✮⋆˙ . 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."
-when his anger is taken out on the wrong place in the wrong time- angst
You heard the door slam before you saw him.
Heavy, rushed steps. Keys tossed onto the console. His bag hitting the floor with a thud that echoed down the hallway.
He didn’t even say hello.
You were already in the kitchen, apron still on, a dish towel over your shoulder and his favorite food still hot on the stove. You had candles lit — just two, small ones, nothing dramatic. You just… wanted to make him smile. You missed his smile.
So when he walked in, stiff-shouldered and scowling, you tried anyway.
“Hey, baby,” you said, gentle, trying to meet him where he was. “Rough day?”
He didn’t answer.
You took a step closer, hands still in the dish towel. “I made—”
“Why is it so fucking dark in here?” he snapped, voice sharp like glass. “I can’t even see anything—can you turn a goddamn light on for once?”
You froze, blinking.
“I— I just thought the candles would be—”
He scoffed, brushing past you, hand running through his hair, exasperated. “Jesus. I come home to this after the shit I’ve been through?”
You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know it would be this bad. I thought maybe—maybe it’d help. I made your favorite.”
You lifted the dish — still warm, perfectly plated, just the way he liked it. Your hands were trembling.
And maybe it was the wrong moment, or maybe he didn’t mean it at all, but he looked at it — looked at you — and said,
“I don’t need you hovering over me. I need space. Just—fuck. Stop trying so hard.”
Silence.
Your fingers shook.
Something in your chest cracked. Not loud — soft. Like the quiet break of something that had been held together too long.
“I was just trying to make you happy,” you whispered.
The dish clattered — not shattered, just dropped onto the counter as your hands fell away. Your breath hitched. The tears came faster than you could stop them.
And then he reached for you.
“Shit—wait, wait—baby, I didn’t mean—”
You flinched.
Like he’d slapped you. Like his voice alone had scorched the space between you.
his eyes widened. His hand froze midair.
You were already turning away — stumbling, shoulder brushing his as you ran past, up the stairs, into the bedroom, the soft sound of a door clicking shut behind you like a final period at the end of a sentence you didn’t want to write.
Downstairs, he stood in the kitchen. Staring at the plate you made. The food untouched. The candles still flickering softly. Pushing back the hair out his eyes
𓂃✍︎ bf!rafe dealing with you squirming during sex . . .
summary: perhaps it was the fact that he was thrusting in a terribly fast and harsh pace, but you just couldnt seem to be able to stay still.
content: smut, dom!rafe with a lot of manhandling + talking you thru it, piv, positions change; missionary to doggystyle.
Both of your weeks ended like every sweet couples' usually do; using the last bits of your staminas just to get a satisfying release that'll clear out your heads from the long, tiring day. The word release, in this case, meaning sex till you're damn near breaking the bedframe.
That night, Rafe was being particularly rough, choosing the missionary position like he always does whenever he felt the desire to be the one 'in charge', placing wet, open-mouthed kisses around your neck while the sound of your moans fills his ear, his favorite melody.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had not only a tiring day but also a somewhat bad one, needing and chasing this satisfaction more than ever with his hips thrusting at a terrifyingly fast pace, practically slamming again and again into you while his fingers were grabbing onto your hips so tight it might even bruise your skin. His hands were a guide to your hips so you too were moving against him.
"Oh fuck... just like that..." he grunted, panting into your ear as he fasten his pace even more, your hips shoved together.
The problem isn't that you didn't like it, oh you fucking enjoyed it. Instead, the problem is the fact that you were a squirmy person, barely able to keep your limbs still as he drives his cock in and out of your pussy rapidly.
Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his burning skin, only to let go and grip onto the sheets instead, not even knowing what to hold onto anymore. Your back arched, hips stuttering frantically in his hold, making his control on your hips movement a tad difficult, meanwhile your toes curled with your legs restless and your head thrown back over the pillow.
