bathroom with your phone buzzing like a gnat in your pocket.
He didn’t say much after that. Just looked down at his lap, brows pulled in, something unreadable crossing his face that you didn’t have the energy to name. By the time the door clicked behind you and steam started to curl around your knees, he was already fishing his phone out. A few texts came in right after. One from Art. Another from Rafe. Then a few more. Rapid. The kind of flood that made the phone feel like it had something to say. The screen lit up in bursts against his thigh, buzzing once, twice, then again, as if they knew you were there. As if they could smell it on him. On you.
He opened one. Then another. Didn’t reply. Just sat there with his thumb hovering over the keyboard, face blank. The words were short. Rafe’s messages always looked like they’d been typed with teeth clenched. Art felt messier. It's not like Rafe’s, but just as loaded. Both of them were asking where you were. Where he was. Asking if you were together. He knows the two of them are currently together but still blowing up both of your phones like they can’t wait like this is some kind of emergency that needs some urgent reply.
The water stopped running. It doesn’t take you long before you step out of it with a towel wrapped around your body while your hair is still dripping with water on your back. Something about how quiet the room had gotten made it feel like the walls were listening. You didn’t say anything and you just padded over to the scattered pile of shirts on the couch and grabbed the first one that smelled clean enough. It was big on you and covered the shorts you wear which also came from the pile of clothes. Hang off your frame like it didn’t belong. Might’ve been Bob’s. Might’ve been Art’s. Could’ve been Rafe’s. You didn’t bother to ask.
He looked up after you pulled it over your head. His eyes dragged down to your thighs where the hem barely touched. He blinked once, then set his phone face down. “They’re texting,” he said, voice low. “They’re on their way up.” And you were still toweling off the ends of your hair when the knock landed hard. No pause. No second tap. Just one loud, blunt slam of knuckles that made the whole door rattle in its frame. Bob didn’t move right away. He just looked at the door, then at you, slowly. His jaw clenched like he already knew what was coming.
Another knock followed. Then a voice, sharp and already pissed, even through the wood. “You fuckin’ serious right now?” It was Rafe. No doubt. That tone didn’t belong to anyone else. Bob stood, dragged a hand down his face, and muttered something under his breath that didn’t reach full words. You didn’t ask. The shirt you were wearing hung loose over your shorts, collar dipping low at the neck. You hadn’t thought about it until now. Until the way Bob was looking at the doorknob like it might explode.
“Open the door,” Rafe barked. “I swear to fucking god.” Bob got there before you could even twitch. He opened it halfway, bracing his arm against the doorframe. “You need to cool off,” he said, low and even. “Don’t fucking tell me to cool off,” Rafe snapped. “When you’re here playing what, babysitter?” Art was just behind him. Less loud. More still. Eyes fixed over Bob’s shoulder, straight at you. “She’s fine,” Bob answered, shoulders squaring. “I’m making sure no one does something stupid.”
“Is that mine?” he asked. You didn’t say anything. “You know what? No. Actually, don’t answer that.” He looked you up and down like the sight of you physically bothered him, jaw clenched so hard you could see it twitch. “I texted you ten times,” he said. “And you’re just here. You left the party with Bob,” he said. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The weight in your stomach was thick. Rafe managed to push through Bob who’s been covering the door for half of the conversation. He also came in first. He dragged over you again slow and full of heat, but not the kind that felt good. It burned, and it stayed.
His eyes hit your legs, the hem of the shirt, your bare thighs, the neckline stretched loose, and stayed there too long. His jaw was tight. Mouth set in that way he had when he was holding in too many things at once. Art followed after him. Shoulders tense, brows pulled in. He didn’t look at you right away. Just shut the door behind him and stood near it like he was guarding it. The air felt hotter. Heavier. Rafe scoffed. “This is what we’re doing now?” You didn’t say anything and were just biting your cheeks.
“You skip the party, disappear without saying a fuckin’ word, end up at the rival house-” He stepped further in. Boots hitting the floor harder than they needed to. “Rafe,” Bob warned, low. He ignored him. “-and let Patrick fucking Zweig put his hands on you?” His voice dropped near the end, tighter than before. “Or his dick. Whatever the fuck it was. You’re not gonna say anything about that?” His words came fast. Not shouted. Just laid out with venom. It’s obvious that he’s upset. It’s obvious with how his words are hard around the edges, how heavy it is, and how spiked it turned out to be. Rafe is very much trying not to snap more because he’s slowly can’t hold it in anymore.
“I didn’t plan any of this.” You crossed your arms even though the room wasn’t cold. “No?” His voice dropped. Not quieter, just lower. Like it burned. “You didn’t plan to go behind our backs and show up at a rival frat party, didn’t plan to let Patrick fucking Zweig get his hands on you, didn’t plan to walk out with Bob while Art and I were looking for you all night?” Bob moved before Rafe could say anything else. “You need to chill.” Rafe laughed but the four of you knew it wasn’t a real one. Just air through his nose, like something bitter caught in his chest. “Don’t talk to me about chilling. You’re the one who didn’t text back. Who didn’t tell us where you were.”
“Rafe.” His name said like a reminder or a warning- not really sure at this point, but Art’s tone is deep and low while he’s sitting on the edge of your desk chair. Elbows on his knees and his hands clasped like he was trying to hold the room steady. “What?” Rafe snapped. “You saw the same shit I did. She walked in wearing that guy’s scent. Let him touch her. Kiss her. What the fuck are we even doing here if we’re pretending that’s fine?” Art didn’t answer. He just looked at you. Oh, the silence that followed after Rafe’s words? It felt too thick to breathe in. It almost feels like there’s an airborne virus through it. Your fingers curling around the hem of the shirt like that could ground you. Rafe’s eyes dropped again to your thighs, then back to your face.
“I don’t even know who you belong to right now,” he said. That hit harder than yelling because how can he say that? Where did he get the audacity because you are about to slap the shit out of him. The room didn’t move. Not even Bob. Then Rafe stepped closer, slowly, measured. “But I’m about to find out.” Your eyes flicked up to meet him. It looks different now under the light. Heat coiled low in your skin. It’s not from the tension but from the weight of the silence pressing down. He stood too close. You just know that his voice earlier is low and thick like it wanted to grab your throat. Like it want to prove something without being smart about it. There’s part of you that never learned when to quit, a habit you learned from when you were younger and only got worse when you stayed at their house, it’s stirring behind your ribs now.
“Maybe I’m just exploring my options,” you said confidently. Like you know it will piss them more but you say it for the thrill of it or maybe just to get back at him a little. There’s a small smile forming at your lips but it disappeared fast enough. You didn’t back away when his eyes narrowed. Didn’t blink. Just leaned your weight into one hip and dragged the towel once more down the ends of your hair before tossing it over the back of your chair. Bob let out a low snort like he couldn’t help it. It broke through the quiet like glass cracking under a shoe. You know Bob has this same expression he has all night even when you are not looking at him. It’s the same tired expression. Not annoyed. Just resigned. Like knew this would happen.
Rafe’s jaw clenched so tight before he released a ‘whoosh’ sound from his mouth like he was trying to calm himself before he could truly snap. “You think this is funny?” His eyes didn’t leave yours, didn’t blink. “I already let you fuck around with Art. I didn’t say shit when it was Bob, either. But now Patrick fucking Zweig? You letting him taste you too?” The words scraped like they’d been dragged out of him. His hand lifted halfway like he might slam it against the wall just to have somewhere to put the feeling, but he didn’t. He just stood there, seething, taking in the way you leaned back against the desk, bare legs crossed, smile still tugging at your mouth like none of this bothered you.
“Didn’t realize I was dating any of you,” you said, lifting your brows. “Did I miss the talk?” Art moved before Rafe could. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t crack. The only thing you noticed the most was that the way he looked at you had changed. Eyes serious but tired. His hands flexed once before settling again in his lap. “So none of it meant anything to you?” That softened something. For a second, the brat in your chest slipped. Not enough to kill it, but enough to let a pause settle before you spoke again. “Don’t twist it like that,” you muttered. “I never said that.” Your eyes glare at him and you are biting your cheeks because you know how Art and his words work sometimes. How can they easily get into your system without him even trying to be mean about it.
“You didn’t have to.” His tone wasn’t angry. Just quiet. Hurt in a way that stung more than yelling. His eyes dropped like he couldn’t hold yours anymore, fingers curling tighter between his knees. Bob finally leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “You know she’s pushing,” he said to no one in particular. His voice was low. You don’t even know what the point of his saying this is. Is this his way to save things? To calm it down a little? To make things easy for you? Because you can’t see the angle he’s going for with it. But his voice is patient like he was the only one who remembered how you were when you wanted to pick a fight. “She does this when she’s scared.”
“I’m not scared,” you shot back, faster than you meant to. He didn’t argue. Just looked at you, steady, and let the silence answer for him. Rafe stepped in close again, close enough to feel his breath when he spoke. “You’re not scared?” His mouth brushed near your ear, not soft. “Mmh.” The sound rumbled low in his throat. “Figured.” He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t even look at the others. But you felt it shift behind you. The quiet presence of Bob was somewhere near the far wall. Art standing farther off, shoulder resting against something solid. But he’s still watching.
They’re not opening their mouths because they know they didn’t have to. This wasn’t about them, not yet, and they can see what’s building here. It was about what you’d let Rafe drag out of you first. His hand moved now. Just two fingers. It’s slow, teasing, and sliding over your outer thigh, then pausing. “You’re wet already,” he murmured. Like he didn’t even have to touch it to know what the state of it was. “Don’t even need help with that part, do you?” Your breath hitched. The back of your throat went tight. He leaned closer until his nose brushed the shell of your ear. “Just wanna get used up.”
Rafe didn’t move his hand right away. It looks like he’s making it linger there to punish you. To make you feel like he knows how filthy you are. That he can feel how you’re literally heating up and this is not your normal body temperature while his thumb is still pressed gently to your thigh. You must be crazy for almost feeling the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your shorts. His gaze stuck on your face long enough to feel like he was searching for something before he opened his mouth again. “You want this?” His voice was low but steady. The kind that didn’t leave room for confusion. “All of us?” The question landed heavier than the touch. It didn’t rush you.
A slow swallow moved down your throat. “Yeah.” He tilted his head slightly, still watching your face. “Say it again so they hear it.” You could feel the quiet weight of Bob somewhere near the far wall and Art leaning casually with his shoulder against the dresser. You close your eyes as you try not to brat about. Speaking things like this in front of others is not a very happy experience. It’s humiliating. It’s shameful. What could possibly go wrong once you said it…? Many things are entering your head but you just exhale and take some breath for courage before you open your mouth and let out the soft words. “I want it.”
Rafe’s mouth curled at the edge. He finally eased his fingers from your thigh, but only so he could step back half a pace and glance at the others. “Help me out, then. She’s overdressed.” Art was the first to move. The bed dipped under his knee as he climbed up beside you. The scent of his cologne brushes over your skin. His hands were warm when they caught the hem of the frat shirt. He’s lifting it until the loose cotton peels up past your ribs.
Bob came in from the other side, fingers brushing along your waist as he helped pull it over your head. The shirt slid free, leaving your bra straps snug against your shoulders. Cool air prickled over your skin where their hands had just been. Rafe stayed close enough to see everything. His belt was undone now, the sound of the buckle faint as his hand lingered at the waist of his jeans. “Bra next,” he said, but not to you- his eyes flicked to Bob.
