Before the House Wakes
ceo!Rafe x nanny/gf!Reader
based on this request! 💌
summary: Rafe’s already half-dressed for work when he crawls back into bed and pulls you against him like he can’t leave without getting one more taste. The kids are still asleep, the house is quiet, and he’s got just enough time to ruin you properly before the office calls.
cw: smut, established relationship, oral (f rec.), unprotected piv sex, soft dom rafe, domestic fluff, post-baby body worship/comfort
word count: 2.7k
mdni 18+
The house is the kind of quiet that only exists in the early morning—before cartoons, before tiny feet thumping down the hallway, before someone inevitably cries because the blue cup is in the dishwasher and the pink one is apparently unacceptable today.
You’re halfway awake, half sunk into warm sheets, when the mattress dips behind you.
There’s a soft rustle—fabric, the faint clink of a belt buckle—and then the familiar heat of Rafe’s body slides in close like he belongs there. Like he never left.
He smells like clean soap and expensive cologne that somehow still clings to him even after a rushed shower. Your brain registers the smooth press of his bare chest against your back, the way his forearm hooks around your waist, dragging you tight.
“Morning” he murmurs, voice low and rough, like he’s been thinking about you before he even opened his eyes.
You hum, blinking into the dim light. “You’re up.”
“Mm.” His mouth finds your shoulder. A kiss. Another. Then teeth—gentle, a little possessive—like he’s marking you in a way only you can feel. “Had to be.”
You turn your head, catching a glimpse of him over your shoulder. His hair is still slightly damp. His jaw is shaved clean. There’s a watch on his wrist already, the expensive one he pretends is just a watch and not a whole personality trait.
And he’s wearing suit pants.
Of course he is.
“Rafe” you whisper, half amused, half instantly warm in the places that matter. “You’re dressed.”
He huffs a quiet laugh into your skin. “Not all the way.”
Your stomach flips. “That’s not—”
His hand slides down your belly, slow, like he’s taking his time even when he doesn’t have it. His palm spreads over you with a kind of reverence, thumb stroking just above the waistband of your sleep shorts.
He pauses there, like he’s checking in without saying it outright.
“Baby’s asleep” he murmurs. “Mase is out cold. I checked.”
You swallow, heart doing that stupid little stutter it always does when he’s being this Rafe—soft and certain and hungry, all at once. “You checked.”
“Yeah.” His lips ghost your ear. “Because I wanna take my time with you.”
A beat.
Then, quieter: “As much as I can.”
You let out a breath that’s half laugh, half surrender. “You have a meeting at eight.”
“I have meetings every day.” He drags his nose along your jaw, inhaling like he’s storing you away for later. “I don’t get you every day.”
You shift, turning onto your back. The sheet slides down your chest a little, cool air kissing your skin. Rafe’s eyes track it instantly—dark, focused, like he can’t help it.
Like he’s already halfway gone just looking at you.
“Hi” you whisper.
His mouth twitches. “Hi.”
You reach up, touch his cheek. “You’re gonna be late.”
He leans into your palm like he’s starving for it. “Worth it.”
Then he kisses you—slow at first, like he’s trying to be gentle, like he’s trying to behave.
It lasts about ten seconds.
Your fingers curl in his hair and he groans against your mouth, the sound low and frustrated, like he’s been holding himself back since the second he woke up. His kiss deepens, tongue sliding in, stealing your breath like he owns it.
Like he owns you.
And maybe he kind of does. Not in the scary way—never that. In the way that makes you feel safe enough to melt.
His hand slips under your shirt, warm palm spreading over your ribs, then down—down your stomach, pausing again, lingering like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s grateful.
“You’re so—” He cuts himself off, swallowing, eyes darkening. “God.”
You smile sleepily. “So what?”
He shakes his head like he can’t find the right word without losing it. “So mine.”
The possessiveness lands warm, not heavy. It makes your thighs press together instinctively, heat blooming.
“You’re wearing suit pants” you remind him, voice teasing.