A moan escapes your throat, loud and desperate, "Fu- mm.. fuck!" You gasped, "S-so fast! I... I can't- please!" You pleaded with him, your shaky hands reaching for his wrists to try and pull them off your hips.
"You can, baby... I know you can..." Rafe assured you with ragged breath, his voice incredibly calm for someone who's raging cock is pounding into you, "Shit... stop moving, can you?"
He let out a grunt, patience growing thinner with each movement you made, which then led him to grabbing your wrists with one hand and pinning them up above your head on the pillow.
With your hands stuck on that position, you could only arch your back and move your legs as the tip of his cock kept on hitting all the right spots to make your toes curl even more. It might just be your favorite feeling in the whole wide world.
"Stop moving around, baby..." Rafe groaned, feeling your tits pressed against his chest due to how much you were arching your back, his ears filled with your desperate, mumbled, and frantic pleas. "I know, I know... You can take it, okay? Just... ah fuck..." He whispered, ragged breath and moans of his own filled your ears.
Yet now with only one hand on your hip, it was harder to guide them to move against his when your just kept on squirming and wriggling, so much that his dick managed to slip out once. Which to Rafe, once was plenty.
Rafe let out another groan, "Goddamnit!" He took his hands off your wrists– only to flip you over onto your stomach, hands guiding your hips to be lift up to provide him with your ass in the air, "Fuck... hold on, baby..." He cooed, as if as a silent apology.
As he thrusted back into you hard and deep, his hands held your wrists behind your back tightly, the slight grin on his face showed how he was assured that now you weren't gonna move as much. Not even gonna be loud, not with your flushed face pressed against the pillow, surely.
"Ra... Rafe..." You managed to moan against the pillow, eyes rolled to the back of your head and drool pooling onto the white pillow case. The position you were in had the least possibility to squirm around, only able to wiggle your fingers.
Rafe just kept on pounding into you, longing to feel those walls squeeze around him and hear the loudest and dirtiest moan leave your swollen lips, to know you were satisfied with the night just as much as he was. And while he's at it, he was still busy holding your wrists together, keeping your roaming hands still from clawing onto him.
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ backward hat!rafe + your anklet on his shoulder™️, unprotected p in v, poolside sex, w.a.m., language, pet names (baby, pretty, my girl + no y/n), obsessed husband!rafe, kelce + top catching strays, rafe’s grumpy as hell + rafe is down catastrophically bad per usual ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
“Hell no.”
Topper pauses halfway through reaching for his ball marker and looks over. “What?”
Rafe points at him fast. “I know what you’re gonna ask. Fuck off.”
Topper stares at him for a second before a laugh escapes. “Jesus Christ, dude.”
Beside him, Kelce just shakes his head, snickering under his breath while he crouches to line up his putt. The ball sits a few feet from the hole and he’s still smiling when he lines up his putter behind it.
“We haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Don’t need you to.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”
“Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You were gonna ask if I wanted to grab a drink after this.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Topper asks, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe like he’s officially lost his mind.
“You don’t want an answer to that, Top.”
He hooks a finger beneath the sleeve of his golf polo and rolls it a little higher on his bicep, adjusting the fabric before dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. The UV index has to be somewhere around ten and he feels every bit of it.
“The only reason I’m out here is because she said it’d be good for me.”
Topper snorts and Kelce’s chip barely makes it out of the sandpit.
“And you’ve been thinkin’ about leaving since hole one,” Topper chuckles, shaking his head.
“Hole one? That’s insulting,” Rafe breathes.
“Sorry, hole four—”
“Parking lot,” Rafe cuts him off. “I was thinkin’ that since the parking lot, Top.”
But even that’s a lie. He was thinking that the moment that he watched you wave to him over your shoulder before you stepped outside—that little string bikini peeking out of the top of your shorts, tormenting him beyond belief.
Ever since then he’s been crossing holes off in his head like an advent calendar from his own personal hell.
“He’s not even listening,” Kelce teases.
Rafe looks over at him, blinking slowly a few times with his lips pursed and his hands resting on his hips.