The clasp gave way with one twist of Bob’s fingers. The straps slipped down your arms until the cups fell away completely. He dropped it to the floor, gaze lingering on the soft curve of your breasts before his thumb swept lightly under one. Art’s hand had already found the edge of your shorts. He hooked his fingers inside, tugging them down slowly enough for the fabric to catch on your thighs. The cotton brushed along your skin until it cleared your knees. He left them pooled at your ankles, fingertips drifting higher again to the waistband of your panties.
“Tell me,” Rafe murmured, stepping in close enough that his shadow cut over your bare chest. His eyes locked on yours. “Do you really still want this?” Your answer came out in a breath. “Yes.” Words are certain and sure like nothing can ever change your mind after that. The obvious twitch in the corner of his mouth is caught by yours and the tension in the room shifts like someone has opened the dam and water is breaking out. Your legs brushed the mattress. The bed creaked under your weight when you sat, then again when he pushed you further, until your shoulders sank into the thin pillow.
“Spread a little,” he said with a low but not rough voice. His palms rested heavily on your knees and opened them apart until the cool air reached the damp heat between your thighs. Bob stayed close at your side, the mattress dipping under his knee. He bent low, his mouth brushing the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around it, warm and wet. A soft pull drew the skin tight, his tongue sweeping over your nipple.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured against you. The words were low enough that only you could hear. His hand smoothed up your side. “Don’t need to. We’ll take care of you.” Fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. Art didn’t yank them down. He tugged slowly, letting the fabric drag over your clit before peeling it past your hips. They joined the rest of their clothes on the floor. Bob’s free hand brushed the edge of your other breast, thumb circling lazily while his mouth worked over the first. You reached down without thinking, fingers finding the firm line of his thigh and you can feel the rough feel of his pants under your palm.
Rafe is sitting back in the desk chair on the other side of the room. His eyes are just focused on your body like it’s some canvas he’s watching to finish. When he leaned into it the wood creaked under his weight. He managed to work on his zipper and belt while the three of you are busy in the bed. One arm rested on the armrest while the other worked slow strokes over his cock. His gaze didn’t waver.
Art lowered himself between your thighs. His thumbs spread you open, the wet heat of your slit catching the light as he looked at you. “Still soft from earlier,” he muttered, not hiding the edge in his tone. You knew who he meant. Bob’s mouth left your breast with a quiet pop. His lips dragged lower to press a kiss just under it, the warmth of his breath sinking into your skin. “Ignore him,” he whispered, voice calm even while his fingers pinched your nipple lightly. “Right now it’s us. Just us.” Art leaned in, his breath ghosting over your clit before his tongue pressed flat against it, slow and steady.
Art’s tongue pressed firmer against your clit, drawing a slow circle before flicking the tip over it. Warmth rushed to your cheeks, the sound that slipped from you muffled against Bob’s shoulder when his mouth latched onto your other nipple. A low hum came from Art, the vibration making your thighs twitch against his arms. He dragged his tongue lower, flattening it to taste along your slit before dipping into you. The wet push of it sent your breath stuttering, hips shifting toward him without thinking.
Bob’s hand found the back of your neck, steadying you while his mouth worked over your chest. The movement was constant- gentle and teasing in a way he knows you will like. Teeth often grazed the nipple before using his tongue to soothe the bud. It just rotates in three actions: suck, bite, and lick. “That’s it,” he murmured into your skin with a low voice that was enough for Rafe not to hear from the other side of the room. “Don’t hold back on me.” Words feel hot in your skin when he says them.
Your palm moved over the hard line in Bob’s pants. Heat throbbed there under your touch and the fabric grew harder than he already is as you rubbed along his outline. His breath was held up in his throat for a moment when he felt your hand, but he didn't let that stop him from playing with your chest. The buckle of his belt remains cold against your hand as you try to work it open. Clinking sounds are obvious in the room but can be masked more by the wet sounds between your thighs.
Art pulls back just enough to stare at you before he looks down at your pussy to spit against your clit. He watches the clear and slippery slide down from your clit down to your ass before he goes back to putting his mouth around the bud. He kept his mouth sealed over and suck there until your toes curled into the thin bedding. Fingers find their way between between your folds- one slides into your pussy without any struggle. The first stretch makes the glide almost too smooth. A second joined quickly, curling up as his mouth kept working on you.
Bob’s zipper gave way under your hand, the teeth parting until you could slip inside. The heat of his cock under the thin cotton made your pulse jump. Your fingers curled around him to give him slow first strokes. His hips shift almost too quickly in your hand while his lips stay busy at your chest. Your hand moves in the same motion and pace the same way his tongue flicks lazily against your peaked nipple he’d trapped between his teeth. The pleasure is almost overwhelming. Mouths on your chest and cunt along with both of their hands moving too.
From the desk chair, Rafe remained glued there and didn’t move except for his hand that was moving to give his cock slow strokes. The open waistband of his pants hung loose on his hips and his shirt was already gone. His gaze didn’t leave the point where Art’s face was buried between your legs, but every now and then his eyes flicked up to watch your mouth fall open or the way your hand worked Bob harder. There was no rush in him. Just steady and quietly watching like he wanted every second to drag.
Art fucked his fingers into you faster now, his thumb grinding against your clit as his tongue moved lower to push into your cunt. The wet slide of it was matched by the stretch of his fingers, his other hand keeping your thigh pinned so you couldn’t close around his head. Art’s pace deepens when the third finger pushes in slowly until your walls flutter around him. His other hand spreads you open, thumb and forefinger pulling your folds apart so there’s nothing hidden from view.
“Look at that,” he mutters, eyes flicking up toward the others. The sudden cold drip of spit lands right on your clit, sliding down over his knuckles before his mouth covers you again. Wet heat surrounds the spot, tongue pressing tight while his fingers work in steady pumps. Your thigh catches the flex of his hips. The faint grind of his cock against your skin makes the muscles there twitch. Every roll is dragging over you as if he’s trying to take the edge off without stopping what he’s doing to you.
Above, Bob’s fingers slip past your lip and the pads brush your tongue as if he’s testing how far you’ll take him. “Keep that there,” he says quietly with his eyes narrowing when you try to breathe around him. The taste of skin and faint salt coats your tongue while his mouth stays at your chest. He’s sucking until the sting blooms under the area. His teeth catch your nipple before he lets go just enough to kiss it again. The pressure in his pants thickens under your palm. You keep stroking him through the fabric, feeling the twitch each time Art’s fingers push deeper.
Bob hums against your chest, his free hand pinching and rolling the other nipple while his fingers in your mouth flex just enough to make you gag lightly. A shadow moves from the desk. Rafe stands now with one hand already curled around himself. He’s stroking slowly as he looks down at you. The muscles in his stomach shift under the light, chest showing, and his belt still hanging open. When your eyes flick up to meet his- you can see the way his grip tightens and his thumb dragging over his tip.
When Bob finally pulls his fingers from your mouth, his touch glides down your jaw as he steps back to strip off his clothes. In the space he leaves, Rafe moves closer to replace him. His cockhead brushes the corner of your mouth just to tease and feel you. The slick is already dampening your lips. Bob’s palm hovers in front of your face. It’s steady despite the flicker in his eyes that looks like he’s going to shake. “Spit in my hand.” The warmth in your throat turns heavier as you lean in and let a thick string fall into his open palm. He doesn’t rush anything and he just watches it land.
He steps back into his spot before nudging Rafe out with a quiet, “Move.” A hum is the only response Rafe gave him with a slow grin forming in his mouth to show he’s not going to fight it. He takes a step back away from you while his thumb is dragging lazily over the underside of his cock while his eyes stay locked between your thighs and to Art who’s working there. Bob wipes the spit along his cock in slow and teasing strokes before letting it go to angle and turn your body into a side-lying position and especially he angled your hips enough to make your widespread and bent in half leg to touch against his stomach while you remain spread for Art.
The angle forces Art to hook his hands under your thighs to hold you open while his mouth drags over your clit. His jaw works steadily with his tongue flicking until your hips twitch, and the low sound he makes against you vibrates through every nerve. Rafe’s eyes linger on the side of the room while he lets the two have their fun first before he can take you later. “She’s not even looking at me,” he says with a flat voice but threaded out he’s sulking about not getting an ounce of your attention. “You’ll live,” Art mutters into you without pulling away.
While Bob doesn’t give them a flicker of his attention and just focuses on the shape of your mouth and the image he already created with his cock deep inside them. He watches the way your lips part open when you try to take a breath when Art spits again in your cunt. “You want to take me in your mouth how you want,” he says and his voice is low and calm. His eyes welcome yours when you look up at him before he speaks again, “or you want me to hold you still and fuck it?” He doesn’t move closer. Just waits, stroking himself slowly, patient, the tip of his cock flushed and wet. Heat pools in your chest as your gaze drifts over the three of them - Bob’s steady stare, Art’s dark eyes lifting briefly from between your legs, Rafe’s smirk twisting at the corner like he’s waiting for you to flinch.
Art takes the moment to peel off his shirt, then shoves down the rest. The shift of the air makes the heat from his skin hit you harder in a way that you didn’t even know where it came from. Muscles flex along his arms as he hooks them back under your thighs. He’s locking you open so your folds stay spread for his mouth. Your voice comes out softer than you expect. “I want you to fuck it.” A shadow crosses Bob’s face. It’s not quite a smile, but something dark curling at the edge. He steps in with one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around his cock.
The blunt head presses to your lips heat radiating off him and the salty taste brushes your tongue as he pushes in. Hips roll slowly like he’s making you feel every inch that slides over your tongue. The weight of his cock fills your mouth and makes your mouth stretch wide enough for it to make you feel worked out already. The slow and steady movement of his cock that’s dragging in and out that made your jaw ache but it’s in the best way possible. His thumb rests under your chin, keeping you steady without forcing.
Art’s mouth leaves you to be replaced by the smooth glide of his cockhead rubbing over your slit. He drags it along your folds and circles your clit before pressing lower until it’s pushing right at your hole. “Fuck…” he breathes and his voice is heavy. “So warm.” After Art’s comment about how you feel, Rafe’s voice cuts in. Like you can’t tell if he’s fucking around Art’s head piss each other off like they always do or if he’s serious. “Where’s the condom?” Art doesn’t even look at him. His grin tilts slowly. “Don’t need one. I’m clean. Been fucking her for months.” He tilts his head toward you just to catch the way your eyes flick up. “You’re not telling me she doesn’t let you go raw?” Rafe’s smirk fades into something tighter. “You’re an asshole.”
“Maybe,” Art says while pushing the blunt head against you again until your hips twitch. “Still feels better like this.” Bob’s hand tightens in your hair at the sound you make- a muffled hum around his length. He pulls out halfway just to watch the wet stretch of your lips around him before sliding back in, slow enough to keep your eyes locked on his. “Focus on me,” he murmurs and his voice is rougher now. “He can wait his turn.” These three are assholes and as typical frat boys as they can ever be with the way their words are blurted out of their mouths.
They just know they have to make it up to you big time by just saying shit like “waiting for his turn” because it looks like they’re insinuating that you’re a toy. Art laughs under his breath but doesn’t move away. His cockhead drags over your slit again, catching on the slick that’s already there, rubbing circles over your clit that make your throat tighten around Bob. A low sound rumbles from Bob’s chest at the way your mouth clenches. His hips push in deeper, the head of his cock nudging at the back of your throat for a moment before easing out. Rafe shifts his stance at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on where Art’s cock is sliding over you. “You’re doing that just to get under my skin.”
