✮⋆˙ . bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping inside after promising to just rub against you.
warnings — 18+ MDNI. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe pairing. name is self explanatory. manipulative tone & fake apologies.
cherie’s note — loosely based on this p!link.
your knees are bent, thighs open for him, trembling slightly from how real this feels — arms curled near your chest, lip caught anxiously between your teeth, breathing too fast for someone who's supposedly not having sex.
things had always been… complicated with you and rafe. secrets whispered in the dark, your body tucked into his bed more often than your own. he’d even taught you how to kiss — unforgivable, in hindsight. because now, whatever this was… it felt like the point of no return.
rafe kneels between your legs, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. deliberately. "just relax," he murmurs, voice low like he's talking you through something innocent. like this was something every best friend did — and you could definitely be convinced of such when it was him doing the talking. "i'm not gonna put it in. i told you."
he presses the head against your slit, sliding it up your folds, gathering the wetness along the underside of his throbbing cock. the squelch that bounces off the walls is unmistakable, a clear indicator of just how much you wanted this, despite the way your pulse raced. you jump at the first pass and he smiles — quick, hidden, gone before you even get the chance to look at him.
"how're you this worked up already?" he teases under his breath, more to himself than to you. "barely even touching you."
you squirm underneath him, embarrassed. "you're... rubbing on me..."
"mhm." he drags the swollen head down again, circling your entrance with soft precision — though his mind is anything but soft. not with you, sprawled out beneath him, eyes wide like a prey caught in a trap. his trap.
you gasp, a soft sound that shoots up his spine — and that's when he lets the tip catch you. not fully. just enough to make your body pull him in that tiny, helpless way you can't control. the thick head of his cock breaches the tightness of your cunt, and your thighs tremble slightly from the pressure.
"sorry," he breaths, pretending to pull back. "didn't mean— you're so warm, and wet. hard to aim."
you believe him immediately, like you always do, nodding. your cheeks burn, "it's okay. just... just be careful."
"i am," he promises, thumb stroking the soft skin of your knee. "i got you."
except he keeps doing it. that same slow glide, catching on you again, the head pushing just barely inside before he rocks back like it's truly accidental. each time, you make this soft, strangled sound that goes straight to his cock.
"you okay?" he murmurs.
you nod quickly, swallowing away at the nerves. "it just feels... weird."
"good weird?"
you nod again — and the way you do it, wide-eyed and trusting, makes him exhale shakily.
he strokes himself harder, a little faster, hips following the rhythm. the spongy tip of his cock keeps bumping and sliding against your slit with every pass, the feeling so dizzying you swear you could see stars. your slick coats his hand, helping the slick grip glide effortlessly against himself — makes everything sloppy and hot and impossible for him to 'aim'.
rafe swears he can lose himself in the sight of you alone. swears he'd give anything to see this everyday — you, eyes glassy and blinking slow, completely fucked-out and trembling under his guidance. so vulnerable. so trusting. pliant, too — keeping your thighs perched open enough to allow him the space he demands, without having to be asked.
you force a tiny breath out, shaky and full of shame, and he rewards you by rolling the head down again. and this time, when it catches, it sinks just a little deeper than before. enough to make your eyes fly fully open. enough to make your hips lift before you can stop yourself, telling him everything he needs to know.
he freezes. not really. just enough to pretend he's surprised.
"shit," he mutters, voice going hoarse. "that—that was deeper than i meant. m'sorry, baby."
and despite his apology, he stays there a beat too long — buried millimeters inside of your warm heat, throbbing. he pulls out slowly, letting a slick string stretch between where he’d previously pushed inside of you.
your heart jumps into your throat, "it's okay, ray," you whisper quickly, like you don't want him to feel bad. "was just an accident, right?"
you woke up as he kissed you, soft at first, almost sweet. but his hand was already sliding down your body, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs before you were fully awake. you made a sleepy sound, trying to cuddle into him, and that's when you felt it, the cold press of silicone against your clit.
"rafe?" your voice came out confused.
"shhh baby," he murmured against your neck, clicking the vibrator on low. "just let me."
you moaned before you could help it, your body responding to the sudden pleasure. he pushed inside you slow, filling you up while the toy buzzed against your sensitive and swollen clit. it felt good, too good, and you were already clenching around him. "fuck, rafe, that's—"
"i know, honey." he cut you off with a kiss, starting to move inside you. "that's the point." the pleasure built fast. too fast. your hands gripped his shoulders as your back arched, and you came with a broken cry, your walls fluttering around his cock. but he didn't stop. he kept fucking you, kept the vibrator pressed right where you needed it least.
"wait, wait—" you gasped, trying to push his hand away. "it's too much, rafey."
"no it's not." he pinned your wrist above your head, his pace never slowing. "you can take it."
your second orgasm crashed built inside you before the first had fully faded. tears slipped down your cheeks as you shook beneath him, a loud moan came out of you. he watched you fall apart, his eyes dark and hungry, and he didn't let up. "r-rafe, seriously please, i can't—"
"you're gonna." he pressed harder with the vibrator, fucking you deeper. "you're gonna keep coming for me until i say stop."
your pussy was soaked, making wet squelching sounds with every thrust. you were already overwhelmed, oversensitive, and he was right, he made you come again, a third time, your body jerking through it as a sob broke from your lips.
"good girl." but he didn't even slow down. his hips kept slapping against yours, the vibrator never leaving your clit. you were shaking so hard you could barely breathe, every nerve inside of you on fire.
"please, rafe, please stop, i can't, i can't do another one" you begged, your voice cracking. tears were streaming down your face now, and you tried to move away, but his weight pinned you down. "yes, yes you can, baby." his voice was low, almost gentle, but his eyes were cold. "you're doing so good for me. just one more. give me one more."
"no, no, please" you sobbed, but your body betrayed you. the fourth orgasm ripped through you again, violent and uncontrollable. you screamed into his shoulder, your nails digging into his back as you shook around his cock. "that's it." he groaned, fucking you through it. "that's my girl."
you were a total mess. soaked, shaking, crying. every muscle in your body was tense, and the vibrator felt like fire against your clit. but he still didn't stop. he turned the toy up a notch. "rafe, no! i swear i can't—" you barely choked out, trying to clamp your thighs shut. he forced them open with his knees.
"you can and you will." he thrust harder, faster. "you're gonna come on my cock until i'm satisfied." the fifth one came without any warning, a sharp and painful surge of pleasure that made your vision go white. you couldn't even scream anymore, just a broken whimper as your body tensed up, pussy clenching so tight it almost hurt him. rafe groaned, pace finally faltering.
"fuckkk, there you go." he pressed down on the vibrator, grinding it against you as he came inside you, hot and thick. you felt every pulse of his release, your oversensitive cunt milking him dry.
when he finally pulled out and turned off the toy, you were limp, gasping, tears still wet on your cheeks. he kissed your forehead, soft and possessive. he smiled down at you, a perfect mess, all wrecked just for him. "see, baby? you can take it."
hiiiya! i need reader's crying reaction to rafe coming home with a buzz cut, his beautiful blonde hair all gone. she's genuinely sobbing because she loved his floppy hair and he doesn't know what to do to comfort her -clearly he hadn’t meant this would make her cry like that. let's just say that his buzzed head looks nice between her legs!
Buzzcut
pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
blurb: you weren't expecting rafe to get a buzzcut and miss his hair, he decides to make it up to you in his own way
warnings: mentions of smut, mdni, praising, spanking, oral (fem receiving), fingering, slight tiny bit of angst, some fluff
wc: 1.9k
When Rafe said he was going to get a haircut, this was the last thing you’d expected. You’d thought maybe he was going for a trim. A slight cut off the edges. How wrong you’d been.
You were on the couch, watching some boring reality show when he walked in. You turned naively, assuming you’d be greeted with his golden locks that you loved so much. And then you froze, staring as Rafe stood there with a buzzcut. All this soft, floppy hair gone.
You couldn’t help but just blink a few times, thinking that maybe you were just imagining things. He wouldn’t just cut off all his hair like that… right? Maybe he had a wig on and was just pranking you or something.
Rafe’s lips were curled in a slight smirk as he ran a hand over his newly shaved head. Waiting for your reaction. “Mm, what do you think?”