He glances down at himself like he forgot, then looks back up with a look that turns your bones to syrup. “Yeah.”
“And you’re in our bed.”
“Also yeah.”
“And you’re—” You inhale when his hand slides between your thighs, palm pressing over you through thin fabric. “Rafe…”
His thumb strokes once, slow, exactly where you need it. Your whole body jolts—awake, fully, like a switch flipped.
“Quiet” he murmurs, like it’s a promise and a command wrapped together. “House is asleep.”
You bite your lip hard, nodding.
Rafe’s eyes flick to your mouth. “That’s it” he whispers. “Good girl.”
The words hit you straight in the gut.
He kisses you again—shorter this time, more urgent—then drags his mouth down your throat. Your head tips back, exposing more, and he takes it like you offered it.
His lips move lower, kissing the swell of your breast through your shirt, then tugging the fabric up.
Your skin is bare to him now, and he pauses like he’s appreciating you. Like he’s worshipping. His hand cups you—gentle, warm, familiar—thumb brushing over the peak of your nipple until it tightens.
“You still sensitive?” he asks softly.
The question isn’t just about your body. It never is with him.
You nod, breath catching. “A little.”
His expression shifts into something tender. “Okay.” Then, quieter: “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Your throat tightens—not because you’re scared, but because he still asks. Because he still checks. Because even in the middle of wanting you so badly he can barely breathe, he’s careful.
“I don’t” you whisper. “I want you.”
Rafe exhales like that’s all he needed.
He slides down the bed, pushing your shirt up higher, kissing along your stomach. When his mouth brushes over the soft curve of you, you suck in a breath—heat and nerves and that particular after-baby awareness of your body, the way it’s changed, the way you’re still learning it.
Rafe pauses again, looking up at you.
His gaze is steady. Warm.
“You’re perfect” he says, like he’s reading your thoughts. “Don’t do that.”
You blink. “Do what?”
“Get in your head.” His thumb strokes your hip, grounding. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Your cheeks burn.
Rafe’s mouth quirks, softening. “Baby.” He leans forward, kisses your belly—right below your navel. “You made our girl.”
Then another kiss, lower. “You’ve kept this whole house running for almost two years with a toddler attached to you—”
He hooks his fingers into your shorts, tugging them down slowly, carefully, like it’s a privilege.
“—and you still look at me like I’m the one doing something impressive.”
Your breath shakes.
Rafe pulls the shorts off fully, then shifts your legs apart with a gentleness that makes your eyes sting.
“Let me take care of you” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on you.
It’s immediate—heat and wetness and the shock of pleasure that makes your hand fly to your mouth. You press your knuckles to your lips, biting down hard, trying not to make a sound.
Rafe’s tongue drags through your folds in one slow, unhurried sweep, like he’s tasting you properly, like he’s been craving it all night. The sound is obscene in the quiet bedroom—soft and slick—and you go wide-eyed at how loud it suddenly feels.
Rafe’s eyes flick up, catching it.
He hums against you—deep and satisfied—and the vibration makes you nearly lose it right there.
His hands grip your thighs, holding you open. He takes you slow at first, long strokes of his tongue that have you squirming in the sheets, hips lifting on instinct.
“Rafe” you whisper, barely a sound.
He pulls back just enough to speak, voice muffled and dark. “Stay still.”
You try. You really do.
But he presses a kiss right over your swollen clit—soft, reverent—then sucks, just once, and your whole body jerks like you got shocked.
Your mouth opens around a silent gasp, your thighs trembling immediately.
Rafe tightens his grip, anchoring you. “That’s it” he murmurs. “Take it baby.”
His tongue circles your clit, slow and focused, and your vision blurs at how deliberate he is—like he knows your body better than you do, like he’s got you mapped out. He alternates between broad, teasing strokes that make you squirm and sharper flicks that make you go still, breath caught.
You press your knuckles harder to your lips, fighting the sound.
Rafe pauses, just a fraction. “Look at me.”
You force your eyes open.
He’s down there, suit pants still on, hair falling onto his forehead, eyes wrecked like he’s the one being used. Like he’s getting off on watching you fall apart.
