Summary: rafe cameron doesn’t do relationships —but tonight, with you on his lap and his hands all over you, he makes damn sure everyone knows who you really belong to.
notes: this is going to be written from Rafe’s POV. thought it’d be something new💘. Also, english is not my first language so excuse any possible spelling mistakes. -anyway enjoy xoxo 💘🍒
warnings: 18+, sexual content, possessive!obsessed!rafe, explicit language.
The second I step into the party with her at my side, I feel it. The shift. Every eye in the room lands on us like a fucking spotlight, and for once, I don’t mind it. I want it. I want them all to see her here with me, pressed to my side, my hand low on her waist, already sliding down to grip her ass like I own it. Because I do.
She stiffens for a second, embarrassed, like she doesn’t realize what I’m doing. Doesn’t get that it isn’t just me being handsy. It’s a message. A warning. Nobody here is dumb enough not to get it— she is mine now.
I drag her through the crowd, not even pretending to let her pick where to sit, hauling her straight onto my lap the second I drop down. She squirms a little, blushes when people glance our way, but I don’t care. My arm’s locked around her waist, my hand sliding up her thigh, fingers brushing high enough that I can feel her tense against me. Perfect. That’s exactly how I like her—on edge, aware of every inch of me pressed against her.
Topper and Kelce’s faces are priceless when they see us together. Shock. Amusement. Like they can’t believe Rafe Cameron’s actually sitting here with a girl on his lap like she’s more than a hookup. And the truth? They’re not wrong. I don’t do this shit. I don’t let girls linger. I don’t show them off.
But this isn’t just some girl. It’s my girl.
The way they tease me doesn’t faze me. Let them call me whipped, let them laugh. They don’t get it. They’ve never had someone who could walk in and make the whole fucking room irrelevant. She’s it.
She drags me onto the dance floor later, and yeah, normally I’d roll my eyes, refuse, say I don’t dance. But with her? I’m already moving before I realize it. Everyone steps back, watching us like they’re expecting me to slip up, like they can’t imagine Rafe Cameron actually doing this type of shit in public.
She moves like she doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching. Hips swaying, hair falling in her face, lips parted—Christ. She’s not even trying and I’m hard already, cock straining against my jeans just from the way she rolls her body against mine.
My hands lock onto her waist, dragging her against me harder, tighter. No space between us. Grinding with the beat until it feels less like dancing and more like foreplay in the middle of a crowded room. Every sway of her hips has me throbbing. Every flick of her hair has me imagining her bent over, moaning for me, the music replaced with her voice begging for me to fuck her harder, faster.
I dip my head and suck at her neck because I can’t help myself. Don’t care who sees. If anything, I want them to see. Want every guy in this room to choke on the sight of me marking her, claiming her. She gasps when my teeth catch her skin, and fuck, the sound shoots straight to my cock.
She’s warm against me, trembling a little, and all I can think about is how much I want to rip her out of that dress and bend her over the nearest surface. My cock’s pressed into her stomach and I know she feels it. She has to. That little flush on her cheeks tells me she does, and the thought of her squirming because of me, because I can’t hide how badly I want her? Makes me even harder.
I can’t stop touching her. My hands are everywhere—ass, thighs, waist—like I’m daring anyone to come close, to even look at her too long. She’s straddling my leg at one point, moving against me without even realizing it, and I swear it takes everything in me not to cum in my jeans like some horny teenager.
And the best part? She’s letting me. She’s not pushing me away, not rolling her eyes like I’m going too far. She’s fucking feeding into it. Looking at me with those pretty big eyes, lips swollen, body pliant in my hands like she knows she belongs there. She’d better.
The music changes but I barely hear it. My blood’s rushing too loud in my ears. All I can think about is how good she’d look on her knees right now, mascara smudged, throat stuffed with my cock while the whole house whispers about how I finally lost my fucking mind.
Because I have. Around her, I’m insane. Can’t think straight, can’t breathe without wanting more.
When I drag her off the floor, it’s not because I’m tired. It’s because if I don’t, I’m going to fuck her right there in front of everyone, and she deserves better than that. Or maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she deserves to be ruined in front of them all, just so every single person in this room knows exactly who she screams for every day.