You came to your feet slowly, walking towards him with little steps, your mind lagging behind. He looked so different now. So rough and sharp-edged. Nothing like the soft boy you’d known since childhood. “Where’s your hair?” you laughed nervously, trying not to show how your hands were shaking just slightly.
Rafe didn’t notice at first, pulling you close by the waist. “I buzzed it off. Thought it’d look nice.”
Your breath came heavier at that. He was serious. Rafe had really cut it all off. It shouldn’t matter this much. It was his hair after all. But you couldn’t stop the tears welling up in your eyes.
Rafe finally realised, his voice concerned now. “What’s wrong? Do you not like it-” That was all he got in before you started sobbing, falling into his arms. He wrapped himself around you instinctively. Rafe knew you’d always loved his hair. He should’ve told you before he buzzed it, but the idea came to him spontaneously. He’d know you’d be upset, but not like this.
“Hey, hey…. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Rafe whispered, gently shushing as you clung to him, crying into his chest, your tears soaking through the fabric of his polo shirt.
You felt his hands carding through the strands of your hair as he held you close, but the tears wouldn’t stop. You knew in the back of your mind that it was stupid. That didn’t stop you from caring, though.
“Why- why did you cut it?” you whimpered before another round of sobs flooded your body. It was not that Rafe looked bad. Like that was ever possible. But you loved his hair. Loved playing with it while you cuddled on the couch. Loved running your fingers through it when he layed on your chest before bed. Loved how it looked whenever you convinced him to let you style it. And now it was all gone.
Rafe held you close, voice soft now, the cocky edge gone. “Shh… It’s okay, baby,” he whispered before pulling back and cupping your face gently. Your sobs had quietened, but tear tracks still stained your cheeks as fresh ones flowed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
You shook your head, guilt flooding you at his apology. He shouldn’t be apologising for cutting his own hair. Why were you so emotional? “No, you don’t-”
You tried to speak through your little hiccups, but Rafe didn’t let you. “No. You deserved to know,” he stated firmly, thumbs gently wiping away your remaining tears. His heart melted when you looked up at him with those glassy eyes. God, you were so adorable.
“It’ll grow back… yeah?” Rafe cooed, wanting you to know this wasn’t forever. “In a few months, probably, mm?”
His coaxing elicited a nod from you, the sobs gone now as you took a shaky breath, realising that it was okay. You stared at Rafe again, giggling softly as you carefully ran a hand over his buzzcut. It felt prickly. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as you imagined it to be. Though you still preferred him with actual hair. Rafe’s smile came back once he saw yours. You sighed softly, “I’m sorry-”
Rafe shook his head, pulling you closer. “I don’t want to hear a single apology from you.” You gasped softly as he picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he gripped the plush of your thighs. “Let me make it up to you,” he growled, his breath over your ear sending a chill through you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck slowly, biting your lip as you had no choice but to nod. A hum slipped through your lips as Rafe kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth like you were his to claim. You were. All you could do was cling to him helplessly as he carried you upstairs, his movements frantic and desperate and never stopping. His lips trailed from your lips down your neck, sucking at the base.
You whimpered as his teeth bit down on your soft skin before his tongue soothed it over. Rafe’s mouth was nothing short of greedy, taking everything, his hands moving to squeeze your ass. God, you felt so good. The two of you stumbled in a tangled mess up each stair and down the hall until you were thrown onto the soft mattress.
Rafe groaned as you blinked up at him innocently, your hair fanned over the pillow. You looked so fucking edible right now. The tear tracks still staining your cheeks just made him want to devour you more. To overstimulate you with so much pleasure till the point of tears. Till you forgot about why you were upset in the first place. And Rafe always got what he wanted.
You bit your lip as his dark eyes raved over you. The soft locks that normally framed his face were gone, leaving the sharp lines of his face exposed. It made your stomach flip, a wave of heat washing over you.
Rafe noticed his lips curving up in a smirk. “Look at that. So desperate already, aren’t you?” He didn’t let you answer. Just pressed two fingers against the fabric of your sleep shorts, right over your clothed pussy, confirming his suspicions. “Fucking hell, you’re soaked through.”
“R-Rafe, please,” you whined, hips instinctively bucking up into his hand, chasing the friction he was offering. It wasn’t enough. You needed more. His fingers. His tongue. Something.
Rafe didn’t sway at your pleading, just pressed a little harder, just enough to make your thighs shake. “Tell me what you need, baby.”
He was just teasing you now. And you knew it. A moan slipped from you at the slight pressure, but barely. Your gaze was impatient and needy now. “I.. I want you.”
Rafe growled at the attitude, slapping your clothed cunt hand, causing you to arch up off the bed. “Crying two minutes ago and now you’re all bratty, hmm?” You sobbed as a second smack landed in the same spot, pain and pleasure twisting to fill you with more need. “Ask nicely this time,” Rafe commanded, voice firm.
Your eyes were glassy as you met his eyes. You couldn’t help but memorise every inch of his face again, so different now with the buzz. “I… Can I have your tongue, Rafe? Please?” you whimpered, wanting desperately to be good for him.
Rafe grinned, bracing himself over you before moving down your body. “That’s a good girl”, he murmured, pulling down your shorts inch by inch.
You melted at the praise, feeling his breath fan over your wet panties. Rafe licked his lips at the sight in front of him, kissing your pussy through the fabric. “Mm!” you gasped, the sensation making you ache and clench around nothing. The arousal was too much and not enough, as you tried desperately to keep your legs spread for Rafe.
“Fuck, ”he groaned against your panties, feeling your puffy folds through the lace as he continued his ministrations. Rafe could’ve made you come just like this. He could tell how close you were getting, already. But he wasn’t done.
“Oh… Rafe!” A moan escape your as Rafe pulled the scrap of clothing off you with his teeth, biting down on the fabric. You lifted your head instinctively to look down, then threw it right back against the pillow as Rafe finally closed his mouth over your clit.
Rafe sucked hard, licking lavishly up and down your slit. The way your body shook only spurred him on. Your hands flew to grab his hair on instinct when he captured your neglected bud between his teeth, only to realise it wasn’t there. You chose to settle on the sheets instead, fisting them as you bucked up into his mouth.
Rafe groaned, taking your clit into the heat of his mouth as he moved down to your entrance instead. He plunged his tongue in without warning, swirling it around your tight opening, making you scream loud enough it echoed through the room. The sounds coming from his head between your thighs were obnoxious. Sucking and slurping, as Rafe ate you out like you were his last meal.
“It’s too much!” You sobbed as Rafe took two fingers to circle your clit, yet still craving more. You were so close to the edge now, your previous tears forgotten as new ones took their place. “Please, Rafe! I need-”
His mouth never stopped working, kissing up to your clit while his fingers took his tongue’s place inside your pussy, causing you to cry out. Rafe buried his face deeper between your thighs as his fingers pumped at a relentless pace, desperate to bring you over the edge.
You felt the familiar twist in your stomach as he curled his digits inside you, your eyes rolling back. “Rafe, I-I’m going to-” You tried to push him away before your release, hand on the back of his neck, but your body disobeyed, pulling him closer.
Rafe hummed against your folds, tongue slipping between them as he sped up his fingers. “Come for me.” You couldn’t back anymore, arching completely off the bed as your release hit you. Rafe didn’t pull away when you came, keeping his mouth wrapped around your dripping pussy through every wave.
He only pulled back when you fell back against the mattress, limp and spent, shaking and half-sobbing. Rafe’s lips were coated in a mixture of your juices before he swiped his tongue over them, savouring the taste of you.
“Such a messy girl,” Rafe tutted before leaning down again. You whimpered, overstimulated, and twitched as he licked through your folds and over your pussy again, cleaning you up with his mouth. He groaned at the way your hole fluttered so desperately still, soaking in the feeling greedily.
“You still crying over my hair, baby?” Rafe murmured, sitting back on his knees. You shook your head, eyes half shut. His expression softened as he fell beside you, pulling you into his arms. He gently carded through your hair, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “You did so good, baby. Shh… go to sleep now.”
