TEN SECONDS TO RUN
summary: The trend said run from your cop boyfriend. You sent him a video as a joke, but you didn’t think he’d make you run. So you run with a ten-second head start.
pairings: cop!rafe cameron x afab!reader
warnings: 13.9k words. mature themes. consensual non-consent (cnc). dubious consent. primal play. unprotected p-in-v. uniform kink. breathplay (light choking). spanking. clit stimulation. nipple play. mock resistance. degradation / praise kink. overstimulation. cockwarming. outdoor sex. light exhibitionism. impact play. power imbalance. d/s dynamics. read & consume responsibly.
note: hi!!! this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks now :// it took me forever to finish. it’s based on that trend from tiktok. please read the warnings carefully and only continue if you’re in the right headspace bcs your comfort comes first always :) ♡
If five years ago someone told you that you would live with your boyfriend of four years, you would laugh at them because you love having your own place and don’t like the idea of living together unless you are married already. And here you are, living with him. It’s been three years since you started living in this town, and it has been longer than you planned. It’s already long enough for you to get comfortable in the place. The air and environment are fresh and smell like grass and woodsmoke. You and Rafe have a house close to the forest. It’s nothing fancy, but it has a cute porch and a backyard that faces the woods. Close enough to hear the birds at dawn or when you wake up. The house is far enough from the other houses so no one really sees what’s happening in or outside of the house.
It’s domestic, soft, and steady in a way you’re still not used to, especially since you came from a city, which is loud and where time moves fast compared to being here. Rafe told you before that he used to live on some island or near the water; he doesn’t really talk about his past. Not that you press much about it since you respect his boundaries. He managed to pick up work with the sheriff’s department in a sleepy county where no one really runs and no one really fights, so it’s like they’re just protecting the peace and quiet here.
He has the badge and the uniform and gets free coffee at the diner. Everyone says he’s cleaned the town up, which is something to be proud of considering he’s kind of new to the town. It’s not like he found enemies already, but some men from the sheriff’s department envy him, and women from this town love him. But you know what he really is. He is restless, wired for something, a man who needs a target, and someone who wants to protect others. Especially you, since you are his top priority, and you’ve always been good at making yourself the center of his attention.
Before you know it, he has already left for his morning shift before 8 AM. He’s quiet about it and didn’t wake you up, just gave you soft kisses on your temple and boots low on the hardwood. You’re stirring awake when he closes the door shut and the sun touches your sheets. It doesn’t take you long enough before you walk barefoot towards the kitchen in a tank top and shorts, too lazy to get out of your night clothes. It feels too sleepy when you boil hot water and you scroll while waiting. Watch some clips that keep showing the same trend the whole time she’s waiting for water.
FYP plays it like a loop. You see girls running in spandex. They’re breathless, laughing, and glancing back as they run. Some of them don’t even show they got caught, but there’s the implication of it. Even now you pour the boiled water on your coffee, and you still see the same five videos again. Just click the heart button and scroll away, but you didn’t just heart it. You know you shouldn’t, but you are stubborn, and the trend reminds you of Rafe. So you tap share, scroll, tap his name in your contacts, and send it.
It doesn’t have any additional text or emoji, just the video. Then you put your phone face down like it’ll make you innocent again. Just try to ignore your phone for hours because you feel like you just sent something embarrassing and you’ll regret it. So you let it sit there while hours stretch. You cleaned, you read, and you did everything that needed to be done in the house. But it didn’t really last; curiosity is eating you, and your itching hands check your phone once only to see the seen under your message, nothing else, and your stomach tightens.
You shower, do your skincare routine, and do all the beauty things that you always do to stay pretty for him. You distracted yourself because there’s no knock, no call, and no message. Just wearing your favorite faded shirt- no bra underneath- and black cotton short shorts that cling around your thighs and ass and ride up. You tell yourself that you wear them because they’re comfortable, not because Rafe finds them sexy, even though they’re not the lingerie-level sexy. Maybe it’s because of all the clothes you wear; he still finds you sexy and beautiful.