“You think?” Art presses a little harder. The head of his cock just started to sink inside before pulling back. “Nah. This is for her.” The heat between your legs burns more when his words hit, and Bob’s next thrust into your mouth comes slower. It’s heavier like he’s savoring the way you’re caught between them. Bob’s hand stayed steady at the back of your head, his cock sliding over your tongue in slow, heavy pushes. The blunt tip brushed the back of your throat once and he caught the sharp swallow you made, hips stalling. “Sorry,” he murmured quickly, even though his thumb still stroked along your jaw like he was picturing doing it again. The apology didn’t hide the faint hitch in his breath when you relaxed around him, letting him go deeper on the next pass.
Art worked into a slow pace between your thighs that makes it very pleasurable for you that he’s not just pounding. The head of his cock is kissing your cervix with every roll of his hips. His palm slid up to your belly to feel you and press his hand there to feel his cock bulging inside of you before he led it down so his fingers could circle your clit in tight and lazy strokes. “Told you,” he said and the words aimed at Rafe more than you. “She’s still warm from earlier. Can feel it grabbing me.” Rafe’s jaw flexed from where he leaned at the side as his eyes dragged over the way your lips stretched around Bob while Art rocked into you. “You’re doing that on purpose,” he said flatly.
Art’s laugh was low, but his tone stayed soft when he looked back down at you. “Relax, I’m not gonna break her.” But his actions say the opposite with the way his hips push deeper. It almost looks like he’s letting you feel the slow grind of his cockhead pressing inside before pulling back only to slide in again until your cunt clenches around him. The fingertips on your clit stayed there and he kept rubbing them while the motion picked up just enough to make your legs twitch.
Bob’s cock dragged out of your mouth with a slick sound before pushing back in, the weight of him forcing your lips wider. He groaned quietly when you swallowed around him. Hips shifting in a short thrust that made your throat tighten. “That’s it,” he breathed. It’s almost too soft to hear. He eased back an inch when he pushed his cock more deeply instinctively. “Didn’t mean to-” His words broke off when you sucked harder, and his grip at your nape tightened for a beat before he let out another low apology.
Your hips jerked when Art rolled his fingers tighter over your clit. The steady pulse of his cock hits deep enough to make your breath catch around Bob. “You hear that?” Art tilted his head toward Rafe without slowing. “She’s dripping down my balls, and you’re just standing there.” Rafe stepped in closer, knuckles brushing your hair as he looked down at you. “Keep talking, see what happens,” he muttered to Art, though his gaze didn’t leave your face.
“Move over when I’m done watching.” Art smirked but didn’t answer, pushing in deep enough to grind against you while his thumb worked faster. Bob’s pace in your mouth stayed slow and careful, though his eyes kept flicking to the way your throat worked around him like he wanted to push further. Heat curled low when his cock twitched against your tongue, his breath breaking in a rougher sound he didn’t bother to hide.
Bob adjusted his stance, one knee pressed to the mattress so he could angle you just where he wanted. The slow slide of his cock over your tongue grew heavier, your lips pulling tight around him as his hand guided your head in steady strokes. He didn’t speak now, only watching your eyes as he pushed a little deeper and felt the wet heat close in around him.
Art’s hips kept that deep and even tempo so his cock nudged the top of your cunt each time before dragging back through the slick mess he’d made. His other hand was never still- sliding up your side, catching the soft weight of your breast before rubbing your nipple with his thumb before gliding down to circle your clit again. “Gonna make you cum before he even gets his turn,” he murmured. It’s just loud enough for Rafe to hear.
The scrape of a drawer made you glance sideways. Rafe had moved to your desk to pull open the top until he found the pale blue polaroid camera he’d given you months ago. He popped it open and thumbed to check the film then lifted it to his eye. “Keep going,” he said. “Don’t stop just because I’m watching.” The click and whirr of the camera cut through the wet sounds in the room. A flash went off as white light caught you mid-motion with Bob’s cock deep in your mouth and your eyes tilted up through your lashes.
The photo slid out, and he waited a few seconds until the photo appeared with clear colors. “Perfect,” he said, voice low but still enough to hear. “Do that again.” Art’s thumb pressed harder against your clit and he drew a sharp sound from your throat that vibrated around Bob. The pulse of it made him groan under his breath. His hips pushed forward in a single rougher thrust before he reined it back in. His hand stayed warm at your nape and his thumb stroked once over your skin like it was instinct.
Rafe leaned closer with the camera, waiting until your lips looked stretched just right around Bob before snapping another shot. “Look at me,” he ordered and you did what he said. It was so fast because the second you lifted your gaze, there was already another flash that filled your vision. It’s bright enough to make your eyes sting. “That one’s going on my wall,” Bob said after Rafe took a photo of you. His words made your pussy clench around Art’s and it shows with the way he grunts at the action you just made. Bob’s cock slid free just enough for you to breathe. Your mouth was wet and open as a strand of spit clung to the tip. Art’s fingers never left your clit, his pace picking up until your hips twitched against him. “She’s close,” he said, smirking at Rafe without pausing.
“Want me to make her cum before you even touch her?” Rafe’s jaw tightened before the camera lowered slowly. He licks his lips and he watches the way Art keeps smirking like he’s enjoying making little comments because he’s the one inside of you right now. “You try, and I’ll make sure she’s still dripping when you’re done.” Art just grinned as his hips rolled deeper, and the way his fingers worked made it hard to focus on anything else. Bob’s cock was right there again. It’s sliding over your tongue in a smooth and heavy stroke as his breath grows shorter.
Art’s pace turned heavier while his hips pressed in deeper until the thick head of his cock kissed your cervix again and again. His fingers didn’t stop their rhythm on your clit. He keeps rubbing fast enough to make your thighs tighten against him. “Come on,” he urged and his eyes dragged up your body until they met yours. “Let me feel you cum on it.” The way he worked you left no room to think. Only the hot pull of release curls through your belly. The pulse started low, squeezing around Art’s cock in quick, wet spasms. His hand locked on your hip while the other kept circling your clit, drawing the orgasm out until your legs trembled.
It almost feels telepathic when Bob’s cock starts spurting his cum inside your mouth with that slow thrust of his. The weight and the way your mouth is filled in the back of your throat are making your eyes water. At this point, you don’t know if it’s because of your orgasm or because of his cumming in your mouth. He didn’t push it too hard to make you choke, almost too careful even. There’s this sound quiet sound he makes while he watches you swallow. His eyes stay locked on the way your throat moves and the twitch of your lips as you try to take it all down. Rafe’s camera clicked again and the flash burst as you moaned around Bob.
“Fuck- there it is,” Art gritted, feeling you squeeze around him. He rode the clutch of your cunt until the spasms slowed. A slick white ring clung to the base of his cock when he finally pulled back an inch. He caught Rafe’s eye and tilted his hips just enough to show it off. The look he gave wasn’t loud, but it said everything. Take the photo. Rafe didn’t hesitate. The click came sharp and the print slid free from the camera while Art’s smirk widened. “You’re gonna want that one,” Rafe muttered to him.
Bob’s cock slipped from your mouth for a moment, spit and cum glistening down your chin as you dragged in air. His hand brushed your cheek once before guiding you back onto him, the tip pressing past your lips. “Almost there,” he said low, his tone rougher now. He was still hard, still twitching, still using your throat even after spilling inside it. His hips pushed forward just enough to stretch you, then eased back so you could breathe before driving deeper again, chasing something sharper through the sensitivity.
Art stayed close, sliding back into you with a groan. The thrusts came quicker now, his grip tightening as his cock pushed deep into the mess you’d both made. “Gonna fill you up,” he rasped, voice edged with heat. “Bet you’ll still be dripping when Rafe gets in there.” The mention of his name made Rafe finally set the camera down, his eyes glued to the way Art’s cock disappeared inside you. “Move when you’re done,” he ordered, tone low and steady.
Art’s breath went heavier, pace turning almost sloppy as the tension coiled hard in his hips. The slap of skin echoed in the room, mixed with your muffled moans around Bob. With one last deep push, Art groaned and stilled, the heat of his cum spilling inside you in thick pulses. His fingers kept you open, letting every drop sink deep before he finally pulled back to watch it leak. “Fuck- look at that.” He lingered for a moment, spreading your folds with two fingers so the mess glistened in the low light. His smirk was sharp when he glanced up at Rafe. “See? She’s too tired for you.”
Rafe lowered the camera then, the strap slid from his hand as he set it on the nightstand. He stepped in where Art had been. It’s slow but sure. He crouches between your thighs. His hands hooked under your knees to spread you wider. Before you could even catch your breath, his mouth was on you. The first drag of his tongue pulled a gasp from your chest, the wet heat licking up your slit to taste the mix of you and Art. “Messy little thing,” he muttered against you before sealing his mouth over your clit.
The shift of weight beside you drew your gaze up. Art had already reached for the camera again, angling it down to catch the new view- Rafe’s jaw tight, his tongue buried between your folds. The flash went off mid-lick, catching it all. Bob’s pace in your mouth turned firmer, his cock sliding until your lips brushed his base. The grip at your nape tightened, his groan rough. “Gonna finish again- fuck-” he warned, but didn’t pull out. The first hot spurt hit your tongue, then another, his hips jerking with each pulse. He was overstimulated, chasing it anyway, and the second orgasm ripped through him fast, leaving you swallowing all over again while his body shook.
The camera clicked again, capturing your cheeks hollowed and your mouth full, the shine of cum glistening on your lips before you swallowed it down. Rafe didn’t slow at the sound of it. His tongue flicked quickly over your clit before he dipped down to fuck into your pussy. He’s scooping every drop left inside. His grip on your thighs pinned you open, forcing you to take it until your hips started to jerk against his mouth. When Bob finally pulled free, strings of spit and cum clung from your lips to his tip. He stepped back from the bed, chest heaving, giving space for the others to close in.
Rafe finally wiped his chin with the back of his hand as he stood, eyes fixed on your pussy like it had been calling him all night. “Move her up,” he told Art before flickering his eyes at him. Art leaned down, sliding his arms under your shoulders. He lifted you just enough off the mattress, then climbed onto the bed himself, settling against the headboard. With you still in his hold, he shifted you higher until your head fit across his lap. The warmth of his thighs framed your temples, his fingers stroking lazily through your hair as though this was nothing new. “Better,” he murmured, gaze flicking toward Rafe. “Now you can watch him while I watch you.”
Bob lingered at the edge of the room. His chest still rising heavy as he watched Rafe between your thighs who just finished licking you off. His gaze grew heavier the longer he stood there until he finally pulled the desk chair forward and set it at the edge of the mattress. He sat down, knees spread, and his hand already reaching for you. His fingers brushed your clit in slow teasing circles. The pressure is light but enough to make your hips twitch. “She’s still soaked,” he murmured before his eyes met Rafe’s.
Rafe climbed onto the bed, settling between your legs. His cock brushed your thigh, already hard, the heat of it making you squirm. “Spread,” he ordered, his hands pushing your knees wider. When he lined up, the blunt head pressed against your entrance, catching for just a moment before he sank in. The stretch pulled a sound from your chest that made Art’s fingers thread through your hair. “You feel that?” he asked, looking down at you with a smirk. “Bet you can see it from here.”
Rafe’s hips pushed forward until he bottomed out, the thick length forcing your walls to stretch around him. He glanced down, watching the bulge form low in your belly with each small rock of his hips. “Look at that,” he said, pressing his palm over the rise. “You take it all, and it shows.” Bob’s thumb pressed a little harder on your clit, his other hand cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “We’ve got budget approvals next week,” he said, glancing at Rafe as if the three of you weren’t tangled up in bed. “Gonna need you to sign off on the charity event.”