“‘Course I’m not.”
“Unbelievable,” Topper sighs. “I was just telling Kelce we could do another eighteen holes—”
Rafe can’t even contain his disgust—wincing, brows pinched tight, nostrils flared with a side eye dripping with judgment.
“We’re not inviting you, Cameron. Calm the fuck down,” he blurts.
Ding! Rafe’s hand moves, diving for his pocket like someone challenged him to a goddamn duel.
Kelce drops the head of his putter against the grass, shaking his head judgmentally. Rafe rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone without a shred of shame.
“You’ve got a problem,” Topper says.
“A legitimate fucking problem,” Kelce adds.
“I can’t help that neither of you like your wives,” Rafe mutters and both of their mouths hang open in disgust. “Whatever,” he says, sounding so genuinely unbothered. ‘Cause he is.
Then he looks down at the screen and suddenly nothing else matters.
You’re stretched out across one of the lounge chairs beside the pool with a book propped open. The afternoon sun reflects off your skin. The book covers half your face, but that isn’t helping him concentrate because the rest of you is impossible to miss—the soft swells of your breasts pressed against the pool chair, the curve of your ass, just a taste of your thighs. Your feet are crossed, the little anklet he bought you glittering in the North Carolina sun.
“Look at him,” Topper says, nudging Kelce with his elbow.
“Not a single thought in that head,” Kelce adds as he steps forward and rests his putter behind the ball, taking his time while he studies the break.
The green goes quiet for a second while everybody waits for him to hit it. Before he can even pull the putter back, Rafe steps directly into his line and sinks his putt without hesitation.
Topper starts barking out a laugh and Kelce stares at him in complete disbelief as his ball rolls toward the hole. “You are such a prick,” Kelce says.
“We’re done.”
“We are absolutely not done.”
“This feels done,” Rafe answers, bending down to grab his ball, starting toward the flag before the argument is even over, Kelce’s ball still rolling toward the cup.
“You’re unbelievable, Cameron—”
Rafe cuts off Kelce’s critique, kicking the ball, sending it careening away. “It was gonna hook left anyway,” Rafe says over his shoulder, digging his keys out of his pocket, heading toward the parking lot as the two bitch behind him. “You two suck at golf, by the way,” Rafe calls back.
“Fuck you, Rafe,” Kelce laughs weakly, walking toward his ball.
“Short game’s terrible.”
“Rafe!” Topper calls but he flicks him off in response.
“Don’t even get me started on you, Top. You read greens like an eighty-year-old man with cataracts, fucking useless.”
“Jesus Christ,” Topper gasps.
Rafe doesn’t even bother organizing his clubs when he reaches the parking lot. He yanks them out of the cart, tosses the entire bag into the trunk with absolutely no regard for the thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment inside.
He jogs around the side of the car, yanks the driver’s door open, and practically falls into the seat before firing the engine to life.
Gravel spits behind him as he throws the car into reverse, backing out of the spot in one smooth movement before shifting into drive.
The second he hits the main road, he grabs his phone and calls. His thumbs drum against the steering wheel as the summer wind whips through the car, his pulse hammering, still racing from that power walk to his car.
“Hey, baby,” your voice fills his car and he softens in his seat, hands wrapping a little tighter around the wheel as he smiles.
“Hey pretty,” he hums.
His voice is softer now, gravelly from talking all day and sweeter than it has any right to be considering the way he’d been speaking to Topper and Kelce five minutes ago.
If you’d been standing on that green listening to him threaten both of them, you’d absolutely have something to say about it. He already knows exactly what you’d tell him too. Be nice. Stop being grumpy. They’re your friends. The problem is that he doesn’t care about any of that right now.
“Where are you?” You ask curiously, and he can hear in your voice that you know he dipped out of there sooner than he should have.
“Just left.”
“You just left?” You giggle.
“Mhmm...” Your voice comes through the speakers and instantly makes him feel better than the entire golf outing did.
Traffic slows for a red light and the drumming starts again as he waits for it to change.