After some time, you set the table and cook food for dinner, and it’s almost dark when you hear tires and sounds from the car outside. The door clicked open, boots across the kitchen. You don’t turn, but you know it’s him. “Smells good,” he says, voice rough and deep. Still in his uniform, and the scrape of Velcro rings in your ear as he pulls off his vest from his body. Walking towards you, his hand slides around your waist to hold you close, and his mouth is on your neck. “Missed you,” he whispers as he grazes his lips on your skin and gives it small kisses. “Missed you too,” you say back to him before you pull out of his hold and sit on the chair across from his seat. This night feels off, but not at the same time. It’s normal. Too normal. He doesn’t even mention the video and doesn’t tease you like he usually does. He just eats quietly while you try to read to him.
The whole dinner, he never mentioned it. He just talked about his day and how annoying the other officer at work is. How lunch tastes like shit since you’re not the one who made it. Even when you cleaned the table and dishes, nothing. Then, ten minutes later, when you’ve convinced yourself he forgot, he leans against the counter with arms crossed. His eyes flicked down your legs. Then up. “What was that video about?” he asks. Tone low, flat, not angry, and not playful. It’s just quiet in a way that you will feel something is off. Your body straightens before you realize, and fingers tighten around the plate. You blink, trying to play dumb. That will work. Yeah, it will. “What video?” His head tilts. Oh, so you will go that route. You’re not getting out of this. He saw it at 9:41 a.m., boots on the dash, sun on his thighs, and the notification ping: Baby ❤️ sent a video. He opened it without thinking; anything from you will always get his attention.
As it played, something in him stirred because of the caption in the video saying, “Just conditioning to outrun my cop boyfriend.” The woman is giggling, carelessly running ahead without glancing back. His mouth dried as he watched it, fingers locking on the wheel. You weren’t a TikTok girl. He knows you don’t do videos that are on the trend. And he knows you didn’t send shit like this unless it meant something. He stared at it for a full minute. Then tapped the sound and scrolled just to see more girls running and getting caught. The comments nearly made him lose it. People commenting things like “My bf tackled me into the grass” or “He chased me barefoot in the woods.” He should be guilty, but his cock twitched behind the belt, and he has no shame. Jerking himself raw in the cruiser while picturing your breath catching, thighs flashing as you disappear into the tree line. He’d actually thought about it before while his teeth were on your shoulder: ‘You ever think about running from me, baby?’ But he bit it back and didn’t say it out loud because he didn’t know if you were ready. Now, after that video, it’s like an opening for him.
He steps forward in your direction. “That video,” he says again. Slower and heavier. “That cop boyfriend one. Where the girlfriend runs.” His tone is serious, and it makes your stomach pull tight knots. You say nothing, feel your mouth getting dry, your skin too warm and flushing, and your thighs pressing together. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t raise his voice, but his presence presses in the whole house. It eats you in and almost suffocates you. “You sent it to me.” Your fingers twitch before you put the last plate inside the rack, and your knuckles tighten. “Oh, that?” you say, voice too airy. “I dunno. It’s just a trend.” Your laugh is shallow, hoping it sounds like nothing, but his silence answers first. You glance at him, and his jaw is tight.
You try again, hoping he will buy it. Your voice is much softer and sweeter. “I thought it was cute,” you offer. “Made me think of you.” Like that’s the reason, like it’s the only reason. Brow lifting at your words, a twitch that says he knows you’re lying but will not call it out directly. “Cute,” he repeats, like he’s baiting you. Throat bobbing, and eyes want to look away from him, but didn’t. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean anything by it.” His hum isn’t agreement, just a low sound, like a dog deciding not to bite yet. “Have you been seeing it a lot?” You nod too fast. “Yeah, it kept popping up,” praying to anyone above you to make your boyfriend believe your words, but that seems impossible at the moment. “Hm.” His eyes dip to your oversized shirt riding high, bare thigh under the table.
“And what do they do? Just run?” Your breath wavers. You nod more slowly. “They run, the boyfriend chases, sometimes tackles. It’s dumb,” because it is, and you don’t even know why the trend exists! But… It’s hot at the same time, even if it’s dumb. “It looked serious to me.” The voice is sharper, but not louder, just cutting. “Comments were fucked up.” Your heart kicks. You hadn’t thought he’d read those. “Dragged me back by the ankle,” he quoted and also used both of his hands to show what he read, eyes on yours. “Didn’t even wait to get home.” You let out a brittle laugh. “TikTok people are dramatic.” Take the bait, goddamn it. Why can’t he just believe you? You are not some sort of criminal, hello? There’s no smile on his mouth when you tell him that; you can’t read what mood he is in or what he’s thinking. It’s just the sick silence wrapping around the both of you.