And you did, letting your head fall against his chest, satisfied.
a/n: tysm for this request omg i loved it since the day i saw it!!! this literally took me like a month to get to so sorry for that 😭 anyways this was my exact reaction when i saw rafe got a buzz in season 3 like full on waterworks and crying bc i loved his hair 🥲 rip season 2 rafe greasy curtain bangs you will always live rent free in my mind ilysm 💖✨ feel free to send in requests for fics, headcanons or moodboards (pls send some dark ones i beg) ꫂ᭪݁
warnings/tags mdni 18+. smut. pilatesprincess!reader. failed cock warming hehe. super nonchalant from both parties. mentions of a hard on/being turned on. theyre lowkey both freaks. videoing themselves. raw, p in v, fingering if you squint
you always sat on his lap, didnt matter where you were. restaurants were an exception, finding sitting beside each other had to be enough. you became a part of him whenever he found himself in a chair, gravitating towards it as if he subconsciously told you.
there was nothing more comfortable than fitting perfectly in your boyfriends lap, so thats where you were headed.
already showered for the evening, your hair styled and clothes picked out for the morning- you walked into the living room where rafe was sat on the floor in front of the puzzle. he leaned back gently, you coming and sitting on his lap.
he held his nose on your shoulder, "you smell good." mumbling while leaning around you and fitting the puzzle piece. you sipped from your water bottle, looking at the television playing the third season of yellowstone. "we should get a ranch." you spoke softly while setting down your water and situating yourself on his lap.
rafe chuckled, holding a hand to your bare thigh, feeling the cotton of your cheeky underwear. "i think youd enjoy it for a week and then hate it." he answered, removing his hand and holding both arms around you.
you leaned into his chest, crossing your legs and feeling the muscle under his. he would move you if it ever became uncomfortable, so far only twice hes asked.
your body raised higher than usual with his inhale, and you looked from the side of your eye, brows furrowing loosely. he continued the puzzle, humming gently under his breath. "this one" you sat up again, reaching for the piece and handing it to him, leaning forward and pointing to the open spot.
he set it in the spot, pushing down on it with a pointer finger. you uncrossed your legs and sat up quickly, stepping over rafes arm and running to the kitchen on your toes.
coming back with a bowl, "i got this recipe from malia," you said while he held his arm out again and you sat down. holding a chocolate covered blueberry for rafe, he leaned forward and wrapped his lips messily around your fingers.
you giggled, scrunching your nose up and wiping your hand on his shirt. "oh god," he made a face, holding a hand to cover his mouth. "semi-sweet, sorry." you told him, with wide eyes before shoving a handful in your mouth.
you kept the bowl in your lap, facing the television again but with a straightened back. it wasnt long before you were just as invested in the puzzle, feet on the floor and knees bent, still sat on rafes lap who has had a boner since she fit the first piece.
you repositioned, bending your knees so they were on the sides of rafes hips. his mouth about fell open, "jesus christ-" coughing while he pulled his arms back and held them on your hips. you hummed under your breath, posture still unbelievably perfect, and rested your elbows on the coffee table.
half paying attention to the show and half focused on finishing the puzzle. you tucked your feet into his sides as if on instinct, sitting up and leaning forward. rafes hands were still on your hips when you bent over. "can we try something?" he blurted, voice raising an octave higher.
"what?" you asked, still looking at the grouped ones at other side. "you wanna just," he took a pause, "sit on it?" you furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder to your boyfriend whose eyes hadnt left your ass. "sit on it?" you asked, he humming in response.
nodding, "just sit on it." pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as his hands palmed the back of your thighs. "sure."
"wait, really?"
you looked at him, "yeah?" asking as if he wasnt the one to suggest it in the first place. turning your head in front of you again, you let him guide your hips down. you held a piece between your fingers while resting your back against his chest.
you stared at the tv, arms slightly raised and knees spread while you slowly sank down on him. he held a hand to your hip and one around your waist, head pressed to the side of your torso.
a quiet moan passed your throat when he bottomed out, you sitting perfectly on his lap again before clenching your torso to sit yourself up again. he kept his eyes screwed shut, not knowing how long he honestly would last.
you were so warm, so comfortable and so at home. you clenched around him, feeling your heartbeat race faster. you swallowed deeply, rafe leaning around you again to continue.
minutes pass before you reached for your phone, the slight movement caught rafes throat while you sunk back on him easily. your nails clicked against your screen, pausing while thinking of the rest of your response. the more you sat with him inside you, doing everyday things, the more he felt his control slip.
you leaned back, leaning against his chest again and feeling him hit deeper. he held his breath, he should have known better with how much youre constantly moving anyways. he lifted a hand, holding the side of your face and tracing his thumb over your lips.
tapping his fingers on the table while feeling you kiss the pad of his thumb, keeping your lips puckered. you turned your phone landscape, pressing your thumb on the record button. rafe gave a sweet smile to the screen before reaching for your phone.
he flipped the camera, leaning back before gently pushing your hips up, recording you coming off of him before he flipped the camera to himself again and rolled his hips up to meet yours. giggling under his breath from the moan that slipped past a hand over your mouth.
he saved the video, deleted it off of snapchat, locked your phone and fisted the shirt you wore. your eyes widened, knowing exactly what was coming when he held the side of your underwear with his thumb and thrusted back into you.
your eyes rolled and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. hips raising and him following, over and over, until he pulled your arm back and you hit into his chest again. hand holding the side of his head while you rolled your hips lazily into his. his fingers gripped your hip, other hand reaching for your phone again.
he pulled up the camera, keeping it on the both of you. he held your chin with his hand, arm wrapped around your neck gently. you stopped your movements, looking up at the camera when he lifted his arm, showing you sat spread on his lap.
tilting your chin to the side, he found you in a messy open-mouthed kiss. bringing the phone back to the two of you. your arm was still raised behind him, his arm still around your neck while his tongue shoved deep into your mouth. you raised your hips, bouncing on him gently before he pulled away from you.
he set the phone down, folding your legs in front of you and coming up on his knees. at his hard thrust forward, he set the phone up against your water-bottle. bent over the coffee table with your arms extended out. rafes thumb tucked into your mouth, and eyes comfortably shut as he rammed into you.
"oh my god, oh my god," you moaned past his thumb, throwing your head down and whining while you squeezed your legs tighter. he fell backwards again, pulling your hips with him.
you were in an awkward position, hands holding the edge of the coffee table, back arched and legs tucked tight together. rafe sunk himself into you again and it took the breath from your lungs. profanities leaving your mouth as your shoulders sagged.
he rolled his hips into yours, knocking his head back against the couch while feeling his abs tighten. "im gonna cum, baby," he warned.
you took over, lifting your hips and slamming back down into him. the noises were enough to get him off, you making them was even better. you tucked your forehead, shielding your face you knew was scrunched tight at pleasure.
"fucking shit" rafe cursed, legs trembling while you snatched the phone and lifted it up. his head was still thrown back, your hips coming up and slamming down hard. another string of curses before he pushed you down onto him and pushed as hard as he could into you.
he gasped when you clenched around him, feeling his fingers dig deep into your hip.
you passed the phone to him, turning it to your back while you slowly pulled out of him. you moaned again feeling his cum drip out of you. pulling your bottom lip between your teeth when feeling his fingers slowly push into you.
"such a clean girl until it comes to me," he purred, flicking his fingers inside you. you gasped loudly, holding a hand over your mouth. "scream for me, baby," he said through a chuckle. "shut the fuck up." he pushed his fingers harder into you, angling them deeper.
"fuck, fuck," you cried while feeling your high come. rafes mouth opened, feeling how much of him spilled out of you at your own orgasm. coating his fingers and slipping down his hand. he leaned back, showing the camera his view before slowly shaking his head.
"god- i love it when youre nasty." he groaned, palming your ass while you made it to your feet. "i need another shower."
pairing – rafe cameron x maybank!reader
summary – sex on the cameron family yacht already qualifies as poor judgement. nearly being discovered by john b makes the situation considerably worse.
warnings – 18+, explicit smut, oral and penetrative sex, condom use, multiple orgasms, spanking, rough sex, consensual manhandling, dirty talk, overstimulation, post-sex soreness, near discovery, arguing, classism.
notes from me – as requested somewhere in my comments!! thank you, babe!!
word count – 6.4k
My Druthers rocked gently against the end of Tannyhill’s dock, every movement of the water beneath the hull translated into a slow rise and fall that would have been relaxing under almost any other circumstances.
These were not relaxing circumstances.
