rafe cameron was cold, he was carefree, he was cocky. but he was different with you, especially when both of you were naked - at your most vulnerable.
he held your body gently underneath him, careful not to grip too tight. his hands slowly traced your curves, “you’re so perfect” he whispered.
the things he feels during these moments with you beats any type of high his drugs gave him.
his hands slid over your skin cautiously, fingers trembling slightly as if afraid of pressing too hard, of leaving any mark.
every movement was deliberate, slow, as though he was giving you all the time in the world to pull away if you wanted to.
when his lips met yours, it was soft, almost unsure, as though he was testing the boundaries of what you would allow. he kissed you slowly, carefully, with a reverence that made your chest ache. His hands continued to move over you, never lingering too long, never gripping too tight, always asking, never taking.
“tell me if you’re in any pain at all. i promise i’ll stop immediately, baby.” he whispers as he lines himself up at your entrance.
you moan softly as he pushes himself deep. he lets you get comfortable to the feeling. he slowly began moving back and forth, but you could tell he was distracted. he was too focused on being careful with you.
“rafe, stop worrying.” you say softly
“i can’t help it. i’d never forgive myself if i hurt you”
“sweet.” you smile. “but don’t hold yourself back. you need to enjoy this.”
“okay” he exhales, slightly speeding up, “is that okay?”
“very” you moan, hearing your noises made him want you even more
time seemed to dissolve around you, the rest of the world fading into nothing. all that remained was the intimacy between you, the unspoken trust, and the gentle way he cherished you, as though you were the most fragile and precious thing he’d ever held.