“You’re- hnn- asking me that now?” The absurdity made you let out a shaky laugh that broke into a moan when Rafe thrust again, deeper this time. “Why not?” Art’s tone was casual, his hand stroking along your throat before resting under your chin. “You’re the sweetheart. You have input.” Rafe’s thrusts stayed steady, his hand pressing down on your belly to feel himself move inside you. “Tell him you’ll be there,” he said, not breaking rhythm. “Y-yeah,” you managed, your voice catching when Bob’s fingers pinched your nipple. “Good,” Bob said simply, his eyes still on the way Rafe’s cock stretched you. Art leaned down until his mouth brushed your ear.
“We’ve also got recruitment coming up. Think you can charm the new girls after this?” The words made heat flood your face, your hips jerking when Rafe’s cock hit the spot deep inside again. “I- ahh- maybe-” You try to say but words not coming clearly “Maybe?” Rafe’s brows pulled together, his next thrust sharper. “You don’t sound too sure.” Bob’s hand moved faster on your clit, the sensation building hard under the constant push of Rafe’s cock. Art’s thighs tensed under your head, his fingers still in your hair. “She’ll do it,” he said for you. “She always does.”
Rafe’s thrusts stayed deep and unhurried. It looks like he’s savoring it after being on the sidelines. The weight of his cock pushing into you again and again while his hand pressed low on your stomach. He’s feeling the outline of it under his palm like he’s figuring out how deep he is. The heat from him burned through your skin, but his voice stayed almost casual when he spoke. “Have we ever heard back from Brent’s lawyer?” His tone made it sound like he was asking about ordering pizza, not pounding into you with enough force to make the bed shift.
Bob’s thumb swept across your clit in slow, lazy circles. “Yeah. Charges aren’t going anywhere. He called in a favor with that judge his family knows. Case is gone.” Art’s fingers traced over your ribs where your chest rose and fell. “That’s it? Just gone?” He asks while his fingers continue to trace your body. “Paper trail says the arrest never happened,” Bob said, eyes dropping briefly to watch Rafe’s cock slide in and out of you. “No record. Not even on campus.” Rafe grunted, hips rolling harder. “Kid’s a fuckin’ idiot. Getting caught with that much coke in his car during Greek Week? Might as well hang a banner off the balcony.”
A pulse ran through you at the way they said it so openly. They weren’t lowering their voices, weren’t glancing at you like you didn’t belong here. This wasn’t party gossip. It was something heavy, the kind of thing that should’ve been locked away in a back room with the door shut. “If that got out, nationals would’ve shut us down. Whole chapter gone in a month.” Art’s hand smoothed over your chest, his thumb flicking lazily over a nipple before resting on your collarbone. “That’s why it didn’t get out,” Bob said simply, thumb still circling your clit like he had all the time in the world. “Brent’s old man wrote the check. More than one.”
“Bet half the house would’ve turned on him if it meant keeping themselves clean.” Rafe’s palm pressed harder into your belly as he bottomed out, forcing a low sound from your throat. “They would,” Art agreed. His knee shifted under your head, tilting you so your eyes caught the sharp lines of his jaw. “Some of them have already tried. We handled it.” Bob’s eyes stayed on the spot where your body took Rafe to the hilt. “Handled it” meant something else entirely here, and none of them felt the need to explain.
“That pledge last year tried to leak it. Remember?” Rafe’s voice dropped lower, but not softer. “Yeah,” Bob said. “He’s not here anymore.” His thumb flicked your clit harder, sending another shiver up your spine. “Guess he figured out the hard way that loyalty’s not optional.” The room felt hotter. Not just from the way Rafe’s hips kept slamming into you, or how Art’s thumb brushed your lips like he was daring you to open them. It was the way they were talking - calm, controlled, like this was nothing. Like it didn’t matter you were naked under all of them, hearing every word.
Art leaned forward until his mouth brushed your ear. “You gonna keep that between us?” His voice was smooth, but the curl in it left no question that it wasn’t really a question. “Yeah.” Your breath came out shaky, the pulse at your clit tightening under Bob’s steady rhythm. “Good,” Rafe said, dragging his cock out almost to the tip before driving back in hard enough to make the mattress jolt. “Because if you didn’t…” His mouth brushed your jaw, the heat of his breath spilling over your skin. “We’d have to deal with you, too.”
Bob’s hand slipped higher, cupping your breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers while his other hand kept working your clit. “Don’t mind him. She’s smarter than that.” Art’s laugh was low in your ear. “She’s also wetter than that.” Rafe’s thrusts picked up, the sound of skin meeting skin sharper now, the pressure of him hitting deep enough to make your toes curl. “That’s ‘cause she likes it,” he said, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. “All of it.”
Rafe’s pace had gone from steady to relentless, hips driving into you with the kind of weight that made your whole body shift up the mattress. His hand stayed heavy on your stomach, pressing down so the shape of him inside you was impossible to miss. Every thrust dragged a sound out of you, high and shaky, and the bed creaked under the force of it. Bob’s thumb hadn’t left your clit, each circle rubbing tighter and wetter with every push from Rafe. His other hand gripped your thigh to keep you open, his knuckles brushing against Rafe’s hip as he worked you. “She’s close again,” he said, voice low but certain.
“She’s not the only one,” Rafe muttered, breathing heavier now. His gaze locked on the slick ring around his cock. “Fuck- look at that. Taking me like you were made for it.” Art’s palm rested on your jaw, tilting your face so you were looking at him instead of Rafe. “Think she’s even hearing you?” His thumb stroked over your bottom lip until it caught on the wetness there. “She’s too far gone.”
“Not too far,” Rafe shot back, shoving deep enough to make you gasp. “She knows exactly who’s inside her right now.” The words hit with the same weight as his thrusts. Heat pulled low in your stomach, every nerve focused on the thick stretch of him inside you. Bob’s thumb rolled over your clit harder, faster, until the pleasure built sharp and tight. “Hnnnh-” The sound caught in your throat, your hips twitching against Rafe’s grip.
“Yeah,” Bob said, almost under his breath. “There it is.” Art leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Let him feel it.” The words been said are clear enough to catch that it wasn’t a suggestion. Rafe’s movement is slowly turning rougher and the noise from the skin slapping is loud enough to echo in the room. “Gonna fill you up,” he said, his voice deep and certain. “All of it. You’re gonna keep every drop.” Bob didn’t stop working your clit, even when your legs started to shake. “Hold her there,” he told Rafe.
“I’ve got her,” Rafe answered, his hands locking on your hips to pin you in place. Art’s thumb pressed harder against your jaw. “Eyes on me when he does it.” Your chest heaved, the orgasm hitting so fast it tore through you in a rush. Muscles clamped down around Rafe’s cock and it’s milking him with every pulse. It's almost like he’s sucking him inside and choking him around. The sound he made was rough and his hips were grinding deep as his cum surged hot inside you. He keeps pushing so it can be more deeper.
“Fuck-” His grip tightened, keeping you flush against him while the thick warmth spilled deep, each pulse marked by another low curse under his breath. “That’s it. Take all of it.” Bob’s thumb kept moving, dragging the orgasm out until you were trembling. His gaze stayed on the way Rafe’s cock disappeared into you, his tone unreadable. “Messy already.” Art smirked from above you. “Better not waste any.”
Rafe stayed buried inside until the last slow spurt, his chest rising and falling hard. Then his palm smoothed over your stomach again, pressing lightly as if to feel the heat he’d left inside. Rafe finally eased back, his cock sliding out slowly, the thick drip of his cum spilling hot between your thighs. His palm stayed pressed to your stomach for a beat like he wanted to feel it sitting deep before it leaked. Then he let go, dragging his hand down to smear the mess over your slit with a lazy stroke.
Bob’s fingers were already there, pushing some of it back inside without asking. “You’re not wasting this,” he said, watching every twitch of your hips as his knuckles worked between your folds. Art’s hand smoothed over your thigh, nails grazing your skin. “Look at her. Can’t even move.” His grin was sharp as he shifted closer, thumb brushing your lips until they parted. “Bet she’d let us start all over if we wanted.”
Before you could answer, Rafe’s phone went off on the nightstand. Then yours. Then Art’s. Then Bob’s. The vibration was constant, one buzz after another, until the sound filled the room. Rafe frowned, reaching for his phone with one hand while the other stayed heavy on your hip. The screen lit up with notifications stacked on top of each other. “What the fuck…” His eyes scanned, then narrowed. “You seeing this?”
Bob pulled his own phone from his pocket, his other hand still idly stroking your slit. “Oh, yeah. Everyone’s seeing this.” Art didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he unlocked his screen. “Well… guess the rumors weren’t just rumors anymore.” Bob’s thumb pressed deeper into your slit, slow and deliberate. “This isn’t random. Timing’s too perfect. Someone waited for this week for a reason.”
You leaned enough to catch a glimpse over Rafe’s arm. The font is too big so you already saw what’s in the campus gossip site where it says, “Rumor has it… The sweetheart privileges come with three special perks.” Rafe tossed his phone onto the bed with a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes like as if seeing that was an absurd idea. “Fucking cowards. Can’t even put their name on it.” Art kept scrolling, smirk still in place. “Probably someone who’s still pissed they couldn’t get her in their bed instead. Or someone who hates us enough to do this.”
“Then they’re gonna be real disappointed,” Rafe said, leaning back over you, his cock still hanging heavy against your thigh. “Because I’m not giving them what they want.” His gaze dropped to where Bob’s fingers were still working on you, then back to your face. “And neither are you.” Art’s palm slid down your chest, slow enough to make your breath hitch. “If anything, they just gave us another reason to make it obvious.” Bob’s voice was quiet but firm. “And another reason for you to stay right where you are.” Guess the whole campus will watch you more than ever.
cw/ kinks. canon rafe, unhealthy obsession, stalking, rafe and a one-sided crush (at first), angst, kissing, needy rafe, masturbation (m), meltdowns, confessions, lots of dialogue, inebriated sex, drugs, unprotected sex, semi public sex, breeding, size kink (rafe has a huge dick), dom/sub, possessiveness, light cumplay, reader is often pressured into acts with rafe. it is not entirely consensual.
synopsis. rafe has never had such intense feelings for someone until he met you. his problem is that he doesn't know how to get you to want him back.
Rafe watches you intently as you flit around the snack bar at the country club, serving a rich family overpriced ice creams. You'd been working at the concessions stand since summer started. No doubt a seasonal job to pay for college. He could pay your whole tuition and not bat an eye, and it's not like he hasn't offered on multiple occasions.
He'd been strangely offended when you'd gotten defensive and angry. You accused him of throwing money at you like you're a whore. You think the worst of him. He knows you do. He can see the way you behave around him.
He noticed your smile always faded when he entered your line of sight. You usually bolted with a weak excuse of being busy, or gave him clipped, terse responses if he managed to get you to speak to him. Even then, it felt like he was talking at you, and you were responding like you had a gun to your head.
Perhaps you thought you were too good for him. That fancy college you were going to was getting to your head. Maybe you were dating some douchebag econ major... He didn't even realize the family left and he was just staring at you. You're probably even more creeped out by him now. You have this odd look on your face and there's a stiffness in the way you stand now, like you're trying to shrink yourself without being obvious.
He takes a sharp breath in and walks over to you, hands sliding into his pocket to hold out the pretty necklace he bought you today. He was planning to ask you out. For the second time this week already.
He fidgets with the necklace in his pocket, running his thumb along the delicate little charm he'd picked out earlier that day. It reminded him of you, all soft and bright and way too expensive for someone scooping sherbet in the heat. He'd thought about just leaving it in your locker. But no, that'd be weird. Creepy, even. He wasn't creepy.