Her cheek was pressed into one of the cream cushions in the main salon, one knee sinking into the expensive upholstery while the other had started sliding dangerously close to the edge.
The bikini she had arrived in was somewhere near the little set of stairs leading up to the deck. Her shorts had disappeared farther than that. One flip-flop sat beneath the table. The other might have gone overboard, she didn’t particularly care.
Rafe’s palm flattened between her shoulder blades and pushed. “Arch.”
She made a noise into the cushion that could have meant fuck you under different circumstances, but her body obeyed before her mouth had the opportunity to lie. Her chest dropped lower, spine curving beneath the pressure of his hand while her hips lifted toward him.
Rafe hummed behind her. The sound alone made something tighten low inside her. “Yeah,” he murmured. “There you go.”
Then he drove back into her hard enough that her fingers clenched around the edge of the cushion. “Oh– fuck.”
The boat shifted beneath them. A small sway against the dock while Rafe’s hips snapped forward again, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp inside the enclosed cabin.
She had already come once. Everything between her thighs had been reduced to something swollen and oversensitive, her body still recovering from the orgasm he had dragged out of her with his mouth before flipping her over and telling her to get on her knees.
He had been unbearable about that too. Rafe Cameron discovered one thing somebody liked and immediately behaved as though he had invented it. Now his fingers dug into her hips, thumbs pressed into the soft skin above her ass as he pulled her backward to meet every thrust.
Her mouth fell open against the cushion. “Rafe.”
“What?” The word came rough behind her, barely carrying over his breathing.
She had no idea. Nothing useful, because another thrust landed deep enough to scatter whatever sentence had been trying to form. Her toes curled hard against the couch. One calf tightened until the muscle almost cramped, and she shifted instinctively, knees spreading farther beneath her.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his grip tightening. “Look at you.”
“Shut up.”
A laugh caught low in his throat. “Yeah?”
His palm left her hip. She knew what was coming approximately half a second before the smack landed across her ass. The sting spread hot over her skin.
Her body clenched around him. “Oh my God.” She turned her face farther into the cushion, partly because the upholstery was cool against her cheek and partly because she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing whatever expression had just crossed her face. “Do it again.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. There were certain statements a person could simply remove from history if nobody acknowledged them afterward. Rafe’s hand smoothed slowly over the place he had hit. “What was that?”
She shook her head, still breathless. “Nothing.”
“Could’ve sworn you said something.”
“I didn’t.”
His thumb dragged along the curve of her ass. “No?”
“No.”
Another smack cracked through the cabin. Her hips jerked backward into him and the moan escaped before she could catch it. Rafe laughed. A short, breathless little sound full of satisfaction as his hand slid immediately over the heated skin. “You’re fuckin’ unbelievable.”
“You’re literally inside me.”
“Yeah.” His fingers tightened around her hip again. “Seems like you’re enjoying that.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He pulled nearly all the way out, her breath caught, then he slammed back into her. The sound she made would haunt her in whatever afterlife admitted people who secretly fucked their twin brother’s mortal enemy aboard their employer’s family yacht.
Rafe’s hand returned between her shoulders, guiding her chest lower while his other gripped her waist. His rhythm picked up again, harder now, less controlled than before. Every thrust pushed her forward across the cushion before his hand at her hip dragged her back into him.
The boat gave another little knock against the dock. She hoped nobody could hear that from the house. Actually, she hoped nobody could hear any of this from the house.
Tannyhill sat far enough back from the water that the distance would swallow most of the noise, but she had also thought climbing onto My Druthers at four in the afternoon because Rafe had appeared at the dock and said, with irritating casualness, Nobody’s home, was a reasonable idea. Her judgement had clearly abandoned the premises.
She moaned again when he changed the angle, his cock dragging against the spot that made her fingers scramble uselessly over the couch. “Right there.”
Rafe’s breath hitched behind her. “There?”
She nodded. “Yes.” He did it again. Her whole body tightened. “Fuck. Yes.”
“Jesus Christ.” His hand travelled from the small of her back to her ass, gripping enough flesh to pull her back against him. “So fuckin’ tight.”
She buried her face into the cushion. “Stop talking.”
“Make me.”
“You’re such a–”
He thrust forward again, and the insult broke apart into a whimper.
Rafe’s hand slid up her spine, rough palm passing over skin damp from heat and exertion. His fingers reached the back of her neck, held there without squeezing and guided her head sideways enough that she could breathe properly.
His hand dropped and everything became filthy. Hard, fast, relentless strokes that made the cushions shift beneath her knees. One of them had already fallen onto the floor.
Her hair had escaped whatever loose knot she’d put it into before arriving and now hung over her cheek, sticking near the corner of her mouth every time she tried to breathe. She shoved it away impatiently.
Rafe slapped her ass again. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Already covered that.”
“You’re so fucking–”
His hips stopped. Completely. The sudden absence of movement made her entire body protest, a tiny, humiliating sound left her throat.
Rafe said nothing, and somehow that was worse than if he had laughed. He stayed exactly where he was, still buried inside her without moving, one hand resting loose and warm against the curve of her hip while the other hung at his side, giving her absolutely nothing to react to.
The cabin had gone strangely quiet around them, enough that she could hear the uneven pull of her own breathing and the faint slap of water against the hull outside, every second stretching longer while her body continued pulsing impatiently around him.
She waited for him to move, certain he would eventually get bored of whatever point he was trying to make, but Rafe possessed reserves of patience available exclusively for making her suffer.
“Rafe.”
“Mhm?”
She pressed her knees harder into the cushion. Nothing. She twisted enough to glare over her shoulder and found him looking down at her with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, chest rising heavily, the faintest fucking smile sitting at one corner of his mouth. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then move.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Please,” she mumbled, though it came out more like an accusation than a request.
Rafe’s smile widened. “Thought you hated me.”
“I do.”
“Mm.”
“Rafe.”
Still nothing. Rafe remained infuriatingly motionless behind her, giving her enough time to become aware of every place their bodies were still connected and every small involuntary response hers kept producing without permission.
The pressure of him inside her had already become impossible to ignore, her thighs tight and restless beneath her while the ache between them sharpened with every second he refused to move.
Pride lasted slightly longer than patience. Then her hips shifted backward before she had properly decided to let them, only an inch at first, just enough to slide herself farther along his cock and send a slow, heavy drag of pleasure through her stomach that opened her mouth around a quiet breath.
Rafe’s gaze dropped immediately to where their bodies met, and she went rigid the second she realised what she’d done.
Absolutely fucking not. That had been an adjustment. A completely ordinary repositioning necessitated by the deeply unstable nature of boats, and if anybody suggested otherwise she would deny it until one of them died. Preferably him.
Rafe, unfortunately, had witnessed the entire thing from approximately six inches away, and the slow movement of his hand over her waist made it obvious he had already reached a considerably more humiliating interpretation.
His palm travelled along her side with maddening leisure, thumb following the curve above her hip as though he suddenly had nowhere else to be, while the warmth of his barely contained amusement settled over the back of her neck.
“Oh,” he said.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Another quiet laugh. His palms moved over her with irritating leisure, both hands spreading across her hips before smoothing upward along her sides, over the curve of her waist and down her back again. He didn’t thrust. Didn’t even pretend to.
She could feel the exact shape of him inside her. Her thighs shook once. “Go ahead.”
She glared back at him. “What?”
“You seemed to have it handled.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“No?”
“No.”
His thumb brushed over the dip at the base of her spine. She remained perfectly still.
Rafe nodded solemnly. “Must’ve been the boat.”
“Yeah.”
“Current’s strong today.”
She narrowed her eyes, and his grin appeared properly. She hated his face. She hated his shoulders. She especially hated the fact that she could feel herself pulsing around him while he stood there enjoying this.
“You’re disgusting,” she muttered, though there wasn’t much force behind it anymore.
Her voice had gone breathless around the edges, and she knew Rafe could hear it. Worse, he could probably feel the way her body had tightened around him after that tiny movement backward, which made the slow amusement spreading across his face even more unbearable.
“And you’re fuckin’ yourself on my dick,” he said, glancing down between them before lifting his eyes.
There was no hurry, none of the rough rhythm from a minute ago. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, one hand still smoothing over her waist as though he had all afternoon to stand there and catalogue every humiliating thing her body did without permission.