“Good” he murmurs. “I wanna see.”
Then he dips back in, mouth closing around your pulsing clit again—sucking, gentler this time but deeper—while his tongue does something mean at the same time. The combination has you making a broken little noise into your fist.
Rafe’s eyes sharpen. He makes a quiet sound of approval and keeps going, relentless now, like he’s decided you don’t get to ease into it—you don’t get to hold back.
“Just like that” he whispers. “So fucking pretty for me.”
Your hips start to chase him, desperate for more, and he meets you halfway—tongue moving faster, pressure building, hands holding you open even when your thighs try to close from sensitivity.
“You’re doing so good” he murmurs. “Quiet… I know, baby, I know.”
You’re shaking already, thighs trembling, stomach tight. It’s too good—too fast—and you can feel it building, climbing, rushing.
You clutch the sheets, eyes squeezed shut.
“C’mon” Rafe breathes, voice muffled against you. “Give it to me.”
Your body listens.
The orgasm hits like a wave, washing through you so hard you see white behind your eyelids. Your hand clamps over your mouth again, muffling the sound, your other hand grabbing his wrist like you need something to hold.
Rafe doesn’t stop.
He keeps you right there, riding it out, drawing it longer, like he’s greedy—like he wants every tremor, every shiver. He eases up only enough to lick through you again, slower now, soothing but still just enough to keep you sensitive and breathless.
You’re trembling, overstimulated, and he finally eases back.
He kisses your thigh, then your hip, then crawls up the bed again.
His mouth is wet. His pupils are blown.
He kisses you and you taste yourself on him, and it sends another pulse of heat straight through your body.
“Jesus” you whisper, dazed.
Rafe’s laugh is quiet and wrecked. “Yeah.”
He slides his hand between you, checking. Touching lightly. “You okay?”
You nod, breath still uneven. “I’m… yeah.”
He leans down, kisses your forehead. “Good.”
Then his hand goes to his belt.
The sound of it—metal, leather—makes your stomach flip again.
“You’re really gonna—” you start, voice shaky.
Rafe looks at you like you’re adorable. “Baby, I am not leaving for work like this.”
You glance downward—he’s hard, obvious even under the suit pants—and you let out a breathy laugh. “Poor baby.”
He gives you a look. “Don’t start.”
You smirk. “I’m just saying, you could go handle that in the shower—”
Rafe’s hand cups your jaw. “Or” he murmurs, “I could do it right here, with you.”
Your pulse jumps.
He strips off the rest—belt, pants, underwear—quick, efficient, like he’s done this before. Like he’s mastered the art of getting you wrecked on a schedule.
He settles between your thighs again, and you instinctively lift your legs, hooking them around his hips. Your body’s still sensitive, still warm from his mouth, and the friction of his cock brushing against you makes you shiver.
Rafe pauses, forehead resting against yours.
“Tell me” he says softly.
You swallow. “I want you. Please.”
His eyes darken.
“Good” he breathes, and then he pushes in.
Slow.
Full.
You both go still for a second, like the world tilts.
Rafe exhales through his nose, jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep control. “Fuck.”
You bite your lip, trying not to make a sound, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust—his weight, his heat, the stretch that still makes you feel so full.
Rafe presses his mouth to your throat, muffling you, and starts to move—measured at first, deep and steady, like he’s making it last even though you can feel the tension in him.
Each thrust is slow enough that you feel everything: the drag, the fullness, the way he pauses at the deepest point like he’s savoring it. His hips roll instead of just moving, controlled and deliberate, like he’s trying to keep you quiet without sacrificing how good it feels.
“Quiet sweetheart” he reminds you again, but his voice is shaking now, too.
You nod, whimpering into his skin.
Rafe’s hand slides under your back, lifting your hips just enough to change the angle, and you almost cry out. He catches your mouth with his, swallowing the sound like it’s his job.
He’s close, chest to chest, bodies slick with heat.