Your shift is almost over. He can tell by the way you've started glancing at your phone, counting down minutes. You don't look up when he stops at the counter. But you freeze for just a second. Your hand lingers too long on a napkin dispenser.
"I g-got you something," he mumbles, voice low and a little nervous, like a child speaking to their first love. He pulls the necklace from his pocket slowly, afraid you'll turn him away. You finally look up. Not at the necklace but at him. Your face is guarded.
"Rafe…" Your voice is soft, but there's weight behind it. You sound tired. "I told you not to-"
"You didn't let me finish last time," he says, setting the little box a little too hard onto the countertop. "You never… you never let me finish. I'm not trying to buy your attention. I just… think about you a lot." He swallows, tongue darting across the inside of his cheek. "You don't even have to wear it. I just thought it was pretty. Like you."
You blink, eyes scanning his face. It almost sounds like he's rambling, and your cheeks tinge pink at the compliment. Still, wearing something a man bought you is far too intimate for your liking. He notices your hands twitch slightly at your sides.
You shift your weight like you want to step back but don't want to make it obvious. The silence that follows is thick. Your eyes drop to the box, then lift again to meet his. You're not smiling. He wishes you'd smile at him. The cute one with a hint of a dimple. You're so adorable.
"I don't want to owe you anything," you say quietly. "And I don't want you thinking that this means anything. Because it doesn't. I don't feel that way towards you."
Rafe's feels his heart sink like a rock in a body of water, his eyes trained on you as you lower your head, gnawing on your plump lower lip. You're a coward. He thinks to himself. Mumbling that to him while being incapable of looking him in the eyes. He reminds himself that this happens every time he makes a move on you, but it still stings.
"Why not? How do I make you want me?" The words tumble out before he can stop them. He feels like such a loser. He's practically begging for your attention.
"You dont, Rafe." You mumble. You don't meet his eyes again as you gather up your things, shifting uncomfortably as you turn away. There's no venom in your voice, like he's not even worth the time or energy to get mad at. "Stop wasting your time with me and go hang out with the girls your speed."
He frowns, pushing his body against the counter as he watches you lock everything up. His eyes drift to the way your tits push against your thin polo when you lean forward to grab your phone charger. Fuck, he wants you.
His mind returns to your last couple words. "What do you mean my speed? You're my speed. I want you to be my speed."
You scoff lightly, shaking your head. You think he's clueless. He knows you do. As you slide out of the concessions stand and come around to roll down the security shutters and lock it. He stares down at you, admiring the way your body moves. You're not answering him, so he holds onto your upper arm and turns you with little to no effort so that he can look at you. You're just… so out of his league, and yet, he can't let go of this hope. This stupid, selfish hope that you'll turn to him one day. That you'll see him the way he's seeing you now.
"I don't know why you're doing this," he continues, his voice rougher than he means. "But I'm not the bad guy here, alright?" He steps closer to you, leaning in. His heart races, his voice low but urgent. "I know you... you don't want me anywhere near you. But I can't stop thinking about you. Every damn day. Every time I see you, I-" He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as the words spill out before he can stop them. "It h-hurts. It fucking hurts, you know?"
The silence between you two stretches, and Rafe's chest rises and falls rapidly like he's been holding his breath for too long. His hands shake. He's not sure if he's angry or desperate, but either way, he can't let it go. He needs something from you but he knows it's not something you can give so easily. You stare at him silently through long lashes, your brows furrowed. You hate him. "I'm going home, Rafe," you say, not acknowledging his desperation. "I suggest you give this a rest."
He watches as you tear your arm out of his grip to brush past him and head toward your dingy little car, hips swaying as you walk. The pretty necklace he bought you is still in his possession. Like he's out of his mind, he stalks after you from a distance just as you get into your car. He walks to his own truck and decides to tail you to your home.
Rafe shows up the next morning like he didn't follow you home the night before and sit in his truck outside your house for hours with his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, replaying your voice in his head on a loop.
"I don't want you." "Stop wasting your time."
He'd been a fight with his dad this morning, and that, paired with yet another day going by with you refusing to open up to him, had pushed him over the edge. The fight had been loud, ugly, and violent and had left his voice hoarse and his knuckles raw from punching drywall. He'd stormed out without a plan, just his keys in hand and the necklace in his pocket.
You're working in the stupid concessions stand again, your face a little sleep ridden, but so so cute. He stares at you like it hurts to look and hurts worse not to.
When you see him storm up to the front, you frown immediately "I told you to stop coming here," you murmur softly, stepping back just a little, but you don't yell or swear at him.
"I know, I know," he rushes out, his voice low and breathless. "But I-I need this. I'm going through some shit right now, alright? I'm not okay. I swear I'll leave right after, I just.. fuck, I just need to hold you right now. Please."
You blink, staring at him from behind the counter with furrowed brows and pursed like you're unsure. Your voice is soft. "Rafe…"
He talks over you before you can turn him away "I'm not trying to pull anything. I'm not here to freak you out. I…" He drags a hand through his hair, pacing outside the snack shack like he's going to have a meltdown. "Please. I really, really need this. God, I miss you and I don't even have you yet."
That makes you pause, your brain scrambling to process the sheer desperation in his words. Your face is warm for a reason you don't comprehend right now. Your eyes flick up to his, and you sigh. "Fine," you whisper, stepping aside to move to the side door and open it. "Just for a bit." He's inside before you finish the sentence.
He practically throws himself on you, arms around your waist, head buried in your neck as he exhales into your skin. You stumble a little because he's so big and heavy, but he wraps his arms around you tighter to keep you steady. Your hands go instinctively to his shoulders, and he relaxes, grounded against you the second he has you in his arms. You're so warm and soft and you smell sweet, causing his body to relax against yours. He can finally breathe.
You tentatively reach up to touch his hair gently, voice unsure. "Did… something happen?"
He just hums, not answering right away, eyes fluttering shut against your collarbone. "You feel so good," he mumbles. "Shit… I don't know what's wrong with me…"
You don't respond. You just let him hold you, fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, he actually feels calm. He doesn't even care that you're not kissing him or telling him you feel the same. This is enough for now.
He holds you for a long time. Too long, probably, but you don't push him off. Your fingers are still gently threading through his hair, and Rafe presses himself against you tighter like he can fuse the two of you together if he tries hard enough. Feels like he wants to be in your skin. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just soaks in the warmth of your body, the comfort of your scent, the softness of your voice when you ask, "Are you feeling any better?"
He is, really. Much, much better. So much better that he forgot all about Ward and all his other stupid problems, but he needs more. You've got him hooked. "Can I come hang out with you in the stand today?" he asks quietly, nuzzling into your throat. "I'll sit in the back, I swear I won't bother you, I swear."
You hesitate, and he feels it immediately in the way your fingers pause in his hair. You pull back slightly, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes, already expecting the no before you whisper it. "I can't, Rafe. I'll get in trouble. I can't have people hanging around,"
"But I'm not just people," he interrupts, frowning. "I'd be quiet. Just… just let me be near you, please. I can't go back there. Can't go home. Just wanna be with you."
"Rafe…"
"Okay," he says quickly, licking his lips and pulling his hand from his pocket. "Okay, fine. What about the necklace, then?" You blink as he holds out the box again, careful this time, not slamming it on a counter or shoving it in your hands. Just opening it slowly, almost reverently. "Will you wear it? Please?"
There's a pitiful look on his face that makes your resolve falter. His eyes are shiny, lips red and swollen from biting and licking, his face flushed. He's holding you tightly with his free hand. You sigh softly, giving in. "Fine. Just… just for today."
His whole face lights up. "Really? You will?" You nod, reaching for the box, but he stops you gently, one hand brushing yours. "C-can I put it on you?"
You hesitate again, and he's already behind you before you can think of a reason to say no. His fingers tremble a little as he pushes your hair aside, letting the soft strands fall through his hands like silk. You smell like something clean and dreamy, like vanilla and sunlight, and he swears it makes his head spin.
He hooks the necklace around your throat, clasping it carefully, and then just lets his hands rest on your shoulders for a second too long. You're wearing his necklace. Surely that means you're closer to becoming his, right? You're being so nice to him today, he thinks. "You look s'pretty, angel" he murmurs, eyes trained on your skin. "It looks perfect on you."
You turn to face him, not frowning so much anymore. "Thank you… but, seriously. You should go now, my boss does rounds in the morning, and-"
"I know, I know." He nods quickly, eyes dropping to your lips, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you... do you think I could kiss you? Just once?"
You pull back slightly, unsure. "I don't think that's a good idea…"
"Please," he breathes, his hands grabbing onto your arms to make sure you don't run from him. "I swear I won't ask again. Just once. I'm not okay, alright? I need to know what it feels like. Just one. I'm begging you."
You pause. He's looking at you like he's breaking and one kiss could fix something inside him. You furrow your brows, caught between your own better judgment and the way his voice sounds all wrecked and shaky when he speaks, and you know that he won't let this go, so yet again, you give in. "…Just a small one."
He doesn't wait, pressing his mouth to yours with such desperation it makes you reel back slightly. His hands come up to your face, thumbs grazing your cheeks like you're made of glass. He makes sure not to go too fast or try to shove his tongue in your mouth. He wants to savor every last bit of this before you pull away and go back to ignoring him. When his lips move against yours, it's reverent, and his lips seal around yours, making soft smacking sounds. He can't help the breathy groans that leave him. When you finally pull back, he's not all there.
You're flushed, wide-eyed, and still close enough that he can feel your breath fan against his lips. "Rafe…" you whisper, gently guiding him back by the shoulders. "You should go." He doesn't say anything, just nods, eyes still glassy and dazed, letting you push the door open and give him a soft little smile, biting your lip to hold it back, as he stumbles outside, like he's in a fog. The door shuts behind him.
He walks to his truck like he's drunk, heart pounding, lips tingling, mind still wrapped around the way your mouth felt on his. He's never felt this before. Not with anyone. He sits in his truck for a long time after that, tasting you on his lips and listening to his heart drum in his ears.
Rafe doesn't leave his room for hours after the kiss.
He's lying on his bed, shirt thrown onto the ground and breathing way too hard. The way your mouth felt on his feels like it's been carved into his brain. Burned into it, more like. He can't stop thinking about how it felt to hold you and press his lips to yours all desperate and sloppy no matter how many times he tries to get it together. He can still faintly taste your strawberry lip gloss on his mouth and hear the soft little moans you made when you kissed him back, even if they were quiet. Next time, he'll make you scream.
He turns over in his bed, running his fingers through his hair. He wonders if he's drowning. Nothing feels real right now. You kissed him. He didn't force himself on you or make you do anything you didn't want to. You gave yourself to him, and now he needs more, but you're so difficult. Sweet and soft but just out of reach like you like watching him go crazy.
He sits up too fast, legs bouncing with nervous energy as he grabs his phone and opens your social media so fast it feels like muscle memory. He scrolls through your posts until he finds one he's seen many times before. One where you're at a kegger with friends in a little crop top with shorts where he can see the bottom piece of your bikini underneath.
You look like his wet dreams come to life. He likes this picture because it looks like you were made for him. All sunkissed, wearing his favorite colors, smiling all cute and innocent, fuck…
He tosses his phone to the floor like it burns to hold it and closes his eyes until all he can see is your mouth parting against his, the way your lashes fluttered. The heat of your body under his hands, how easy it would've been to just keep going, to press you up against the wall and devour you like he wanted to. He can't breathe.