“I am not.” She twisted enough to glare over her shoulder, hair sticking damply to one cheek while she tried to gather whatever dignity remained available to somebody currently on all fours with Rafe Cameron buried inside her.
“You just did.” His thumb pressed lazily into the soft skin above her hip, and the corner of his mouth pulled higher when she narrowed her eyes.
“That was gravity.”
“Right.” The word came out stretched with disbelief, Rafe nodding slowly as though she had offered him a genuinely compelling scientific explanation.
“The boat moved,” she insisted, because committing to a lie was often more important than making it believable.
Rafe glanced briefly toward the windows, where My Druthers sat almost perfectly still against the dock, before looking back at her. “Boat’s docked.”
She stared at him for half a second, offended less by the correction than by how smug he looked delivering it. “You don’t know how boats work?”
That finally got him. A rough laugh broke out of his chest, his head dipping as his fingers tightened reflexively around her hip, and she used the momentary distraction to push herself backward again with considerably more purpose than the first time.
Rafe’s laugh cut off in a groan. His fingers closed hard around her hips. “Fuck.”
She smiled into the couch. There. Much better.
Unfortunately, victory lasted approximately two seconds. Rafe dragged her backward and drove into her so abruptly that her smile disappeared. “Oh!”
“Still the current?”
“Fuck you.”
He did it again. Her arms gave slightly beneath her.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Thought so.”
The rhythm returned viciously. Rafe stopped giving her enough time to collect herself between thrusts, holding her hips and using the leverage to pull her back against him over and over until her knees had begun shaking in earnest.
Her forehead dropped to the cushion. “Rafe–”
“I know.”
“No, I– fuck.”
His hand slid around her waist.
She realised what he was doing and immediately sucked in a breath. “Oh, no.”
His fingertips found her clit. The first circle made her jerk so hard her knee slipped. Rafe caught her, one arm wrapped firmly around her middle, hauling her partly upright against his chest while his other hand remained between her legs. “Easy.”
“Oh my God.”
Her thighs trembled violently. Rafe’s forearm tightened around her waist, supporting more of her weight when her arms stopped being particularly useful. He kept thrusting into her from behind, movements shortened by the new angle but somehow deeper, every stroke working together with the steady circles of his fingers.
She reached backward blindly and grabbed his wrist. “Rafe.”
His mouth landed beside her ear. “Yeah?”
“I’m–”
“I know.”
Everything had become too much at once. The ache in her thighs. The rough fabric of his board shorts shoved down somewhere around his knees brushing the backs of hers. His chest hot against her spine. The thick drag of him inside her. His fingers circling through the wetness gathered between her legs.
She shook her head once. Rafe slowed immediately. “Too much?”
“No.” The word escaped breathlessly. “No, don’t stop.”
Rafe resumed the movement at the same measured pace, not harder and not faster, just settling back into that steady rhythm with enough control to make every pass of his fingers register separately against her already oversensitive body. Somehow that was worse.
If he had sped up, she might have been able to brace for it, might have found something sharp enough in the intensity to push against, but this gave her no such mercy. The pressure kept building in slow, exact circles while he remained deep inside her, each small movement drawing another tremor through her thighs until she could feel the muscles beginning to fail beneath her.
Her fingers tightened around his forearm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“That’s it.”
She made a high, broken noise.
“C’mon, baby.”
The endearment disappeared into the heat before either of them could acknowledge it. Her orgasm hit hard enough that her body folded. Every muscle pulled inward at once. Her thighs clamped around his hand, hips jerking helplessly while pleasure tore through her in bright, violent waves. Rafe’s arm locked around her middle and held her upright when her knees stopped cooperating.
“Oh my God.” Her voice cracked around the words.
Rafe groaned against her shoulder as her body clenched around him. “Fuck. Fuck, baby.”
He thrust through it, losing rhythm now, each movement rough and uneven while she shook in his arms. His fingers left her clit when she flinched from the sensitivity and instead flattened against her stomach.
“Rafe,” she whimpered.
“I got you.”
She barely processed the words. His hips drove forward twice more. Then his whole body tightened behind her. Rafe buried his face against the side of her neck, a rough groan breaking against her skin as he came. The arm around her waist tightened almost painfully for a second, holding her against him while his cock pulsed inside the condom.
The boat rocked. Somewhere outside, water slapped softly beneath the dock. For several seconds, neither of them moved. Her lungs felt approximately half their normal size.
Rafe’s breath came hot over her shoulder. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
She managed, “Never again.”
His chest moved against her back. She couldn’t tell if he had laughed or simply breathed.
“I mean it.”
“Sure.”
“I fucking do.”
“Mhm.”
He kissed the back of her shoulder. The tiny, absent movement shut her up far more effectively than an argument would have.
Slowly, carefully, he released her waist and helped lower her forward onto the couch. She collapsed onto her stomach, cheek landing on the cushion with absolutely no concern for dignity.
Rafe pulled out. She hissed at the sudden emptiness.
“Sorry.”
She waved one limp hand at him. “Don’t speak to me.”
“Wasn’t gonna.”
“Good.”
She heard him dealing with the condom behind her, movements rustling through the quiet cabin before his footsteps crossed toward the little bathroom. Her legs remained spread uselessly behind her. One foot twitched.
Holy fuck. Absolutely not. This was the last time.
She had said that after Barry’s too, admittedly, but that had been different. That had been an impulsive mistake behind a drug dealer’s trailer while both of them were angry, keyed up and willing to suspend every useful instinct they possessed for long enough to end up half naked in the back of his truck. Nobody could reasonably be expected to make sound decisions under circumstances like that.
The bait-shop parking lot had been different too. She couldn’t immediately explain how, but she was certain there had been mitigating factors. And the downstairs bathroom at the Figure Eight party had barely counted at all because they had run into each other by accident, argued for several minutes and then somehow ended up with her shorts around one ankle. Circumstantial. Practically unavoidable, if somebody was willing to be generous with the definition.
This, unfortunately, had involved a sequence of conscious decisions.
They had stood at the end of Tannyhill’s dock in broad daylight. Rafe had looked toward My Druthers with an expression she had understood immediately, and she had told him, very clearly, Absolutely fucking not.
She had even meant it for several seconds. Then he had started walking toward the boat and, for reasons she would be taking to the grave, she had followed him aboard without requiring so much as a second invitation.
That felt dangerously close to premeditation.
She turned her face farther into the cushion and groaned, the sound muffled against the expensive upholstery while her body continued offering deeply unhelpful reminders of exactly why her judgement kept collapsing around him. No. Never again. This time she actually meant it, and the fact that she had also actually meant it the previous three times was irrelevant to the present argument.
Probably.
The sound of footsteps returning through the cabin made her lift her head. She lifted it enough to see Rafe crossing the salon wearing nothing but his board shorts, sitting low on his hips. He had collected pieces of her clothing on the way. Rafe tossed her bikini top onto her back.
She flinched. “Ow.”
“Oh, relax.”
“My entire body hurts.”
His mouth twitched. “Yeah?”
“Don’t.” He held out her bikini bottoms. She looked at them. Then at him. “Where were those?”
Rafe glanced toward the little table. “Under there.”
“Why?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
“You took them off.”
Rafe stared at her.
She pushed herself upright with considerably less grace than she would have preferred and snatched the bottoms from him. “Stop looking at me.”
“You were naked thirty seconds ago.”
“Different.”
“How?”
“It just is,” she muttered.
He shook his head and reached down beside the couch, retrieving her shorts. “Here.”
She held out her hand.
Before he could pass them over, the boat shifted beneath a different kind of weight. A footstep. Both of them froze. A human foot landing on the deck above them. Her head snapped toward the ceiling. Another step. Her heart gave one violent kick beneath her ribs.
She whispered, “Who the fuck is that?”
Rafe’s face had changed. His shoulders went rigid and his gaze flicked toward the salon entrance. Another footstep. Closer. “Fuck.”
Her stomach dropped. “Who is it?”
“How the fuck would I know?” he hissed.
“Rafe!”
“If it’s my dad–” His voice stopped short.
Ward Cameron finding his son mostly naked on the family boat would already be inconvenient. Ward Cameron finding JJ Maybank’s twin sister half dressed on the couch his family presumably used for tasteful boating activities might result in her being fired from jobs she didn’t even have yet.
