you finally pluck up the courage to knock on rafe’s bedroom door, he mutters a quick ‘come in’ and you push the door open.
he smiles softly when he sees you, patting the bed next to you to him so you walk over and climb onto his bed.
his eyes don’t leave your form as he waits for you to speak, noticing the nervous look on your face.
“i need your help- im going on a date and… ive never kissed anyone before…” you ramble, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip when you finish and realise how embarrassing that sounded.
“you’ve never kissed anyone before?” he chuckles, resting his hand on your thigh. you shake your head and he smiles, dipping his head down and latching his lips onto yours.
you don’t have a chance to think, pressing your lips back against his. his hands find your waits and pulls you closer, his chest against yours.
his tongue slips into your mouth, intertwining with yours. your hand finds his cheek and you keep his mouth on yours, continuing doing what feels natural.
rafe abruptly pulls back, tilting his head with raised eyebrows and a smug expression.
“wasn’t so hard, huh?” he chuckles, wiping the wetness off of your lip with his thumb. you shake your head, still caught off guard by the kiss.
“i think you should skip the date…” he suggests with a soft tone, “spend the night with me, netflix and chill…”
you smile and nod, letting him pull you into his lap and pull a blanket over you guys.
this was definitely better than going on a stupid date with some random.
Summary: the kids are gone, the house is quiet, and catherine’s just trying to make cookies for the school fundraiser in her pink bikini. but rafe has zero interest in red velvet or pta politics—only in what’s under that bikini and how fast he can get her on the counter.
Warnings: NSFW (smut), kitchen sex, creampie, breeding, light spanking, oral (f receiving), manhandling/ lifting, overstimulation, squirting, general unholy use of the kitchen
MASTERLIST
Catherine had just slid the first batch of chocolate chip cookies into the oven, the heat curling up around her bare thighs as she shut the door with her foot. The kitchen smelled like vanilla extract and brown sugar. Her skin was still warm from the sun, tan lines sharp where her baby-pink bikini sat high on her hips. She was barefoot, legs glowing with coconut oil, her hair a little messy from where Rafe had been playing with it outside.
She was licking cookie dough off her thumb when she heard the sliding glass door open.
Rafe walked in, wet from the pool, low-slung navy swim trunks riding dangerously on his hips. Water clung to his abs. He had that slow, lazy post-swim swagger. Like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed and had every intention of crawling back in.
His eyes immediately dropped to her ass as she leaned over the counter, reaching for the second mixing bowl. He didn’t even pretend to be subtle.
“Why are you in the kitchen?” he asked, walking straight to her like she was gravity, “You should be taking advantage of the empty house with me.”
His hands slid onto her waist, warm and possessive. He squeezed her hips, pulling her against him, hard enough to make her gasp softly.
Catherine looked up at him over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “Because the boys need cookies for the fundraiser,” she said. “In fact, Mason specifically asked for chocolate chip and red velvet. I’m not about to be the mom who shows up with store-bought.”
Rafe groaned, head falling to her shoulder, lips brushing her skin. “Baby. They’re not even gonna know.”
She reached for the vanilla, but he tugged her back gently until her back was flush to his chest, arms around her waist. His cock was already hard, pressing into the curve of her ass.
“We’re alone,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “No screaming kids. No ballet rehearsals. No homework. And you’re in this fucking bikini like you want me to lose it.”
She laughed softly. “So many excuses.”
He growled at that, one hand sliding down the front of her bikini bottoms without warning. She gasped, gripping the counter, cookie dough forgotten.
“Rafe— the oven—”
“It’s on a timer,” he muttered, already teasing her folds with two fingers, slow and filthy. “Let it bake.”
Her knees buckled a little. He caught her with one hand, the other pushing aside the thin pink fabric and slipping two fingers inside her, knuckles-deep. She was already wet.
“Fuck. You’ve been like this since the pool, haven’t you?”
She nodded, breathless, head tipped back onto his shoulder. “You were staring at me like you were gonna drag me inside by my hair.”
“I was.”
He pulled his fingers out and brought them to her lips. She opened obediently, sucking them clean.
“Bend over.”
She did, bikini bottom sliding down to her knees. He didn’t even bother pulling his swim trunks off—just shoved them down enough to free himself and slid into her in one smooth thrust.
“Fuck,” he hissed, gripping her hips hard. “Tight little housewife— aren’t you, baby?”
Catherine moaned, bracing her arms on the counter, the granite cool under her palms. The sound of skin slapping filled the kitchen, obscene and rhythmic, mixing with her soft whimpers and the faint ticking of the oven.
“You’re gonna make me burn the cookies,” she gasped.
He spanked her ass once—light, more of a warning than anything—and then dragged her back onto him even harder.
“You can make another batch,” he grunted. “Shit—maybe you can give me another fucking baby if you keep squeezing me like this.”
“Rafe—”
“Say it.”
She whimpered. “Give me another one. Fuck—fill me up.”
That was it.
He shoved in deep and stayed there, grinding his hips against her until he groaned into her shoulder and spilled inside her, hot and thick, pressing his chest to her back like he needed her closer. Her legs were shaking. His cum started dripping down her thighs, and he finally pulled out with a groan, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her cheek.
“You’re evil,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
“You were baking in a bikini. That’s on you.”
The timer beeped.
She sighed and wiggled out of his grip. “You made me cum and you almost made me burn Mason’s cookies. You owe me, baby.”
He smirked, pulling his trunks back up. “Fine. I’ll help with the red velvet.”
“You’re gonna do that thing where you eat half the dough.”
“I just want that cookie, baby. Can’t help it.”