And all I can think about is how I’m going to take her home tonight, peel that dress off her slow just to hear her beg, then fuck her so hard she won’t be able to walk tomorrow. She doesn’t even know the half of what I’ve been holding back. The things I’ve imagined doing to her since I picked her up and saw her in that stupid dress that barely covers her ass.
And the second I get her alone? She’s not leaving my bed until she can barely remember her own name.
The second the front door shuts behind us, I’ve already got her pinned. Back against the wall, my hand tangled in her hair, my mouth crushing hers. I’m not gentle. I can’t be. I’ve been fucking starving all night, sitting through that party with her grinding on me, letting me touch but not nearly enough. Like a fucking punishment.
Her lips part and I shove my tongue inside, groaning against her mouth because fuck, she tastes sweet and I want all of it. My free hand fists in her dress, yanking it up past her thighs and gripping her ass like I’ve got any patience left. But I don’t.
“Jump,” I growl against her mouth, and the second she does, I’ve got her legs locked around my waist, her ass in my hands. She gasps when I grind her against my cock through my jeans, already hard and leaking, pressing right against her pussy. She’s hot there, soaked through her panties—I can feel it, and the thought of her sitting wet on my lap all night, desperate for me without even saying it? Drives me fucking feral.
I carry her to my room, barely making it to the bed before I throw her down, standing over her like a predator ready to rip her apart. My chest is heaving, my cock straining, and all I can think is how bad I need to be inside her. How nothing’s ever felt this necessary in my life.
She starts to sit up, maybe to tease me, maybe to slow it down, but I’m on her before she can even breathe. My mouth latches onto her neck, biting, sucking, marking her the way I’ve been wanting to all night. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails sharp, and I fucking love it.
“Take it off,” I rasp, tugging at her dress. She fumbles with the zipper and I lose my patience, ripping it down myself. The sound of fabric tearing or her whiny voice complaining doesn’t even register—I don’t give a shit. All I care about is ruining her.
Her bra’s gone in seconds, panties next. She’s naked under me, spread out and perfect, and I have to pause for a second just to look. Her tits rising with every breath, nipples tight, pussy glistening like it’s waiting for me. My mouth waters. My cock twitches so hard it hurts.
I drop to my knees, dragging her legs apart, and bury my face between her thighs without warning. She cries out, back arching, and I moan against her cunt like I’ve just hit heaven. Sweet, wet, fucking addictive. My tongue’s everywhere—lapping, fucking into her, circling her clit until she’s shaking and clawing at my hair, begging without even using words.
Her thighs clamp around my head but I don’t stop, won’t stop, until she’s coming against my mouth, gasping my name like it’s the only thing she knows. Her pussy spasms, coating my tongue, and I lick her through it, groaning like I’m the one getting off.
By the time I crawl up over her again, I’m beyond gone. My cock’s aching, dripping pre-cum, ready to tear through my jeans. She looks up at me all flushed and wrecked, and it nearly undoes me right there.
I fumble with my belt, shove my jeans and boxers down, and my cock springs free, heavy and throbbing. Her eyes drop to it and widen, and fuck if that doesn’t make me harder.
“Condom,” she whispers, breathless, and I nod, yanking one from my wallet, rolling it on with shaky hands because I’m seconds from losing it.
And then I’m right there, pressing the head against her slick pussy, and it’s too much. Too fucking much. I slam into her in one thrust, burying myself to the hilt, groaning into her neck as she cries out. Tight. So goddamn tight I can barely move.
I give her a second, just one, then I’m pounding into her like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. The bed shakes, her moans fill the room, and all I can think of is the fact that she’s mine, mine, mine. My hands grip the back of her thighs, pushing them towards her chest and folding her in half easily, my hips snapping hard, ruthless. Every thrust is punishment for making me wait, every grind deep inside her a claim
She’s clawing my back, gasping, begging, nails raking, and it only pushes me further. I slam harder, faster, until she’s screaming, until her voice is breaking, until she’s falling apart around me again. Her pussy clenches, milking my cock, and I just lose it.
I growl her name into her neck, thrusting through my orgasm, spilling into the condom, hips jerking until I’m drained, until I collapse against her.
I’m sweaty, panting, still hard inside her even after I’ve come, because fuck if one round is enough. It never will be. Not with her. And if she thinks even for a second that it’s over, she’s dead fucking wrong.