Rafe shoved her shorts into her chest. “Hurry up. Get fuckin’ dressed.”
“I’m trying!”
“You’re sittin’ there.”
“My legs don’t fucking work!”
His mouth opened.
She pointed at him. “Your fault.”
Another noise came from outside. She moved. Adrenaline possessed excellent restorative properties.
She yanked her bikini bottoms up her legs, nearly putting both feet through one opening before correcting herself with a whispered, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Rafe grabbed his shirt from the floor. She stared at him.
“What?”
“You’re going out?”
His eyes were wide. “Somebody has to.”
“Why?”
“So they don’t come in here!”
She sighed. “That’s actually a very good point.”
“No shit.”
He dragged his shirt over his head, barely getting one arm through before the voice outside stopped every useful function in her body.
“Hello?”
Her heart died, then revived exclusively so it could begin trying to escape through her throat. John B. John fucking B. She and Rafe stared at each other. His eyes widened slightly.
Rafe shoved his other arm through the shirt and dragged it down his torso. “What?”
His voice cracked slightly. She slapped both hands over her mouth. Rafe glared at her.
She was going to die. John B was going to kill her. Then he would kill Rafe. Then, because death would not sufficiently express the betrayal, John B would probably locate somebody qualified in resurrection, bring her back and kill her again.
Afterward, he would kill himself simply for the opportunity to find her in whatever afterlife had accepted them and continue the argument.
JJ would help. Actually, JJ would make it worse. John B could occasionally be reasoned with. JJ would see Rafe Cameron’s bare ass in the general vicinity of his twin sister and immediately become something investigated by wildlife authorities.
Rafe pushed through the salon door and disappeared onto the deck. She scrambled for her bikini top.
Outside, John B said, “Oh. Rafe. Your dad asked me to drop these back.”
Metal knocked heavily against the deck. Scuba tanks. Right. Because John B worked on the boat. The boat she had chosen for sex.
Brilliant.
She wrestled with the bikini strings behind her neck, fingers shaking badly enough that she missed the knot twice.
Rafe’s voice came sharper from outside. “Yeah, well, you can get the fuck off my boat, man.”
Her hands stopped. She closed her eyes. Of course he couldn’t simply behave like a human being for four fucking minutes.
John B’s answer carried clearly through the thin cabin walls. “I work here, Rafe.”
Rafe scoffed. She could hear the sound from inside. “Yeah, whatever, Pogue.”
She stared toward the door. Asshole.
A tank scraped across the deck. John B muttered something she couldn’t catch. Her fingers finally managed the knot. She pulled her shorts on next, hopping once when the denim caught around her damp thigh.
The movement sent a deep ache through her hips. She nearly laughed. This entire situation was obscene.
She had Rafe Cameron’s come contained only by modern contraceptive technology somewhere inside the boat’s bathroom bin, John B was ten feet away moving scuba equipment, and she was standing in the Cameron family yacht trying to fasten shorts over an ass Rafe had probably left handprints on.
What exactly was her plan here? What was any of this?
There were approximately four thousand men on Kildare Island. She had selected the one person most likely to cause her brother to commit homicide. Repeatedly.
Outside, John B said, “You really gonna stand there and watch me?”
Rafe answered immediately. “Sure am. Wanna make sure you’re not stealin’.”
Her eyes closed again. She pressed both hands over her face. There was a long silence.
Then John B said, with the exhaustion of someone whose soul had briefly left his body, “Jesus Christ, dude.”
Something heavy landed onto the deck. Rafe said, “Careful with that.”
“They’re scuba tanks.”
“Yeah. Mine.”
“They’re your dad’s.”
“Same fuckin’ thing.”
“No, actually, that’s not how ownership works.”
“Oh, you wanna teach me about ownership?”
She bit her knuckle. This was going to become a fight. Rafe had somehow taken a situation requiring thirty seconds of basic social competence and begun transforming it into class warfare.
“Man,” John B said, “I literally came here because Ward asked me to top up the air tanks. I’m giving them back. That’s it.”
“Cool. They’re back. Bye.”
Another tank scraped. “Move.”
“What?”
“You’re standing in front of where they go.”
There was a pause, then Rafe said, “Put ’em somewhere else.”
“Oh my God.”
She heard John B’s footsteps cross the deck. Her heartbeat followed every one. Closer. Closer. Then moving away again. She stood perfectly still in the salon, shorts buttoned now, bikini straps tied, one hand pressed over her mouth to quiet her breathing.
John B couldn’t come inside. He couldn’t. If he came through that door, there was nowhere to hide except the tiny bathroom and one storage compartment that looked barely large enough for life jackets.
She briefly considered climbing through a window. There were no windows that opened. Rich people had never considered emergency evacuation during illicit hookups.
Outside, something metallic clicked against the deck, followed by John B’s exhausted sigh, and she pressed both hands flat against the front of her shorts as though that might somehow steady the frantic beating beneath her ribs.
She could hear everything far too clearly through the thin walls of the salon: the scrape of one of the tanks being shifted into place, the soft creak of the boat beneath their weight and then Rafe asking, with all the warmth of somebody waiting for a trespasser to leave his property, “That it?”
“Yeah,” John B answered, sounding equally pleased to still be having this conversation.
“Great.”
There was a pause long enough that she could almost feel John B deciding whether the next sentence was worth the effort. “You know, you could just say thanks.”
Rafe gave a short, humourless scoff. “Why would I?”
“Because I did the job.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
“Your dad did.”
“Yeah, well, he asks you to do lots of shit.”
The silence that followed was so complete she could picture John B’s face without needing to see him, that blank stare he usually gave JJ when something so spectacularly stupid had just been said that his brain required several seconds to determine whether responding would improve the situation or whether violence might actually save time.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back toward the ceiling, because somehow, while hiding half dressed inside the Cameron family boat after letting Rafe fuck her into one of its couches, she had still found room to be embarrassed by his personality.
“Whatever, man,” John B said eventually.
His footsteps moved across the deck, and every muscle in her body tightened around the sound. One passed close enough to the salon entrance that her breath stopped altogether, held painfully high in her chest while she stared at the door and imagined it opening.
There would be no explanation. There was no arrangement of words in the English language capable of making this look anything other than exactly what it was.
Her bikini was on crooked, her shorts were barely fastened, her hair looked like somebody had used it to survive a storm and her legs still had not completely recovered from Rafe’s enthusiastic contribution to the afternoon.
John B would take one look at her, take one look at Rafe and become a problem requiring police boats.
A soft thud sounded outside as John B stepped down onto the dock. She still didn’t breathe. His footsteps began moving away from the boat, slow at first and then fainter across the boards, and she counted them without meaning to, tracking each one until the sound became too distant to separate from water moving beneath the dock.
Ten seconds passed. Then fifteen. She made herself wait until twenty before allowing air back into her lungs.
The salon door opened almost immediately afterward. Rafe stepped inside looking irritatingly unconcerned, and she crossed the space between them before he had managed two full steps.
Her palm landed flat against the centre of his chest with a sharp smack that barely shifted him but satisfied something inside her anyway.
“You didn’t have to be such an asshole to him,” she hissed, keeping her voice low despite the fact that John B was probably halfway toward shore by now.
Rafe glanced down at where she had hit him before lifting his head slowly, disbelief pulling his brows together. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“He was on the boat.”
“He works on the boat, Rafe.”
“Yeah,” he said, mouth twisting faintly. “Unfortunately.”
She smacked his chest again, harder this time, and he caught her wrist when she drew her hand back for a third attempt.
His fingers closed easily around it, more restraint than force, but the fact that he looked genuinely annoyed by her objection only made her want to hit him again.
“Stop.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Would you rather I invited him in?”
Her mouth opened automatically, an argument already climbing toward it, but nothing useful arrived. Rafe’s brows lifted as he watched her realise exactly what an invitation would have produced: John B walking into a room that still smelled faintly of sex, a couch missing half its cushions and his best friend’s twin sister dressed with the urgency of somebody escaping a house fire.
She yanked her wrist free instead. “You could’ve just been normal.”
“Normal?” A rough laugh left him as he glanced around the wreckage they had made of the salon before looking back at her. “You’re hiding inside my dad’s boat after I just fucked you into the couch and you want me to be normal?”