Thumb hooking on his belt, not to remove it but just out of habit, and the shift in the air is so evident. “Did you want to try it?” The breath stutters in your chest. Why would he even ask that? It’s not like you want to be chased like that. You know he will easily catch you, unless you are high on adrenaline. “What?” you manage to say. “I said,” he repeats before asking you again, “did you want to try it?” Your mouth opens again. “I didn’t mean it like that,” quiet words let out from your mouth before you bite your bottom lip between your teeth and take a deep breath. “No?” Your cheeks are warm while you shake your head, embarrassed like you’ve been clocked out. Thighs tensing, pupils wide, and he can see it. His eyes focused on you like he’s watching you like a fucking hawk. Eyes notice the way you move even just a little, how you press your thighs shut, your chest rising more and catching, your lips parting like you want him to kiss you, and how your pretty fingers twitch like something is scaring you. He's known you for four years now; he already knows how to read you like he knows you more than you know yourself. He knows what makes your nerves anxious and shake from excitement. Or when you are just being you, he knows it even when you don’t say things out loud.
Working as a cop is nothing if he can't observe people in a way he needs to; it means he’s not good enough if he can’t be able to read you. Luckily for him, it’s just you. He leans close to you before speaking, voice warm and comforting, “Hey.” His hand brushes from your hips down to the side of your thigh and squeezes it. “You can trust me, yeah?” The words wrap around you, thick with promises you should fear. But it’s only a disguise for something else, you know it. You look up, glassy-eyed, lips parting like you might say yes, maybe, or I don’t know, but nothing comes. God, he’s using his pretty smile against you, again. The smile that always fools other people in this town without knowing what he hid behind those teeth. “I know it looked intense,” he says like he’s trying to reassure you but it comes more like he’s just convincing you. You feel his warm palm that he managed to sneak on the side of your thigh, his touch is not like he’s trying to do something because it looks like he’s just holding you. “I know the way he grabbed her is harsh, but that’s not what I’m asking for.” His thumb rubs slowly. “We wouldn’t do something like that.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he assured you, his voice sounding so sweet and quieter now. “You say stop, I stop. You get too far ahead, and I let you win.” Letting you win tastes like bait. He knows how to catch people, and he’s using it to help you. It’s like cat and mouse; besides, you are the mouse who’s going to get caught. “I promise.” You look down, feeling his fingers tightening on your knees. “I just thought it could be fun,” he says, smoothing it over, “get outside, get some air. “You don’t even have to go far.” That made your eyebrow raise, and you blinked like you knew he was hiding something behind those words. He notices, eyes flickering before he leans in and levels himself down to your height before tucking hair behind your ear. His thumb drags at the edge of your mouth. “I was thinking,” he murmurs softly, “you could run down to that old fence at the tree line.”
“You hit the fence, you win. Game over.” His eyes gleam. “I’ll even wait. Give you a ten-second head start.” Your lashes lower, a small nod following, not a real yes, but enough because you want to believe it’s a game. But it sounds fair at the same time. His offers sound sweet; they’re promising even. He kisses your forehead with the same gentleness and softness he always shows to you. You are his girl after all, you need the best treatment, especially from him. “You trust me, don’t you?” Eyes looking up at him, lashes batting while you’re thinking if you don’t want to try it or you are too shy to admit that you want to do the trend with him. You nod, and that’s all he needs. He rises, fingers brushing his belt, pausing at the door to look back once- soft eyes, familiar mouth- before leaning down, voice nearly kind. “Go ahead, baby,” he whispers. “Tie your shoes.”
When he steps out, back door swinging shut, boots heavy on the porch, you don’t see the way his mouth twists. You feel the coldness of the knob under your fingers when you go upstairs just to change clothes or maybe just to put shoes on. It didn’t take you too long before you got out of the house, and he’s already there waiting for you. The breeze catches his uniform, sleeves rolled, badge glinting- and tugs it against his frame. He hasn’t changed, says he likes the weight of the day on him, and says it reminds him of who he comes home to. His eyes find you instantly. You haven’t changed either, just tied your shoes, and he notices, gaze dragging from your socks to your legs, to your shorts clinging to your hips, to your favorite shirt hanging loose. Your perfume hits him, faint, floral, and curling off your skin.