“You weren’t gonna get a drink or something?” You ask. “Relax?”
“Absolutely not.”
The answer comes so fast that you start laughing again. The corner of his mouth twitches as he shifts in his seat. “They were stayin’ to practice puttin’, baby.”
“Really?” You ask, not convinced in the slightest.
“Yeah. Their—uhhh… Their short games suck.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“They’re fuckin’ terrible, baby. That was a long-ass day,” he grumbles and you giggle. He leans back against the headrest as he lets the moment breathe for a minute. “Kids been easy on you today?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Just laying by the pool,” you say.
“Sounds rough.”
“Fuckin’ terrible, baby,” you echo his words back to him and he smiles. “They’re actually at Wheezie’s.”
The car accelerates, completely subconscious on his part, but you hear it loud and clear. Rafe’s eyes flick briefly toward the speedometer while a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”
“Rafe Cameron, slow down.”
The grin only gets worse, sinking a little lower in the driver’s seat, as one hand falls to the shift stick.
“I’m goin’ slow, baby.”
“You are not,” you answer. “You accelerated the second I said the kids weren’t home.”
“Did I?” You can practically hear the grin in his voice now as he weaves through traffic. “So.”
You start laughing, knowing exactly where he’s going to go with this. “Winnie’s in Charleston with Jackson.”
“Got it. And Max?” He asks eagerly.
“He left like an hour ago.”
“On the boat?” He asks, knowing that’s an all-day affair.
“Mhmm…”
Rafe’s laugh rumbles through the phone. “Interesting,” he says.
“Interesting?” You laugh and sigh sweetly.
“Sounds like I get you to myself all day?”
“Sounds like it.”
By the time he turns into the neighborhood, he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The gates open and he barely slows down as he pulls through them, already spotting flashes of blue water between the houses.
“You’re almost here, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he hums. “See you outside, baby.”
The second he turns into the driveway, the car barely has time to rest before he’s throwing it into park, killing the engine.
The garage door rumbles overhead and he doesn’t wait, ducking underneath it before it can open all the way. His shirt’s halfway over his head before he even reaches the mudroom. By the time he steps inside, he’s carrying the polo in one hand, snagging his swim trunks from the laundry room with the other.
He stumbles slightly, kicking off his golf shoes without ever breaking stride. Future Rafe can deal with that problem. Present Rafe has more important things to do.
His golf shorts are already undone by the time he reaches the hallway. He steps out of them, steps into the swim trunks, and keeps walking without stopping once to grab his hat, tugging it on before he flicks it to the back.
Now he’s finally home and the only thing he cares about is the backyard door sitting at the end of the room. He reaches it a few seconds later and quickly slows down, dragging the glass door open.
And that last bit of tension breezes out of him, because there you are.
You’re curled up in a chair with a book open in your hands, completely unaware that he’s standing there.
He admires you for a moment—one leg crossed over the other while sunlight dances across the pool behind you. He soaks in the scene he’d spent eighteen holes waiting to get home to.
Then a sharp whistle rips through his lips.
Your head lifts at the sound.
The book lowers into your lap and a smile breaks across your face so fast it makes something in his chest tighten.
You start to uncross your legs, already leaning forward like you’re about to stand, but he points at you.
“Nah, baby,” he says. “Stay right there. I’m comin’.”
You laugh under your breath and fall back against the chair.
The cushions dip beneath his weight as he climbs on top of you. One hand braces against the armrest while the other finds your thigh, his broad palm sliding higher as he guides you closer.
“Miss me?” He asks. Rafe’s smile tugs a little wider when you whisper yes, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your thigh.
He slides a hand along your side, guiding you onto his lap as one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest while the other lifts to cup your cheek.
“Goddamn, I missed you. Don’t make me do that shit again,” he mutters, shaking his head once before leaning back enough to look at you properly. “M’not home enough for that.”
“Okay, baby,” you laugh.
“I mean it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t try to charm me after that, pretty. That was hell.” He leans in first this time, forehead brushing yours for a second before his lips find yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.