Heat rushed straight into her face. “Keep your fucking voice down.”
“He’s gone.”
“You don’t know that.”
Rafe looked toward the door, then back at her with an expression that suggested she had finally lost whatever limited sense he credited her with. “Pretty sure he didn’t swim under the fuckin’ boat to listen.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Mhm.”
The sound came lazily, almost pleased, and his attention began moving over her before she could stop it. He didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.
His gaze travelled from her face down the length of her body, catching immediately on the bikini top she had tied in approximately eight panicked seconds while John B stood outside.
One triangle sat noticeably higher than the other, but symmetrical tits had felt considerably less urgent when the alternative was discovery and subsequent murder. Her shorts weren’t much better. She had managed the zip but not the button, and Rafe’s eyes lingered there long enough that she folded her arms across herself.
“Stop.”
His gaze lifted. “Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
The corner of his mouth pulled upward. “Like what?”
“You know what.”
Rafe stepped closer, and the pulse that had only just begun slowing after John B immediately found some previously untapped reserve of energy.
She hated that her body still responded to him this quickly, even when she was angry, even while she could still hear John B’s voice in her head and feel the residual panic trembling somewhere beneath her skin.
She held her ground anyway, lifting her chin as Rafe stopped close enough that she could smell salt, sweat and the soap he had used earlier.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she told him.
“Yeah.”
“And you were a fucking asshole to John B.”
He sucked at his teeth. “Yeah.”
“He didn’t even do anything.”
“He came on the boat.”
“To do his job.”
Rafe dragged one hand over his face and let out a long breath through his nose. “Jesus Christ.”
She ignored the warning and continued, because if he was going to behave like that she was going to make him listen to why. “You act like every Pogue who gets within fifty feet of you is gonna steal the fucking silverware.”
“Most of you probably would.”
Her arms dropped immediately. “See?”
“What?”
“That.”
“What?” He looked genuinely irritated now, which somehow made it worse.
“That fucking Kook bullshit.” She gestured broadly at him, because there was too much of it to isolate with one finger: the boat, the house beyond the dock, the expensive ring still sitting on his hand while he insulted people for existing near things his father owned. “That thing you do where everybody from the Cut is automatically stealing something just because they’re standing near you.”
Rafe stared at her for several seconds, jaw shifting while whatever small amount of patience he had been using finally ran out. “Have fun walkin’ home.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He moved past her toward the kitchenette as though the conversation had ended because he had decided it had. She twisted around to follow him with her eyes. “You’re kicking me off the boat?”
“Thought I disgusted you,” he said, opening the small refrigerator beneath the counter.
“You do.”
“Great.” Rafe pulled out a bottle of water and straightened. “Problem solved.”
She glared at the back of his head while he twisted off the cap, briefly considering the walk from Tannyhill to the Chateau. It was possible. Technically. People had travelled much farther distances under considerably worse conditions throughout history, though those people probably had functioning legs.
Hers still felt unreliable from the knees upward, every muscle carrying that loose, trembling exhaustion that came after being thoroughly overworked, and there were several stretches of road between here and the Cut where Figure Eight residents drove imported SUVs as though pedestrians were an avoidable design flaw.
Principle, however, had never been especially interested in logistics. “Fine,” she said.
“Fine,” Rafe echoed, raising the water to his mouth.
She waited. He drank. She continued standing there.
Rafe lowered the bottle and looked at her. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then go.”
“I am.”
She turned and managed two steps toward the door before something tugged gently at the back of her shorts. Her body rocked backward, and she stopped with a scowl already forming before looking over her shoulder.
Rafe had hooked two fingers through one of her belt loops. Enough that when he pulled again, she ended up taking the step backward he wanted.
“What?”
He said nothing, only tugged once more until she turned around properly and the front of her shorts brushed against his. Some of the irritation had faded from his face, though not enough to suggest any meaningful growth had occurred in the thirty seconds since he told her to walk home.
That would have required a level of emotional development neither of them had prepared for. His eyes dipped to her mouth instead, lingering there with a familiar focus that made her stomach tighten despite every reasonable objection available.
“Where’re you going?” he asked.
She stared at him. “You just told me to leave.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
Rafe’s expression remained blank. “Don’t remember that.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘have fun walking home.’”
“Doesn’t mean now.”
Her stomach did something deeply irritating at the distinction. She hated him. She hated that ridiculous mouth. She hated that two fingers hooked through the back of her shorts possessed enough influence to reorganise plans she had considered very firm several seconds earlier.
“You are such a fucking dick.”
Rafe hummed as though she had paid him a compliment, his free hand settling at her waist. “Mhm.”
She shoved at his chest. The effort lacked enough conviction to achieve anything, which they both noticed. “You were an asshole to him.”
Rafe tipped his face toward the ceiling and exhaled slowly. “Jesus fucking Christ, are we still doin’ this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you were.”
Her palms pressed against his chest again, ostensibly to create distance, though neither arm straightened properly.
His fingers remained hooked into the belt loop at her back while his thumb moved once against her waist, dragging over the narrow strip of exposed skin between denim and bikini. The tiny movement sent a warm, unwelcome awareness along her side.
“Let go,” she said.
“No.”
“Rafe.”
“Maybank.”
She glared up at him. He looked back with that infuriatingly settled expression he developed whenever he believed her body had already answered a question her mouth intended to keep arguing about for another twenty minutes, and the worst part was that he wasn’t entirely wrong.
Her thighs still ached pleasantly every time she shifted her weight. The skin across her ass remained warm where his palm had landed earlier, and now that the immediate terror of John B discovering them had passed, all the adrenaline left behind seemed determined to migrate somewhere lower and significantly less useful.
Rafe’s thumb moved again. Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she could stop it. Only for a second. His lips curved.
Rafe pulled lightly on her shorts until another inch disappeared between them, leaving her palms trapped uselessly against the solid warmth of his chest.
She should have shoved him properly. That would have been sensible. She could walk off the boat, walk all the way home and spend the rest of the afternoon convincing herself this had been an unusually elaborate lapse in judgement rather than evidence of a developing pattern.
She could decide never to climb aboard My Druthers again unless equipped with bolt cutters and criminal intent.
Instead, her attention slipped over his shoulder toward the couch. One of the cream cushions lay on the floor where it had been knocked earlier. Another sat twisted nearly sideways, the fabric creased beneath the impression of knees and hands.
Rafe followed her gaze. When she looked back at him, something had changed in his expression.
“Don’t,” she warned.
His smile widened slowly. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“Can’t control my thoughts.”
“Try harder.”
“Mhm.”
His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, broad palm settling there with the kind of familiarity they were both still pretending had not begun to exist.
Her breath caught softly enough that she hoped he missed it, though experience suggested Rafe missed almost nothing when it involved her betraying herself physically.
This was still the last time. Absolutely. No question about it. She had never meant anything more sincerely in her life, and whatever had happened the previous three times she had reached the same conclusion had no bearing whatsoever on the credibility of this particular promise.
Rafe lowered his head. She tipped hers back before his mouth even reached hers.
Which meant absolutely fucking nothing.
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watching you for months from behind foggy glasses and shaky hands, jerking off to the thought of you with his earbuds in and a pillow clutched to his chest, pretending it’s you. whispering your name like a prayer, like he’s ashamed of how bad he wants it.
so when it actually happens—when you kiss him, when you pull him onto your bed, when you say “do you wanna…?”—he nods like a fucking puppy. eager, dumb, eyes already wide and blown-out.
he tries to act confident. really, he does. tells you in this shaky little voice,
“i-I’ve seen a lot of videos, I know what to do…” like it’s something to be proud of. like his entire sex education isn’t a pornhub rabbit hole and three reddit threads.
but the second you guide him in? game over.
his hips jerk forward way too fast, eyes rolling back as he gasps, forehead pressed to your shoulder.
“oh god—oh fuck—fuckfuckfuck, i’m sorry, I didn’t—”
he whines. actually fucking whimpers into your skin, clutching your waist like he’s drowning in it.
"y-you’re so warm—can’t—can’t help it—feels s-so good, I—I didn’t mean to—"
and then he just freezes, pulsing inside you, biting back a sob because he came already. not even thirty seconds in.
he can’t look you in the eye. rolls off you like a guilty little rabbit, red-faced and mumbling apologies into your neck.