It’s intimate in a way that makes your heart ache a little—the kind of sex that feels like love, like home.
“You feel so good” he murmurs against your lips, words barely there. “Always. Always—”
His rhythm picks up, the bed creaking softly. Your whole body tightens, sensitivity still lingering from before, and it makes every movement feel sharper—like your nerves are lit up.
“Rafe” you whisper, breathless.
“I know” he says, like he does. Like he always does. “I know, baby.”
He kisses you again—slow, grounding—then drags his mouth to your ear.
“Wanna come again?” he murmurs.
Your breath catches. “Yes.”
Rafe’s hand slides down between you, thumb finding your clit with practiced ease. He rubs small circles, perfect pressure, and your whole body jolts.
“Good girl” he whispers again, voice darker now. “That’s my girl.”
Heat floods you, fast.
You cling to him, eyes squeezed shut, trying to stay quiet, trying to keep it together—but you can feel it building already, quick and needy.
Rafe’s pace turns relentless, deep thrusts that make your vision blur. He’s holding you like he doesn’t want to let go, like he’d rather stay right here all morning with the world locked out.
“C’mon” he breathes. “For me.”
Your body listens.
The second orgasm hits sharper, quicker, your muscles locking up around him. You gasp into his shoulder, teeth biting gently into his skin to keep the sound in, and you feel him shudder.
Rafe groans—loud enough that he has to bury his face in your neck—and you feel him come ropes of his release filling you, hips stuttering, breath breaking.
He stills inside you, holding you tight, like he’s anchoring you while he falls apart.
For a moment, all you can hear is breathing. Yours. His. The quiet hum of the house.
Then Rafe presses a kiss to your temple.
“Okay” he murmurs. “Okay.”
You’re still shaking when he pulls out carefully, then reaches for a tissue from the nightstand like it’s a reflex. He cleans you up with the gentlest touch, careful around the spots that feel extra sensitive, then tucks the blanket around your waist like he’s wrapping you up.
He leans down, kisses you slow, like a promise.
“You’re gonna make me wanna stay here all morning” you whisper, voice sleepy.
Rafe smiles—soft, satisfied. “Worth it.”
You squint at him. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.”
He stands, grabbing his dress shirt from the chair, sliding it on. Watching you the whole time like he can’t help it.
“Hey” you murmur as he buttons the cuffs.
He pauses. “Yeah?”
You open your arms. “Come here.”
Rafe doesn’t hesitate. He leans over the bed, bracing his hands on either side of your head, and you kiss him—lingering, sweet.
When you pull back, you whisper, “Have a good day.”
His gaze softens in a way that makes your chest ache. “Already did.”
From down the hall, a tiny noise—soft, sleepy—makes both of you freeze.
Rafe’s eyes widen slightly.
You both listen.
Silence.
Then a faint, dramatic toddler sigh, like the universe itself is offended at being awake.
Rafe lets out a breath, half laugh, half relief. “Okay.”
You grin. “Go. Before she decides it’s snack time.”
Rafe bends and kisses your forehead. “I’ll be home for dinner.”
“You better.”
His smile turns cocky. “Yes, ma’am.”
He grabs his jacket, then pauses in the doorway, looking back at you like he’s imprinting the sight into his brain.
“Love you” he says quietly.
Your expression softens. “Love you too.”
Rafe nods once, like that’s what he needed to hear to function, and slips out—leaving the room warm, quiet, and faintly electric in his wake.
You sink back into the pillows, smiling to yourself.
Because in a couple hours, the house is going to explode into chaos.
But right now?
Right now, you’ve got a few more minutes of peace.
And the lingering reminder of exactly who you belong to.
a/n: hi babies! sorry this is getting posted a little later than usual i was so determined to get it up earlier, but i couldn’t finish editing until tonight. 😅 but!!! ceo!Rafe is back and i missed him BAD. it’s been a hot minute since i’ve written for him, and y’all have been feeding me with the ceo & nerd!Rafe requests lately… so consider this my official warning: you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of them over the next couple weeks. 🤩
♥️ lani
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