His head tilts. “…Perfume?” You glance away. “I don’t know, I just… felt like it,” the voice sounded so shy and flushed. Your words actually made him smile- the one that can make your stomach turn upside down. “You wore it for me?” he asks, stepping closer, voice warm, too tender to question. “Even just for a game?” You shrug, helpless. “You were already dressed up.” Heatness found your cheeks as he looked at you with adoration as if he was complimenting you through his eyes. “Hmm.” His smile grows. “Guess I have to make it worth it then.” You shift, nervous but not enough to pull away. He gestures toward the trees, the fence leaning in the dusk. “You see that post? That’s the finish line. No tricks. That’s the end of it. You reach it, it’s over.” He brushes his knuckles to your cheek before making you look up at him, and you do glance up at him with hesitation in your eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. “You can trust me.” You want to. You always do.
“I’m not gonna scare you,” he murmurs. “Just a run. Just you and me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s soft, and grounding. “I’ll give you ten seconds’ head start, alright?” That’s good, right? Means you will be far from him when you run. “Okay,” you whisper. He backs away, giving you space, like this is still yours. He lifts a finger, smirking. “Ten…” You turn. And run. You don’t use your full speed, not that you try it and you are not much of a running person. Your pace is enough to move away quickly from the house and away from Rafe. The wind touching your skin makes you shiver, but it also feels good because of the good weather. The fence runs closer to your sight as you continue to move your feet, and you can remember how many times you passed by it but you never ran toward it like this.
Your heart pounds. You feel your limbs running like you are in a marathon, him behind you but he’s not running yet. Your feet just continue ahead, not looking back at him. The voices in your head tell you to focus and just run because you are going to win. But in all honesty, you don’t think you do. And behind you, Rafe continues counting with his being loud and you can still hear him. It was so cheerful even. “That’s it, baby! You look good out here!” That actually made you laugh breathlessly. You feel high, nervous, and maybe you’re already twenty yards out as your hair is whipping your face, and your muscles are burning. You’re not sure if it’s effort or anticipation. “Look at you go,” he calls out, It’s like he’s admiring you. “Didn’t think you’d be this fast!” His words make your stomach turn upside down and you giggle. Smile creeping to your face and maybe for one stupid and sweet second, you believe what he’s saying. You pass the garden, lavender brushing your calves, the ground dipping, grass uneven, the fence like a promise.
“Keep going, baby!” Rafe calls, warm on the breeze. “You’re doing so good!” he adds, low, like a hand on your back. You run harder, earth shifting under your feet, packed dirt turning soft, grass thickening, roots tugging at your rhythm. Feet don’t slow. Can’t. You told yourself it was fun, but something’s curling in your gut now, tight, low. “You’re so fast,” he calls, louder. “I’m proud of you, baby.” It sounds like praise. It’s not. You glance back once- just once- and the stretch behind you is empty, but that doesn’t comfort you. Because you know Rafe, how quiet he can be, how patient, and how kind he sounds when he’s about to do something.
The fence is there, old wood that looks fucked up. “Five!” he calls. Your chest tightens; you almost trip. “Four!” he shouts, voice sounds playful. Something in you knows he’s already moving even though you can’t hear the footsteps. “Three!” He continues counting. “You’re almost there!” Your lungs burn. “Two!” A sound breaks out of you, looks like a halfway between a gasp and a sob. You keep working harder, and your arms are pumping. “One!” Silence. Your legs falter, already weakening. The fence is closer but not close enough, and then, from behind, too near now- “There she is,” Rafe stated, voice thick with a grin. “My fast fucking girl.” It sounds proud and tender, like he’s cheering. But something deep in you pulses, that part that doesn’t believe him. Maybe because he sounds like a liar right now.