“i swear i’ll make it up to you. i’ll—i’ll go down on you, okay? for as long as you want. just… don’t hate me.”
he does make it up to you. tongue trembling, nose buried in you like it’s his job, moaning every time you tug his hair and call him good. (he cries again when you cum on his tongue. it’s kind of sweet.)
warnings ⁀➷ semi-public sex, age gap (rafe is in his 40’s, reader is early twenties), cheating, unprotected piv, baby trapping, boob play, oral. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+
author’s note ⁀➷ fuckkk i wanna lick his bald ass head.
older bf!rafe who would never even think about saying no to you. It doesn’t matter how many of his cards you’ve maxed out, he would never make you unhappy. You never notice it, but his dick twitches at the sight of your happiness. He knows for a fact that no man will ever take care of you like he does, and that’s what makes him sleep better at night.
older bf!rafe who spoils you more than his own wife. Who never fails to pay all of your bills on time and gives you even more money on the side. Who takes you shopping to buy all of the clothes and jewelry that you could ever want.
older bf!rafe who wants to taste you at every chance he gets. If y’all are stuck in traffic, he’ll quickly pull your panties aside to get a good taste of you. He always has a need to dive his head in between your legs and take his sweet time with your pussy.
older bf!rafe who brings you to his yacht to finally get some alone time with you. Whose wife and colleagues stress him out so much that he needs you in order to get some release. Who finally feels a sense of peace whenever you are around him.
older bf!rafe being on an important work call as you’re down on your knees. He puts his fist over his mouth trying not to moan as you shove his dick even deeper in your throat.
His legs shivering and twitching as he’s seconds away from cumming down your throat. Who jerks violently as he reaches his orgasm and tries to push you off of him. Who throws his head back in agony as you have no intention of stopping until you make him cum again.
older bf!rafe who brings you into his house whenever his wife is away at work. Who fucks you hard as he stares at their wedding photos with a wicked grin on his face. Who makes sure that he fucks you on her side of the bed, letting you know that you should be his wife and not her.
older bf!rafe who’s heart swells at the nudes you send him while he’s at work. Who excuses himself from the conference room to jerk off to your pretty pictures. His grip gets tighter around his dick at the reminiscence of your tits in his mouth. Imagining how your tits would squeeze around his length as he fucks them. He cums hard at the thought of your tits in his face.
older bf!rafe who makes sure to breed you each and every single time. Whose thick arms pin you down to stay absolutely still as he cums inside of you. Who makes sure that you will certainly get pregnant so that he will forever be in your life. You will finally be Mrs. Cameron after all.
It was just supposed to be a quick tour of your campus and your dormitory, a little drive around the area so your mom feels more familiar with the environment her own daughter have adapted to.
"Pretty close to the campus, right?" You smiled from the passenger seat as she drove out of the driveway of your rented dorm once she was satisfied enough with checking it out, "I can even wake up just a tad late and still be early."
A tender laugh escaped your mom, hands on the wheel and driving down the road you've gone through since the start of the semester, "Not so expensive too, huh?" She nodded in approval.
Only then did her eyes land on a certain event going on on the side of the street. "Oh look! A car wash!" She exclaimed cheerfully, the wheels of your car immediately redirecting to that certain part of the street, "Your old man will be so happy to know his car's washed up after that awful rain last night." She snorted, patting your hand.
The moment your eyes followed her gaze, your smile vanished from existence. "Mom, no!"
Because, sure, a clean car would be perfection in your dad's eyes. But a clean car due to the hands of frat boys and witnessing it happen from within the car sounds like a torture in hell for you.
Especially when your mom parked the car right by Rafe Cameron and his closest frat bros. A frat boy with a cocky smirk, cap always on backwards, with an arrogant and snobby kook attitude as the cherry on top that makes him somewhat unbearable in your eyes.
How you wished you could evaporate into thin air when your mom rolled down her window with that wide smile on her face.
Topper Thornton first approached the car, grinning a toothy grin, "Ma'am." He winked at your mom, shirtless torso leaning against the side of her car door, his eyes just briefly glancing your way with an amused chuckle.
Before your mom could speak, you raised a hand to interrupt her quick, "Are the sorority girls doing the car wash too?"
At this point, even having to witness the tiniest skanky bra one of those girls would wear is better than having shirtless exasperating frat boys wash your car.
"Just us, sweetheart."
Of course he had to show up. What better time for Rafe Cameron to actually put work into his car washing other than when your parents' dirty car pulled over? Was it perfect timing or was he just being annoying?
"Cameron." You sighed, nodding tiredly as you slowly sank down the passenger seat, praying to god for a miracle of becoming invisible.
Noticing your familiarity with Rafe, your mom beamed with excitement, "Oh, who is this, darling?" She asked, watching as Rafe squeeze out the drenched, soapy sponge, his skin perfectly sunkissed; shirtless with that stupid backward hat still on.
"No one important."
"Rafe Cameron, ma'am."
He was smiling, all performative and charming wannabe! It sickens you seeing him trying to act all sweet and perfect in front of your mom, you might as well jump out the driver's window to strangle him in 3... 2...
Your mom turned her head towards you, almost giggling as she grabbed your hand, whispering enthusiastically to you, "He's cute!"
Looking back at Rafe, all you saw was his wide toothy grin, gaze completely locked onto the pissed off look you had on your face. He was enjoying it all too much, his face alone was practically mocking you. And even with every second you look at him, even with squinted eyes, you still couldn't find this "cute" factor your mom have found in him.
A scoff escaped your lips, rolling your eyes at him. "Just go wash the car. Squeaky clean." You waved him off, or rather tried to.
"Tell me more about yourself, Rafe."
"Mom!"
Rafe chuckled, the stupid grin on his stupid face only widening as he stepped closer to your mom's window, his lean torso practically put on a showcase for the both of you.
"Well, I guess I can say that I'm majoring in business, I play golf, and…" He shot you one glance. A glance that just tells you he's looking for mischief, "…I asked your daughter out on a date once."
A gasp escaped your mom, looking back at you, "I've never heard of this!" The look on her face was an odd combination between disappointment towards you and excitement towards the news, "How come I've never heard of this?!"
"Because it never actually happened, mom." You groaned, "He—"
"—Needed your permission." Rafe completed with more lies, "I told her I'd need your full consent to proceed with the date."
His never-ending lies only made your mom believe more and more that he's such a distinguished gentleman.
"Such a lie!-"
"How thoughtful and respectful." Your mom said in awe, close to actually tearing up from the "angel" in front of her, "Well, you've definitely won my permission now!" She laughed.
It took you a good amount of six seconds to realize she was genuinely giving Rafe Cameron the permission to take you out on a date. It felt like one of those wattpad stories of being sold by your mom to one direction. Except instead of the gorgeous Zayn Malik, you got the irritating Rafe Cameron.
Your mom smiled wide and happy, "Oh please, sweetheart, just go on a date with this cute boy." She subtly pleaded, "Don't you wanna make your mom happy?"
Well... you don't get that bright of a smile on her face every day. It's kinda sad.
It's his smile that suffocates you.
On one hand, you wanted to give your mom what she wanted, especially since you think she's trying hard to give you puppy dog eyes. On the other, you just wanted her to drive away from Rafe Cameron. Even better if she drives over him. Just to get away from his self-absorbed, cocky, shit-eating—
"Whatever." You sighed, already sinking in the passenger seat and regretting even letting her drive the car by the time she finally ended the convo with him with a cheerful shriek.
Delighted by your response, with a cocky and arrogant smirk on those lips, Rafe Cameron proudly washed your car, the wet, soapy sponge in his hand dripping while he lingered by your side of the car, stalling washing the roof of the car just to give you more time to appreciate his bare torso showcased in your window.
He surely must've thought you'd spread your legs open just at the sight of his glistening torso. But a difficult girl like you just makes this ten times more enjoyable for Rafe.
And just to make sure you know you're stuck with him, he leaned his face down by the window, grinning and winking at you before aiming the hose right at where your annoyed face was behind the window.
"You're dead." You mouthed through the window, looking like the equivalent to an angry rat clenching its fist.
"You're mine." He mouthed back, shooting you a wink before squeezing soap onto the window, blurring away your sight of him.
One way or another, he was already planning the date.