He's sliding his hand into his pants before he can think, not bothering to take off his shorts or boxers, just easing his cock out of their confines and groaning at its sensitivity, hunching forward and slowly beginning to pump his hand up and down. He thinks about you in his necklace, bending you over the counter of your dumb little snack store, kissing you again… God, he thinks you're it for him. You're all he wants..
He moans softly, quietly, the sound muffled into his pillow. His hips buck up into his fist, and it's not just lust driving him, it's panic. It feels like you crawled into his veins and rewired every cell of his body. "Shit… can't last…"
He fucks into his hand harder, chasing the feeling with a frustrated groan. It's not enough. It's not enough. He wants your voice in his ear, wants your thighs around his waist, wants your little breathy moans right against his mouth.
His hand moves faster, messier, thumb dragging over the tip just to feel the way his cock twitches, but it's not the same, not even close to how it felt when you touched him. He tightens his grip on his cock a little to try and imagine how it would feel being inside you for real. Wetter, he thinks, and he leans back to spit in his hand, then going back to milking his cock with his hand, forehead pressed into his pillow. His voice is quiet and wrecked, whispered little groans into the pillow as his hips twitch, fucking up into his fist like your pussy's the only thing that could calm him down. "Fuck... fuck... want you s'bad, angel, mngh"
His hand stutters, hips jerking, and he cums with a low, guttural groan that's more desperate than anything, thick, creamy spurts coating his fingers, his chest, his boxers, but the second it's over, the second he catches his breath, the ache only sharpens.
When he checks up on you the next morning like a routine at your place of work, he swears he's gonna puke when he pulls up to the country club and you're not there.
At first, he tells himself maybe you're just late. Maybe you overslept or your car broke down or you're inside and he didn't see you. But after he walks in and asks your manager, only to be told with a shrug that "she's taking a chill day," it's like the floor falls out from under him.
Why didn't you tell him? You gave him no explanation, no warning, no clue about what you're doing or or where you are or who you're with and his brain is going fucking crazy. He drives around for thirty minutes, chewing his nail and shaking his leg and refreshing your socials like a psycho, until finally he pulls up outside your house, parks crooked, throws it in park, and marches up the steps like a man possessed.
He knocks once. Then again, and quickly, he's pounding on the door, then with both fists. His heart is racing. His hands are sweating. And then you open the door and he just sags, a shaky breath leaving his chest. You're in a giant t-shirt with and little shorts, holding a spatula in one hand and blinking up at him like you just woke up. "Rafe?"
He's already crowding the door, peeking behind you like he's trying to find a way to barge in. "Why weren't you at work?" You frown up at him, still surprised at the sheer unexpectedness of his arrival. Why is it that he shows up wherever you go? "I... I just took the day off."
"Took the day off?" he echoes like you just told him you're moving to another continent. "Why?" You blink, stepping back a little because of how close he is. "Just wanted a day to myself. I'm going to a bonfire later and didn't wanna be tired."
"A bonfire," he repeats, stepping over the threshold without waiting for an invite. "With who?" His gaze flicks over to your exposed legs, then your thighs and your lips, plush and a little swollen. "You never take days off. Since when do you go to bonfires?"
You furrow your brows, confused and still kind of sleepy. "Rafe, what's going on? Are you okay?"
"No," he says immediately, eyes flitting over your face, down your neck, lingering on the dip of your collarbone, where the charm of the necklace he bought you is still resting. "No, I'm not. You weren't there. I-I didn't know where you were, cause you never told me."
Your expression softens as you see that he's not doing so good right now. Feels like he needs you. "I'm fine. I was just making pancakes."
"Who else is going?" he asks, voice hard and words coming out fast. "To the bonfire."
You pause. "I dunno. A few people."
"Guys?"
You blink. "Probably?"
His jaw clenches. "What are you wearing?"
You splutter again, this time caught off guard. "To the bonfire?"
"Yeah."
"Ah... not sure yet, I guess"
He stares at you like he doesn't believe you. Like you're lying just to mess with him. "Are you gonna drink?"
You finally realize the absurdity of his comments and scoff lightly. "Why are you acting like my boyfriend?"
Rafe takes a step closer to you, his breath coming out shaky, his jaw tight. His eyes are dark, gaze heavy with something you can't quite place. "Because I will be," he says, low and determined, like it's a promise. You're caught off guard, but you don't let him see that. You cross your arms over your chest, clearly trying to hold on to your composure. "What?"
His eyes never leave you. He looks dead serious; there's not a single flicker of hesitation in his voice. "I'm gonna be your boyfriend," he repeats, firm this time, almost like he's daring you to contradict him.
You stare at him, the weight of it settling over the room like a thick fog, and Rafe takes a step closer, like he's trying to prove something just by you letting him be so close to you.
"You can't just disappear like that, okay?" he says, sounding bossy. "I thought you were gone. Like...gone gone. I had to talk to your boss, cause I don't like when I don't know where you are," he rambles, eyes locked on yours. "I don't like not knowing who you're with, or what you're wearing, or if someone's getting you drunk and trying to take you home."
Alarmed by how he's starting to sound frantic, you think this would be a good time to give him some space and angle the door just enough that he can't get past it. "Rafe, go home." you say quietly, not looking him in the eye as you tuck the spatula behind you and lean into the door like a warning. "You're freaking me out."
Rafe's face twists, first in confusion, like he's still catching up to what you just said, and then in disbelief, then anger.
"How am I freaking you out, huh? You're just overreacting, like always. Trying to treat me like I'm a goddamn basket case."
"I don't like this," you continue, more firmly now, your pulse speeding up. "You show up at my house and start asking all these questions like you own me or something,"
"It's cause I care about you," he snaps, voice rising a little as his eyes burn into yours, his chest lifting with every breath. "You don't get it, do you? You think it's nothing, but it's not. You disappear, you don't text, and now you're telling me you're going out to get wasted with God knows who." His hands are clenching and unclenching rapidly and he keeps raking his hands incessantly through his hair.
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"Yes, you fucking do!"
You flinch, just slightly, and he sees how your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the door, and it makes him panic. He steps forward like he's going to force his way in and you push the door tighter with a hard look, shaking your head.
"I'm not doing this," you say, voice cold now, your tone clipped and unfamiliar. "I'm not gonna let you guilt trip me just because I wanted one night to myself."
"You're not just trying to have a night to yourself," he says bitterly, jaw tight as he takes a shaky breath, eyes wide and manic-like, as though he's about to unravel right in front of you. "You're going out so you can slut yourself out, right? So you can get drunk and let some random guy put his hands all over you, and then you're gonna let him fuck you."
"Excuse me?" you hiss, eyes wide as your entire body goes still.
"You think I don't know?" Rafe seethes, running a hand through his hair, pacing back like he's physically trying to keep from grabbing you. "You think I haven't seen the way you look when you're flirting? You get that sexy little look in your eyes like you're begging to be bent over. Like you want guys' attention. A-and you post shit, you wear tiny hooker shorts and laugh at every guy that breathes near you and then act like I'm the one who's crazy when I don't want to fucking lose you!"
"You are crazy," you snap, voice rising for the first time. "You're out of your fucking mind. You don't get to walk into my house and tell me what I can wear or who I can be around just because we kissed."
"IT WASN'T JUST A KISS!" he roars. "DON'T YOU FUCKING GET IT? YOU'RE EVERYTHING TO ME!"
You flinch back when he screams at you, and your breathing goes shallow, lips parting like you want to say something else, but nothing comes out. "Rafe," you say instead, voice low, scared. "P-please, you need to go."
"No," he whispers immediately, shaking his head like a child. "No, don't shut me out. Don't do this. You don't mean that-"
"Go away, Rafe!" you cry out, and slam the door in his face before you can change your mind. The sound echoes through your house, bouncing off the walls and rattling your chest. You lock it.
On the other side, you hear nothing for a long moment. And then the soft thud of his fist hitting the door once, twice. Not to knock, just because he doesn't know what else to do. Then footsteps. Then silence.
You slide to the floor and stare at the spatula still clutched in your hand, heart thudding against your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out, meanwhile he storms away to his truck, immediately driving at an obscene speed. He cruises down the road with one hand gripping the wheel and the other twitching restlessly on his thigh, his head pounding. The sun's going down and the sky is darkening, and all he can think about is you in some tiny little outfit, smiling at some guy who doesn’t fucking deserve it.
He goes home to pass the time with whatever helps take his mind off you. Lifting weights, doing jobs for his dad, golfing...
By nightfall he's buzzing and out on the road, headed to your stupid bonfire.
He hits the brakes too hard pulling into the dirt road leading to the beach. Gravel kicks up under the tires and his pulse doesn’t slow. He leans back in his seat for a second, staring out at the distant flames and silhouettes gathering around them, and he mutters under his breath.
He's met up with some friends, his pupils are blown wide and there’s a girl clinging to his arm, some mutual friend who laughs too loud at everything he says and keeps taking hits to impress him. He doesn’t even remember her name.
He’s already smoked, he did a line back at the house, and now everything feels loose and hazy except the fire and the blurry shape of you. He spots you instantly. You’re standing near the fire, laughing with someone he doesn’t recognize, hair tucked behind your ear, drink in your hand, face lit up by the flames.
He drops his arm from the girl like she’s heavy and annoying, snatches the joint from someone's hand without acting, and leans back into the circle of guys while his eyes never leave you.
Every time you smile, or tilt your head to listen to someone who isn’t him, it feels like his skin is burning. He’s bouncing his leg. Grinding his teeth. His fingertips twitch like he’s about to do something reckless, like walking up to you and grabbing your wrist and dragging you off to somewhere private.
The heat of his stare pricks at the back of your neck, even as you try to ignore it and keep sipping your drink, laughing with your friend and pretending you don’t feel your skin flush for no reason at all. But it gets worse with every passing minute. Every little sound around you starts to blur and all you can feel is him staring.
When you finally turn your head, you find him sitting with a group of guys by the fire, his legs bouncing.
You tear your gaze away and pretend you didn’t see, but it only takes a little while before you go off to talk to your friend and there's a warm, huge body pressing against your back, hands snaking around your waist. Music thrums in your ears, and you feel him nudging his hips against your ass as the scent of weed and expensive cologne fills your nose.
Rafe's voice comes out as a quiet slur against your ear. "M'sorry, angel" he mumbles, pressing his face into your hair. "Don't... d-don't want you mad at me. Couldn't stay home. You're not a slut, I didn't mean that...I swear I didn’t mean it."
You push his arm off, stepping away and whirling around to face him. "Rafe! Are you serious right now? You show up here with some girl all over you and now you’re grinding on me like nothing happened?"
His face twists up in shock or hurt. You can't tell. "No...no, what? No!" he says, voice cracking. "I'm not playing you, why the fuck would I be? I did not do anything with her, I just...fuck, I needed to see you. You slammed the door in my face and I thought-"
"Thought what?" you snap. "That you could get a rise out of me and show me how replaceable I am?" Your words make his eyes go all glassy, just for a second, then they darken. He looks feral. He's tired of you and your inability to understand him or his feelings. His jaw tightens and his breathing spikes, and all of a sudden, he snatches your wrist.
"Come here."
"Rafe, let go of me!"
He doesn’t listen. He’s pulling you off the beach, down the sand while ignoring your scattered protests, all the way until you’re stumbling up the wooden steps of a closed lifeguard shack just off the edge of the bonfire. You yank at his grip but he’s too strong, too frantic, like if he lets go, you’ll disappear entirely.