“You look so pretty when you run,” he calls, expression amused, and feeling aroused. “All flushed and breathless.” Just keep going. Just run. Don't look back. Don’t speak. Continue. There’s a thick air in your throat while trees blur from your eyesight. The path was turning faint. The branches brush your arms when you get too close to them. You keep going, past the garden, past the clearing, past the point you promised you’d stop. Rafe’s voice followed from behind, “God, I love watching you like this,” You don’t know what that was supposed to mean. Watching you run is fun? Watching you squirm and get sweaty and breathless? “You’re making me work for it, huh?” Oh yes, you do. Maybe it’s the adrenaline making you keep running. Maybe it’s your instinct. Maybe it’s fun. Legs are starting to feel tighter as you reach the fence after three more steps. But you didn’t stop. Legs keep moving even though you almost fall because of that stupid rock you didn’t notice, but you are not a quitter so you continue.
You also take that chance to slow down… to bend forward with your hands on your knees to get air that you know is not enough. Chest feels tighter, your legs are starting to shake when you try to catch your breath, and you feel the world is spinning around you. You reached the finish line. Or is that really the finish line? Because it doesn’t feel over. Your lungs burn, your calves ache, your throat is dry, the woods are blurring, feet are slamming harder. Something in you says: Run. So you do. You passed the garden, the tree line, the fence, but you run because your chest knows what your brain won’t say: He’s still coming. He never said what he’d do when he caught you. “Baby,” his voice calls, honey-slick, teasing, echoing off branches.
“You passed it. You got past the fence.” Voice echoing behind you and you can’t figure out what’s his tone he’s using, if he’s sincere or fucking around so you don’t stop. Your body doesn’t believe that voice. Not when your legs are still flying forward, or lungs clawing for air, or heart slamming your ribs like it’s trying to escape. The woods thickened, the last light almost gone. You are deep inside of it now, you just know it. Can’t even the road or the house or the surroundings beside the woods, the fence is gone from your eyesight if you turned around. Each step is just dragging and pulling them at this point, but it doesn’t matter because you are stubborn as fuck. Still proud to stop even when you feel him, maybe it’s your competitive streak that you have in your system. The shirt starts to get damp, and it feels cold and burning in your chest at the same time. Steps get uneven and you walk and run like a person who just got out of a hook up and is doing the hookup shame. Clue: limping. You run like you just get fucked, but God you didn’t… You still run. There's a messed up part of you that wants to keep running not because you want to win, but because you want to get chased by Rafe.
Behind you, Rafe slows, silent, watching you weave through tree trunks like a trembling deer. It’s beautiful to him. You don’t notice how far you’ve gone, how far he’s let you go. That’s the game. He doesn’t want to catch you yet. He wants to watch you run yourself ragged. Want your knees weak before he touches you, want you panting and brainless so when he closes in your body won’t know if it’s fear or relief that makes you fall. The ground dips, your ankle twisting on a root, and you curse under your breath, slower now. Shadows thicken, your body wanting to stop, lungs aching, your mind whispering: just one second. Then- “Still going?” His voice, smooth, amused, curls around a tree ahead.
You flinch, stumble. He’s in front of you now. You don’t know when that happened. But there’s a safe distance and he’s not catching you in his arms. “And you said to me before you are not a runner baby,” he said. You feel his presence looming over you. “This is surprising, actually. Didn’t think you’d make it this far.” You bite your lips, eyes looking up at him with your face sweaty and your hairs close to your forehead is soaked. “But you’re slowing down,” he adds. “Tired already?” You swallow, don’t answer, cold licking up your legs, wanting to move but frozen, and quivering. “You can stop anytime, baby,” Rafe says gently. “All you gotta do is fall.” You want to believe that means safety, that if you stumbled, he’d carry you back home.
But your body doesn’t believe him. Not your lungs, not your legs, and not that deep animal part that remembers how he looked earlier. That part screams: Run. So you do. Get past him and you feel the grass touching your shins. The branch almost makes you stumble and it strikes your thigh, but you don’t feel any pain. At this point you don’t give a fuck anymore. It’s all about adrenaline in your system that is giving you an energy like a redbull drink. Don’t forget how the woods feel unfriendly, it’s thick and dark: you don’t know where you're going to run. You don’t care. All you know is he’s behind you, somewhere, patient, letting you burn yourself out.