She rolled her eyes and tiptoed out of her bikini bottoms, shimmying them down her legs with a lazy grace that had Rafe’s jaw tightening. She tossed them somewhere behind her, not even looking, and padded over to the oven like she hadn’t just been stuffed full minutes ago.
He leaned against the island, arms crossed, his swim trunks still clinging low to his hips, watching her like she was dessert. She slipped an oven mitt onto one hand, bent down—bent—and pulled the cookie sheet out with practiced ease.
The scent of warm chocolate filled the room. So did the sight of her bare ass, glowing in the oven light, thighs still shiny with the mess he’d made.
Rafe licked his lips.
She placed the tray on the cooling rack, humming softly to herself, when he suddenly pushed off the island and walked over—swift, quiet, plotting.
Before she could turn around, he was there, hands on her waist, spinning her into him. Her back hit the counter with a soft gasp, oven mitt still on one hand, other palm flat behind her for balance.
“Rafe—”
“You know what I’m gonna do to you?”
She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath shallow. “What?”
He didn’t answer. Just hooked one of her thighs, lifted it up onto his shoulder, and dropped to his knees in front of her like he was at church and she was the altar.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, half laughing, half breathless.
“Exactly,” he muttered, mouth already ghosting over the inside of her thigh. “Need a taste.”
He spread her open with both hands, groaning softly at the sight of her already swollen and slick. His tongue met her slowly—long, hot strokes that had her hand flying to his hair, fingers gripping tight. He licked her like he missed her, like he’d been craving this since they left the pool, like she hadn’t just let him fuck her stupid against the counter twenty minutes ago.
“Fuck—Rafe—”
“You’re so sweet right now,” he said, licking a stripe from her entrance to her clit. “Like cookies and cream. Might be my favorite flavor.”
She let out a broken sound, hips rocking against his face. He sucked her clit into his mouth and her knees nearly buckled.
Her free hand gripped the counter, the mitt still on her other arm as she moaned his name again and again.
“You’re gonna make me—Rafe—oh my God—”
He doubled down, tongue relentless, hand sliding up to cup her breast over her bikini top, thumbing the hard peak until her body locked up and her orgasm hit hard. She cried out, legs trembling, voice a breathy whimper.
He didn’t stop. Not until she tugged at his hair, not until her body sagged and she slumped back against the counter, chest heaving.
“Okay,” she breathed, laughing in disbelief. “Okay. I’m gonna kill you.”
Rafe stood, licking his lips like he’d just cleaned out the cookie bowl. “I want that on my tombstone.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re the one who walked in here looking like sex in that bikini, baking like you weren’t asking for it.”
“I wasn’t! The PTA is insane about cookies, Rafe, I don’t have time—”
He kissed her mid-ramble, deep and filthy and claiming. When he pulled away, she looked dazed. “…I still have red velvet batter to make.”
Rafe didn’t give her time to come down. One minute she was catching her breath, thighs still shaking from his mouth, and the next—he was lifting her onto the counter like she weighed nothing. Her back hit the cool granite, the oven mitt slipping off her wrist and landing with a soft thud on the floor.
He was already hard again, thick and heavy against her inner thigh.
“Rafe—”
“You’re so wet for me,” he muttered, one hand gripping her knee, spreading her open wide. “Like your pussy knows I’m gonna fill you again.”
And then he pushed inside.
She gasped—high and breathy—wrapping her arms around his back as he bottomed out in one hard, desperate thrust.
“Fuck, you’re warm,” he groaned, head dropping to her shoulder. “You’re milking my cock already. You missed this that bad?”
She nodded against his neck, too gone to speak, too full to think.
His hands gripped her waist, fucking her against the counter with quick, punishing thrusts. Her bikini top was the next victim—he tugged it down without finesse, letting her tits spill out, bouncing with every movement.
“Needed this little mouthy housewife stuffed full, huh?” he panted, flicking a nipple with his tongue. “Needed me to ruin your baking?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, nails raking down his back. “Needed it so bad—don’t stop—please—”
His arms wrapped around her, lifting her off the counter mid-thrust. She gasped again, clinging to him, legs locking around his waist as he kept fucking her, harder now, slamming into that sweet spot over and over.
“You’re gonna come again,” he whispered against her ear. “I can feel it. You’re close, baby.”
“I—I’m gonna—”
Then it hit.
She squirted—hot and sudden—gushing around him, so slick and intense he nearly slipped out.
“Shit,” he growled, looking down at the mess all over his abs, her thighs, the floor. “Look what you fuckin’ did to me.”
“Rafe—oh my god—”
“You made a mess,” he muttered, kissing her hard as he fucked her through it, “all over me. All over the kitchen.”
Her head fell back, body boneless, but he wasn’t done. He bent his knees a little and slammed into her again.
“You gonna squirt for me again?” he whispered, licking the salt from her throat. “So wet for me you’re pushing me out.”
“I can’t—!”
“Yes, you can. Come on, baby. One more.”
And somehow she did. Another wave, another gush of wet heat as she screamed his name into his neck. His hands trembled as he held her, fucking her through it like a man possessed.
He came a second later with a low, rough growl—deep inside her, hips jerking up, filling her until she could feel him dripping down the inside of her thighs.
He didn’t let go.
He held her, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard, heart pounding like a drum inside his chest.
“You good?” he asked, voice wrecked, hands smoothing down her back.
She nodded slowly, blinking up at him. “You… defiled the kitchen.”
He laughed softly. “Bet the PTA moms can’t say that.”
She smacked his arm weakly. “I still have red velvet to make.”
“You can still ride me on the kitchen chair while they bake.”
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