Your hand presses against his chest, nails scratching lightly down sun-warmed skin. He pushes the cup of your bikini to the side, wrapping his lips around your skin while his other hand drifts between your thighs.
“Out here?” You ask with a laugh.
“We’re all alone, baby. Why not?” His lips brush yours again before trailing along your jaw. “We can go inside too—”
“Right here,” you whisper.
“That’s what I thought,” he hums. “Who’s my girl, huh?”
You smile, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. “I’m your girl.”
“Mhmm.” His thumb drifts along your collarbones to your shoulders, nudging one strap down before the other. “You’re my fuckin’ girl.” The words come out rough enough to pull a smile from you.
You reach up and untie the small bow holding your swimsuit top together. The fabric slips loose between you.
Rafe’s eyes drop as you toss it away. “Jesus Christ, baby.” A low groan slips out of him as he tips his forehead against yours for a second, hands lifting to squeeze your tits in his big palms as his mouth finds yours again.
You glance down briefly, catching his swim trunks sitting low on his hips from where you’d been tugging at them, bunched slightly against his muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight across them.
“Take these off,” you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before he slides down in his seat, tugging down his shorts with him, his heavy cock smacking against his toned stomach with a snap, his eyes locked on your body.
His hands squeeze your hips, digging in as he drags your clothed pussy on top of him, head pressing back into the chair. The sun beats down on your skin. A thin line of sweat catching his chain before it rolls in a lazy train down his chest.
“They said I got a problem,” he mumbles through a smirk, his jaw tightening as you keep moving against him, the heat of your body bleeding through the fabric of your swimsuit, finally snapping whatever patience he had left.
“Yeah, baby?”
“You see any problems here?” He asks breathlessly as he reaches for the bows at your hip, tugging them free, yanking away the rest of the fabric in a hurry as his hands close around you again.
He blows out a breath like he’s finally gotten rid of the last thing standing between him and what he wants, his hand diving between your thighs.
His fingers press inside and he gasps, working you with his hand as you rest on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath, his muscles flexing with each push of his hand.
“Just jealous they don’t have a woman like you?” He hums as he pulls his hand away just long enough to drag you in.
Rafe’s lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pulls you down on him. You grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your wetness wrap around him tight.
“Fuck, me,” he mutters under his breath, dragging you closer, smiling against your lips before capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.
“Oh my god,” you whine.
“Pussy’s so perfect.”
His eyes lift to yours in a lust-ridden daze, muscles flexing as he works you over on his length. You bounce on his lap, wet slaps of sweat and slick filling with air around you mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep groans.
You grip the arm rests, circling your hips and he throws his head against the back of the chair to get a better look, his eyes drifting between your face and the bounce of your tits, falling to his lap where your pussy swallows him up each time you sink down.
His legs spread a little wider, feet resting on the ground, hips pitching to fuck up into your soaked hole. Your head throws back as you rise on your knees, letting him hit that perfect spot, the knot in your belly tightening, your body impossibly hot.
“Rafe,” you moan.
“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Been playin’ this shit over and over in my mind, pretty. Let me have it.”
You cry out as he pounds your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, as your pussy flutters around him. He looks up at you in a haze, lips parted, brows softening as your release wets his lap and thighs.
“Oh shit, that's my girl… That’s my baby,” he praises, making you gasp when he rolls you onto your back, not giving you a moment to breathe before he’s on you again.
He looks down at you with a smile, adjusting his hat, staring at the wet mess between your thighs. “Why the fuck would I ever wanna leave you, huh?” He asks as he pushes your legs against your chest, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders.
You whimper out a little breath as he taps his cock against your pussy, muscles jumping with each slap.
He pushes in slow, tilting closer to get as far as he can go, pressing a deep kiss to your trembling lips. “Gonna cum in your pussy,” he whispers, his voice breaking with pleasure. “M’so, so fuckin’ close.”