He opens the door and drags you inside, then slams it shut and locks it behind him. The noise of the party dulls outside. Inside, it’s just heavy silence and the sound of both your uneven breaths. You shove at his chest, not a fan of being in such an enclosed space with him. "You're being just as insane as you were at my house, Rafe. You're not even sober right now, are you?"
He stares at you like you just stabbed him. "You don’t get it," he mutters, almost to himself. "You don’t fucking get it."
"I do get it!" you bite back. "I get that you're a manipulative and controlling bast-" That’s when he loses it.
"You think I'm playing games with you?" He screams, grabbing you and shoving you up against the back wall. Your body slams back against the solid surface, and he gets up in your face, nose pressed into yours. "You think I'm playing games? You think this is some fucking joke to me? You have no idea what I feel when I look at you. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can’t fucking think without you taking over every single last FUCKING one of my thoughts. I've never..!” His voice catches, and his breathing picks up so much that he sounds like he's hyperventilating. "I've never needed someone like this."
You gasp out loud, heart doing a little jump at his words. You dont know if you're confused or nervous or flustered, but he's starting to panic all over again, like he didn't mean to say that. Not in the way he did, at least.
Rafe stares at you like he’s just realized what he said. Like the words ripped out of him before he could pull them back. His eyes are huge, chest rising and falling fast.
“You need me?” you say, and your voice comes out soft. Disbelieving.
His lips part, and he nods, just once. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I need you so fucking much I think it's killing me. And I know I act like an asshole, I know I say shit I don't mean, but when you slammed that door in my face I thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind." His voice breaks at the edges again, cracking away. "And then I saw you laughing with someone else and I wanted to kill him. I couldn't take it. You're supposed to smile at me. Only me."
You're quiet for a beat, not knowing what to say. You know you should be more angry and hold your ground, but he's looking at you so desperately. Like always. He squeezes your shoulders and looks intently into your eyes. "I didn’t touch her," he says again, voice barely above a whisper. "I...I-I didn't kiss her, didn't want her. She was just...there. I didn't even look at her. I was looking for you."
Your heart pounds and he comes closer to you, needing a response. Your reaction is difficult to read for him, filling him with uncertainty. He knows you probably don't feel the same towards him, and it crushes him. The silence between you stretches long enough to make him nauseous. But then you ask, in a quiet little voice, "Tell me again."
His brows furrow. "What?"
"That you need me."
He steps in again, and this time his hand comes up, shaking slightly, to brush your cheek. "I need you," he says, firmer now. "I w-want and need you so bad it makes me do stupid shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry baby, I just... fuck-" He trails off by attaching his lips onto yours to show you how bad he needs you, lips slotting over yours as he moans at your taste. His hands slide up under your shirt like he has to feel your skin, making their way to your bra, which he lifts up over your breasts to squeeze the soft mounds under your shirt.
You whimper softly against his mouth at the suddenness of it, the heat of his palms rough and eager as they mold over you, and that sound makes Rafe groan from somewhere deep in his chest, kissing you harder and messier. He tastes faintly of mint.
"Missed you," he slurs into your mouth, thumbing over your nipples with clumsy desperation, like he's trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. His forehead knocks against yours as he breathes you in, the two of you barely able to catch a breath between kisses.
You jolt, moaning and halfheartedly pushing at his chest, but he pinches your nipple as a punishment, needing you against him. "Mnh! Rafe, we shouldn't," you gasp when his mouth moves to your neck, trailing open mouthed kisses over your pulse, and you feel him nodding against you like he agrees, even though he's still doing it.
He kisses a path down your throat, dragging his nose along your skin. His hands stay under your shirt, squeezing and cupping your breasts. You feel him shudder when you don't push him away again, when instead you tilt your head to the side, granting him more access to your neck. He groans low and desperate, hands smoothing down your waist to your hips, pulling you closer until there's not a sliver of space between your bodies.
You feel how hard he is, grinding against you with slow, needy rolls of his hips. His cock strains against his pants, pressing hotly against you through your clothes, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat.
"Fuck," Rafe hisses into your skin, voice wrecked. "Fuck, baby, please..." He presses his forehead against your shoulder, panting, grinding his hips against yours again like he physically can't help himself. "Want you so bad. Been losin' my mind thinking about you, can't stop." His hands grab at your hips, your ass, trying to feel everything he can at once, desperate and frantic.
He pulls back enough to catch your face in both hands, making you look him in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess, chest heaving. "Tell me you want it," he says, low and rough. "Tell me you want me, angel. Please." His thumbs stroke your jaw.
You blink up at him, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. You don't say anything at first, and that moment of silence just makes him even crazier, and he lets out a broken noise, grinding against you harder, hips stuttering like he's about to lose it just from this.
"Say it," he begs again, voice breaking. "Say you want me."
You finally oblige with a little nod, head spinning. "I-I want you, Rafe. I want it..."
The second the words leave your lips, it's like something inside him snaps. "Fuck," Rafe groans, diving back in to kiss you feverishly, his hands already fumbling at the hem of your shirt, yanking it up over your head. He's frantic, crazed, muttering under his breath: "so pretty, so fucking pretty", as he tosses your shirt somewhere behind him. His hands are everywhere, roaming your skin like he's starving, like he’s trying to devour every inch of you.
He makes quick work of your bra, practically ripping it off and letting it fall to the floor. His mouth drops open when he gets a look at you and he immediately ducks his head, mouthing hotly at the tops of your breasts, whining against your plush tits, moaning at the taste.
His hands can't decide where to stay, cupping your breasts, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, your ass, he's frantic like he's scared you'll disappear if he lets go even for a second. His mouth trails desperate, sloppy kisses down your chest, tongue flicking out to circle one nipple before sucking it into his mouth with a greedy groan, like he needs it to breathe.
Your fingers find his hair without thinking, threading through the soft strands, and he moans into your skin at the contact, bucking his hips into you harder, unable to stop himself.
He ruts against you like he's in heat, hips grinding up into yours in slow, messy rolls as his cock strains painfully against the fabric of his shorts. Every desperate push of his hips presses his hard length right up against your core, and you feel the heat of him even through all the layers between you.
"Fuck," Rafe gasps, drooling on your tits. His hips jerk forward harder, and the friction makes you both groan. He drags his mouth up your chest, laving his tongue over your breasts and sucking hickeys onto your cleavage, all while rutting against you like he's trying to get off just from the contact.
You feel him shudder, breath hot and shaky against your throat, and his hands fumble clumsily at the waistband of your shorts. "Need you," he mumbles. "Need you now."
He doesn't even try to be smooth, just yanks your shorts down your hips in a couple frantic tugs, letting them fall around your ankles, tugging your panties next. You're helping him too, panting and moaning against his face as you tug down his pants and his boxers, freeing his fat, leaking cock, flushed an angry red from built up arousal. You give pause at the sheer size of his cock, resting heavily against his tummy, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. "I-it's big, Rafe... " You trail off, nervous.
He shakes his head and pushes you back onto the wall and hovers over you. "It's okay, it's okay... I'll make it fit. Won't hurt my angel." He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it so you have no choice but to let him grind against your bare pussy, the length of him dragging right along your slick folds.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groans, rutting against you slow and messy. He's trying to savor you but can't stop how badly he wants you, and so his cock ends up slipping and sliding against you, catching between your wet, flowery folds with every other thrust. "Rafe" Your eyes flutter as you call out his name, clinging onto him. It feels so good that you're starting to leak wetness down your thighs. "You feel that?" Rafe pants, forehead pressed to yours, eyes fluttering closed as he rocks against you harder. "Feel how bad I want you? How fucking crazy you make me?"
You nod, breathless, overwhelmed, and Rafe lets out a wrecked little moan, rubbing his cock along your soaked slit again and again, like he's trying to carve the feeling into his memory forever. "Angel..." he moans out, voice loud and unrestrained. You wonder if people can hear you two inside the shack.
He continues holding onto your thigh with one hand and his cock with the other, sliding back and forth against your sopping little pussy. "I'm gonna put it inside you, okay?" He whispers, making direct eye contact with you. "Won't hurt you," he restates, voice low and sincere. You don't see how excited he is deep down to finally have you to himself. He's going to finally fuck you. Then, he's going to make you his girlfriend and never let you out of his sight again. You nod, whining softly and angling your body so he's lined up completely with your pretty pussy.
When the tip notches in your tight hole, you cry out at the intrusion, tears sparking in your wide eyes with the discomfort of having something so big beginning to fill you, so he presses his forehead against yours and coos softly, stroking your hair. "I got you, I got you. Shh... almost halfway," he uses the phrase to coax you, even though he's only got his bulbous head and an inch of his length in you. By the time it's really halfway, you can't take anymore and push on his shoulders. "Rafe! 'm too full, I can't..."
"You can, see? Look at me, look." He cups your cheek, nodding to you and slowly thrusting in and out to get you accommodated, nearly bottoming out entirely. Then, he shoves and stretches you out inch by inch, kissing you deeply to keep you distracted, and he feels you squirming and whining loudly as he gets deeper and deeper, and then he feels the wet squelch of his pelvis against your pussy, and he knows he's filled you up all the way.
You're so goddamn tight, and he lets out a low, drawn out moan. He looks down at where his cock disappears into your stretched out, dripping cunt. He can't believe he actually managed to fit the whole fucking thing inside you. Your little pussy is so goddamn tight, gripping him like a vice now that he's buried to the hilt inside you. Your thighs are trembling, and your back's arched off the wall because of the fullness of him inside you.
Rafe grunts as he slowly starts to thrust, his hips jerking forward to spear his rigid length deeper into your pliant body. Your slick walls flutter around him, trying desperately to accommodate the thick girth stretching you out. The way you feel is incredible, your pussy gripping him like you never want to let him go.
"That's it," he grunts, his voice rough and gravelly with arousal. "Angel, shit... your pussy was made for my cock." He starts thrusting faster, driving into you with more force as he enjoys the way your tits bounce with each snap of his hips. You're barely holding yourself up, legs quivering as he spears into you and angles you so he can hit every sweet spot in your warm, gummy pussy.
The thick length of his cock, pulsing and throbbing, spears into your soaked, gripping walls over and over again. He slams into you and grinds his pelvis against yours, his heavy cock burying to the hilt with each thrust inside your flutter walls. "Feels so good, Rafe," You whines softly, panting into his ear. Your praise fuels him and encourages him to fuck you harder, better. He rolls his hips against yours, stirring his huge length around in your stuffed hole.
Rafe fucks into you deep and you can feel him in your stomach, stretching you out, claiming every inch of your body. He's fucking you like he wants to fucking destroy your pussy and rebuild it to be a perfect mold of his cock. "Mhm? Feels good?" He pants, fucking into your cunt and grabbing your jaw with his free hand so he can see your cute, fucked out expression.
"You feel so good. So fucking good...only for me, right?" He demands, wanting your reassurance, and you nod, throwing your head back and moaning when he bumps against a really sensitive spot way too deep inside you.
He grits his teeth, sweat dripping from his forehead, his whole body working just to keep himself from cumming too fast because you're squeezing the life out of him. "You're fuckin' mine," he rasps against your cheek, thrusts getting sharper, rougher, more desperate.
His cock drives deep, grinding right against that sensitive spot again and again until you’re crying out for him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Say it," he breathes, grinding his hips up into you so deep you swear you can feel him in your ribs. "Tell me you're mine, angel."
"M'yours," you mewl helplessly, clinging onto him, and Rafe groans louder. He keeps pounding into you with a rough, messy pace, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. Your pussy clamps down harder around him, spasming, and Rafe lets out a wrecked moan, feeling you start to fall apart around him.