Breath starting to hiccup while tears are pooling under your eyes. Pace is unstable like you are some criminal running away from crimes you didn’t commit. Throat tasting like metal and burning. Arms feel heavy as if you carried the world on your shoulders. Behind you, his voice comes- closer than it should. “There she goes,” he teases. “I knew you’d run if I asked nicely.” You don’t dare look back. He sounds far, but Rafe’s a liar, patient, the kind of man who would walk through fire just to feel you melt. “You’re so fucking pretty when you panic,” he calls. It’s not even winding, it’s more like he’s like he’s strolling and has all night. “Keep going, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.” You trip over a root, barely recover, and still- you run. Because you know once he’s done watching, he’ll start running too.
And when that happens? You won’t make it far. You know it. It’s only a matter of time before he catches you. Then you hear a branch snap behind you loudly. It’s not just some step that feels powerful but it’s fast and thicker. It’s like the woods feel him and you know you can’t look back because it will slow you down. Mostly because you know you’ll see him. “Alright,” Rafe calls, voice loose and at ease. “You wanna keep going?” He exhales. Sounding sharp, and excited. “Then I’ll run too.” And then- you hear it. The steps. His boots. It’s heavy. It’s fast and trained. You know you’ll lose it because it’s different now. Should’ve just stopped when you reached the fence, what a regret, right? “Oh, baby,” he calls, closer now. “You should’ve fallen when I gave you the chance.”
It’s like your body is screaming already to stop but instead you try to run harder with uneven steps, legs burning, chest aching. Don’t give a shit about drenched in sweat and how your shirt is clinging as your every breath cracks on your ribs. He laughs- like it’s his favorite part. Maybe it is. “Told you to trust me,” he pants, “but you wanted to run.” Another branch snaps, closer, and you sob once, soft, confused, something between panic and something wetter. “You look so fucking scared,” Rafe growls. “You know that?” You trip again, just a little, and enough. He doesn’t pounce. Not yet. He’s close now, your panic bleeding into the dirt. Then he says it with want: “Don’t fall yet, baby.” A pause. “Let me decide when.”
So you didn’t fall because if he catches you, you’re not walking back. You don’t even know how long you’ve been running. It could be thirty minutes or an hour. Maybe less but it feels like it. The woods are getting darker and more dirt is showing, you don’t even notice the branches that make you stumble, but thankfully you don't fall on each branch you fail to notice. And don’t talk about your heart because it’s beating so fast it might punch your ribs to get out or you might be in cardiac arrest. Let’s not forget that the sound of his boots as he goes towards you is on the top list of your most hated things in the world. He talks again just to remind you he’s still here, “You getting tired, baby?” You gasp, throat raw, unable to answer, but your body does- legs buckling, stride faltering, trying to push but too late. You don’t fall because he takes you down. Heat and weight slam into your back, leaves crunching, and your breath is stolen in a ragged cry.
“Fuck,” Rafe snarls into your neck, voice wrecked. “You made me run, sweetheart.” Your cheek grinds into dirt, his hand fisting your shirt, yanking you back. His body shakes- not from effort, but restraint. You feel it in his chest caging your spine, also the hard press of his cock grinding slowly against your ass like it’s claiming. One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back without asking. His other hand splayed across your belly underneath you. His palm dirty, breath hot in your ear, his forearm brushing under your tits. “You looked so pretty when you ran,” he whispers, all praise, all heat. “So fucking pretty when you get scared.”
The filthiness of his words makes you squirm and it’s shameful to feel it. He tightens. “Ah, ah,” he scolds, before he sits down and drags you with him to sit on his lap like something disobedient. “Where are you gonna go now, baby?” You can’t answer. Your breath’s gone, body loose, raw from running, fear, want. His chest is like a wall at your back, thighs spreading yours, your thin shirt is damp with sweat, and there’s nothing underneath. You don’t fight it. “You wanted this,” he growls, hand clamping your jaw, the other sliding under your shirt, feeling your heat in his palm. His fingers splay wide over your stomach, claiming, then lower, dipping between your legs, finding you wet, open, waiting.
“No panties?” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “No fucking bra either?” You flinch, thighs trying to close, but it’s too late. He knows. “Christ, you really wanted it,” he says, “was gonna be sweet, let you catch your breath, maybe kiss you.” His hand tightens under your chin, the other dragging through your slit like a promise. “But now?” He laughs. It’s low, and mean. “You’re dripping all over my jeans, and you’re still pretending this wasn’t planned?” No it wasn’t planned but you also know it will be just running from the house to the fence and quickly going back probably laughing because he catches you too quickly, but that’s not the narrative right now, isn’t it? “I didn’t mean- Rafe-” He yanks your head back, mouth at your ear. “You shouldn’t’ve sent me that fucking link.”