His face turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your ankle, right against the charm. His ab muscles clench as he rolls his lips, sweat sliding down his temple.
“I’m so deep,” he mumbles. You nod quickly, lip bitten between your teeth, hands gripping the arm rests tight.
“So fucking deep,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly. “Fuck me.”
He loses his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven as he snaps against your skin. His muscles quake, shoulders trembling, slamming into you in one heavy thrust.
His eyes pinch shut, head falling forward, cumming deep inside you with your name on his lips.
He lets your legs go but he doesn’t let you get far, snuggling into you again, kissing your forehead—then your nose and your lips.
“Goddamn,” he mumbles, lingering while your breathing slows together.
He sits down next to you, dragging you close, kissing you as he grabs your thigh, tugging it over the top of him—close not close enough.
“This,” he huffs out a deep breath through a smile, relaxing into the lounge chair. “This is what’s good for me.”
“Yeah?” You giggle, tilting your chin up for a kiss that he gladly steals. You rest your head on his shoulder, the warm summer breeze blowing against your skin, the soft music that you had playing while you were reading filling the space in between.
“You sent that picture to me on purpose,” he breathes.
A smile stretches on his lips when you don’t answer right away, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
“Holy shit, you did? Didn’t you?” He asks, tilting his neck to look you in the eyes and you shrug and smile.
“Thought it would get you home quicker.”
His hand comes down heavy on your thigh as he dips in, brushing his nose against yours, chuckling deeply against your lips before he kisses you.
warnings ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა : oral ( f rec. ) , bluecollar!rafe ( dada mannn )
you loved to watch bluecollar!rafe eat . . .
yes, i know that sounds weird, because why would you like watching your husband eat? but here's the thing about him, he always ate like the food was gonna run away from him.
you noticed—well, it was hard not to—on your first date. he was quite literally scarfing down the plate within milliseconds of the food being served.
and no, you were not taking your food home because once you placed your fork down, you practically read his mind. "you want the rest?" you didn't mind, simply because you found his big appetite endearing.
to be honest, you found it hot too . . .
like just imagine rafe being exhausted after being out in the summer heat from sunrise to sunset. his skin was slightly flushed from sunburn, probably in an airy white tee and shorts.
but then he begins eating like he's been starved, despite the plethora of food you packed in his huge lunchbox before he left.
large, rugged hands gripping the spoon handle like a vice, completely dwarfing the utensil. both elbows are planted on the table as he hunches over his plate. he doesn't let any exaggerated sounds escape as he inhales his meal like a vacuum cleaner.
so just having this beefy man at your dinner table had you wondering one thing: if he eats like that, imagine how he eats cat. & boy did he eat it well . . .
everything was wet. your pussy, inner thighs, rafe’s face, and even the sheets below you. yet that only spurred your husband on because he could and would make you wetter.
“rafey, m’sensitve now,” you’d mewl, digging your head deeper into your pillow.
when rafe was between your thighs, he was a man of few words, only grunting or letting out raspy moans to your taste. continuing to slurp down your pussy juices like his day starved him from being saturated in your slick.
he’d suckle on your clit in a way that had your thighs tensing around his head and your toes pointing into the air. sometimes he’d even have his teeth lightly graze your nub when you’d get too rowdy. “let me eat,” he murmured, circling your dripping entrance before dipping his tongue into your heat to receive more of that sugary sap you flooded his mouth with.
and when he felt your velvety insides get warmer, he immediately tilted his head and flattened his tongue against your pussy, ready for your cunt to splatter that sticky cream of yours onto his taste buds.
& cream you did. once you felt that muffled “cum for me,” vibrate against your throbbing pussy, your thighs trembled around his head. your cunny pulsing rhythmically around his tongue, because of course, he wasn’t moving until he licked up every drop you gave him.
when rafe finally let up, you’d watch him wipe his mouth on the back of his arm, mirroring his actions from dinner . . .
so yeah, having a husband with a big appetite meant he had an even bigger appetite when it came to you :3