"Shit, gonna cum, angel. Gonna cum inside you so everyone knows who you belong to," he says, thrusts getting sloppier as his balls hit your ass slow and lazy, and he moans, eyes fluttering shut as he spills inside you, heavy, thick cream filling you completely. He doesn't stop until every last drop is buried inside you, and even then, he's still thrusting all rough all slow so you feel every ridge and vein on his heavy cock as he pumps you full. He won't stop till you cum too, and he rolls two fingers over your hardened clit, licking up your throat until he gets to your lips, and slides his tongue over yours.
One last bump of his fat cockhead on your womb has the coil in your tummy snapping, and with a loud moan, you cum all over his cock, splurting pearlescent juices on his cum covered cock. He groans, feeling his cock twitch inside you as you squeeze him impossibly tighter while you cum.
His eyes are glassy as he looks at you, lips parted, and he's still buried deep inside your pussy and holding your jaw, but his voice is gone. During the silence, you notice a flicker in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate as his eyes bore into yours. His mouth keeps opening and closing, making it clear he wants to tell you something.
He wants to say he loves you.
But he doesn't.
He pulls out, making sure your panties and shorts are on as he pulls out, letting his cum slip out of your pussy and rest in your clothes. He grins at the mess between your thighs, wiping off any residue to ensure that it isn't too obvious that you've got his load in you. He kisses your forehead and grins through low eyes, nuzzling your forehead. "Keep it in so you've got a part of me in you all through the rest of this fucking party."
★ having suuuper primal and sweaty sex with stepbro!rafe on a big, leather couch
warning: lotssss of licking everywhere 🫣
your cries echoed around the empty house as you and rafe spent the night home alone.
you were completely fucked out, body perspiring and slipping trying to crawl away from his rough touch, only for him to pull you back by your ankles. sweat and precum glistened the living room couch from rafe's constant abuse towards your cunt. he came home in another one of his moods, and wasn't satisfied until you were squirting all over him, whether it was his fingers, mouth, or cock. sick of your writhing, he angrily moved his wet bangs out of his face, mouth huffing in frustration.
“oh stop being such a fucking crybaby-” he’d spit, perking your ass back up against his groin and thrusting back into your ribbed, tight walls.
a shriek teared through your sore throat, letting out a cry of defeat as rafe used you like he wanted. his fingers would be desperately trying to keep its grip on the sweaty flesh of your waist, pulling you back onto his thick cock messily like a ragdoll.
rafe took in the sight of your glazed, naked backside, licking his lips. you were almost too good to be true. instinctively, he leaned down, letting his tongue lick a stripe from your lower back to your neck. you squirmed at the foreign sensation, mixed with disgust and arousal.
“ngnhh, I dont- like that…” you twitched, getting overstimulated from his wet muscle now trailing your salty flesh all over. he ignored your comment as he licked and sucked your neck and shoulders, drunk off your sweaty taste. you cried in protest at the sensation as rafe showed no sign of stopping, holding you down by your wrists and thrusting deep to keep you in place.
“what did I say about being a fucking crybaby, huh? just stay still” he leaned over, sweaty chest against your back as he grunted in your ear. you pouted, sweat droplets from your bodies dripping onto the espresso colored leather. he bit his lip at the delicious feeling of your fat ass smacking against him, looking down at you hungrily. you nodded softly at his words, obeying as you stared back into his dark eyes. he panted as he grabbed your chin with his sweaty fingers, letting his tongue glide slowly over your sweaty face.
“mhmm…” you couldn’t hide your arousal, eyes rolling back as his tip hitting your spot deep within you at the same time he sucked on your cheeks. the couch scraped messily against the tile as you began pushing back into his thrusts, hungrily chasing after the sweet sensations he was giving you.
“you like that? you like my tongue all over as I fuck into you?” he chuckled, grabbing the back of the couch to give himself leverage as he went harder. he grabbed your hair, making you looked up at him. your doe eyes glistened as you finally gave in, nodding with hunger.
at your reaction, suddenly, rafe stopped his thrusts, flipping you over on your back side.
“rafe?…” you gasped before he slid back into you, wedging himself over and over between your open legs.
your head hit the back of the couch when he brought your leg up, kissing up your calf. you saw stars when his tongue slowly glided up the sole of your foot, holding it in place as the wet muscle tickled your skin. you squirmed at the feeling, slipping and trying to get away from him.
"fuck- fuck!" you whimpered, hands trying to push him away.
his eyes were set on you, face like stone in concentration as he held you tighter. the harder you writhed, the harder he licked and the deeper he fucked your cunt.
“take it….thats it, take it just like that” he murmured into your flesh, his brain sickly liking the way he made you react.
his touch was too firm and his position was too dominant, you were trapped taking in the insanely erotic sensations he was giving. your body finally gave up on you after his tip gave multiple blows to your gspot, squirting all over him. you were a incoherent mess, convulsing and whimpering across the moist leather.
rafe let your leg down roughly before pushing him palms down on your chest, his pressure holding you down as he rammed into you harder than ever before. his movements were wild and intense as he chased his high; spitting, grunting, and messily pawing at your limp body.
you had no choice but to let him take over, milking him dry. you shivered at the feeling of his warm, thick cum oozing into you as he pinned you down. gasps and whines filled the dense room as he rutted into your shaking body, your hands traveling up and down his back as he kissed you sloppily.
“Picked Up & Pounded: Standing Creampie Leaves Her Legs Shaking”
(in which your boyfriend, Rafe, switches things up a bit in bed😛)
The bedroom is dark except for the faint silver glow from the moon coming through the half-open blinds, and the only sound is your breathing; quick and shallow, and his, low and ragged. And the wet slap of skin on skin as he fucks you from behind on the edge of the mattress.
You’re on your knees, ass up, face pressed to the sheets, back arched so perfectly he can see every ridge of your spine, every tremble that runs through you when he hits deep. His hands are locked around your hips, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough to leave marks you’ll feel tomorrow, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust so he buries himself to the hilt, balls slapping wetly against your clit. You’re dripping. Coating him, running down your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath your knees, and every time he pulls out almost all the way you whimper like he’s taking something vital away, then moan broken and high when he slams back in, stretching you open again.
“Fuck- Rafe- deeper-”
He gives it to you.
He always gives it to you.
He’s been fucking you for over an hour now-started slow on the couch downstairs when you climbed into his lap after dinner and ground against him until he was hard enough to hurt, then carried you up here and bent you over the dresser, then the bed, then flipped you onto your back so he could watch your face while he railed you until you came so hard you cried. You’ve come four times already. Once on his tongue, twice on his cock, once on his fingers while he kissed you slow and deep, and you’re still begging for more, still pushing back to meet every thrust like you can’t get enough of him inside you.
He loves it.
He loves how you take every inch like you were made for it.
He loves how you look when you’re falling apart-eyes glassy, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, tears clinging to your lashes while you sob his name and beg him not to stop.
He loves how you feel- tight, wet, hot, fluttering around him like you’re trying to pull him in deeper, keep him there forever
He slows his thrusts, grinds deep instead of slamming, rolls his hips so the head of his cock drags against that spot inside you that makes your whole body shake.
You moan- long, low, trembling- push back harder.
“Rafe- please- don’t stop-“
He leans over you, chest to your back, his mouth at your ear.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he rasps. “So wet. So perfect. This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”
“Yes- fuck- yes!”
He slides one hand around-finds your clit-rubs slow circles while he keeps grinding deep.
You sob, hips jerking, already close again.
“Come for me,” he growls. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Let me feel you squeeze me, baby.”
You shatter, crying his name, walls clamping down so hard he has to grit his teeth to keep from coming right then.
He doesn’t stop.
He fucks you through it. Slow, deep, until your tremors ease, until you’re whimpering from overstimulation but still pushing back for more.
Then he pulls out, slow and watches the way your cunt gapes for a second, still fluttering, still dripping with your release and his from earlier.
You whine, soft, needy and reach back, eager to get him back inside.
He grabs your hips, flips you onto your back then spreads your thighs wide.
You look completely wrecked. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy and dark with want, body trembling from how hard he fucked you.
He leans down, kisses you slow, deep, tongue sliding against yours while he lines himself up again.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pull him closer, moan into his mouth when he slides back in.
He fucks you slow, deep, watching your face the whole time.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “So perfect. And you’re all mine.”
You nod- tears spilling- hips rocking up desperately to meet him.
“Yours! Only yours, Rafe, please- fuck me.”
He picks up speed-harder, faster-until you’re shaking again, clenching, close.
Then he stops.
Pulls out completely.
You whine, desperate, reaching for him.
He grabs your wrists, wraps your arms around his neck.
“Hold tight, baby.” he smirks.
You blink-confused-but obey.
Then he stands, pulls you with him, lifts you like you weigh nothing.
You gasp at the sudden change of position, feeling yourself get wetter already at the sight of your boyfriend ready to fuck you while he’s literally standing, every muscle in his body flexing and shining with sweat that makes your mouth water for a taste.
Your legs tighten around his waist immediately-arms around his neck, mouth finding his in a hungry, desperate kiss.
He holds you there, standing in the middle of the bedroom, cock pressed to your entrance.
“Please- Rafe. Need it. Need your big cock inside me.” you whimper, hips rocking, trying to impale yourself on him.
He doesn’t let you.
Not yet.
He kisses your neck, bites down, sucks hard enough to leave a bruise.
You moan, loud, broken, head falling back.
“Rafe- please-“
With a groan, he shifts, lines up, and thrusts up hard.
You scream- sharp, sweet-nails digging into his shoulders as he buries himself to the hilt.
He holds you there, standing, feet planted wide and thrusting up into you while he holds your weight like it’s nothing, his fingers gripping the fat of your ass roughly and spreading you wide.
You’re shaking- legs trembling around his waist- moaning his name over and over.
“Fuck- Rafe, you’re so strong- fuck-”
He growls, low, feral, then thrusts harder, deeper- each stroke lifting you up then slamming you back down onto his cock.
“You like that?” he rasps against your throat. “Like how strong I am? Like how I can hold you up and fuck you like this? Like I can carry you and rail this tight little cunt at the same time?”
“Yes- God- yes-”
He fucks you harder- faster- until you’re bouncing in his arms, tits pressed to his chest, nipples scraping his skin with every thrust.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Taking me so deep, shaking- moaning like a little slut. My perfect fucking girl.”
You sob- high, broken- nails raking down his back.
“Rafe! Gonna come- gonna come so hard-“
“Fuck yeah baby, come on, cream on this cock- let me feel it- show me how much you love it.”
You shatter, crying his name, cunt clamping down so hard he almost blacks out.
Your whole body convulses- hips jerking, thighs trembling, wetness gushing around him, dripping down his balls.
He doesn’t stop.
He keeps thrusting- hard, deep- holding you up while you shake and sob and come apart in his arms.
“Fuck- baby.”
He comes hard -burying deep- spilling inside you with a groan, hips jerking, filling you until it’s leaking out around his cock.
You whimper, soft, overstimulated, walls still fluttering around him.
He holds you there, standing, breathing hard while kissing you slow, deep, gentle.
You cling to him. Arms around his neck, legs still wrapped tight, face buried in his shoulder.
“I love you,” you whisper, voice trembling, body limp in his arms.
He kisses your temple, soft, reverent.
“I love you too.”
Then he carries you back to the bed, lays you down gently, stays inside you while he settles on top.
You don’t move.
Just breathe.
Just hold each other.
And you know you’re gonna ask for this position again real soon.