That link should have stayed there on TikTok, that will save you both a lot of trouble. It will make you just take him softly and pretty in the bed you share, especially at this hour instead of doing this. Your legs twitch, his thigh flexes under you. His hands grinding your hips down so your clothed cunt will rub against denim. The friction is brutal, perfect, and everything you weren’t ready to admit you needed. “You wanna be chased?” he growls. “Wanna be dragged down, split open in the woods like prey?” He ruts slowly, the bulge in his pants obscene, one hand yanking your neckline until your breasts spill free, his palm rough, rolling your nipple. “Fucking tight,” he mutters against your neck. “Still hot from running. This pussy’s starving.” Your voice breaks: “Please-” Lower lip caged between your teeth, thinking about what are you even asking about- the thing is, you don’t know if you want him to fuck you hard or go back inside the house. But the first choice is winning and making you excited by the idea of being here with him and trying this after a long time just being vanilla in bed. “Please what, baby?” he sneers. “Didn’t want me to catch you? Or didn’t want me to stop?”
You whimper. “You ran like you wanted to be taken.” His hand returns between your legs, pushing inside your shorts, two fingers plunging deep, making you jolt, his groan at your heat. “You did this,” he pants. “Sent that video. Wore this little shirt. No panties.” That video is cute, you don’t know it will work him up like this, but maybe he just likes the idea of chasing you in the woods like his prey. “I- I didn’t-” Okay, you might hope something will happen, maybe you got bold that’s why you wore nothing underneath- maybe it’s the sense of something to have him control you like this. You trust him to have you like this. Maybe you are just hiding this side of you underneath many layers of softness. Ever since you started dating him, you know that he’s the kinda of man you like to have control, and have that urge to take. “Don’t lie to me.” You cry out when he curls his fingers, the other hand fisting your shirt to your collarbones.
“You wanted me to fuck you like I caught you. Like I own you.” When he undoes his belt, unzips with one hand still working your cunt- you don’t beg him to stop. Back just arch. Cries found from your mouth, thighs jerking, heels digging into dirt as he stretches you open, uncaring, relentless. The other hand yanks your shirt higher, baring your tits to cold air. It bites. His breath burns. He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t slow. “You wanted me to fuck you like I caught you,” Rafe growls in your ear, “like I fucking own you.” He owns you, in a way. Not in the way he’ll lock you up to hide from others. It’s more like you learn to depend on your pleasure on him, just let him do the work for you. “No,” you breathe, too thin, too soft, a lie. His hand covers your mouth, silencing you, cutting the sound off like he’s sealing it in your throat. Then- “No?” he mimics, cruel, pitching it up in a parody of your voice.
“No, Rafe- don’t- please-” When Rafe heard it, he literally pouted but you know he’s taunting and messing with you. “Please,” he repeats like some broken vinyl. His tone is nasty, like it’s a joke, like he knows you don’t mean it. “You’re fucking soaked,” he snarls, fingers pressing harder. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” He shifts, spreading your legs over his lap, boots braced in the dirt, adjusting you like you’re his. Your back arches, and you hear the pop of his button, the hiss of the zipper, feel the heat of bare skin against your ass. His cock drags along your folds outside your shorts. He’s thick, flushed, slick with your mess.
He strokes once, and it glides easily, the sound filthy. The tip nudges your clothed entrance, and you shake your head- slow, shallow, like you know what’s coming. “Don’t,” you whisper, meant to stop him, but it sounds like begging for more. Inside, you’re screaming, ‘Please. Please don’t stop.’ He groans in your ear as he hears it. “Shouldn’t’ve sent me that link,” he hisses, hand dragging across your chest, groping like you’re something he earned. “Should’ve kept your pretty fucking mouth shut.” You whimper, try again, weaker: “Stop-” But he’s licking into the corner of your mouth, hand fisting your shirt tighter.
“Stop, Rafe- don’t- please,” he mimics nastier, rocking his hips until his cock is flush against your dripping slit. “You sound so cute begging for shit you don’t want me to stop.” You’re soaking him, denim dark, mess everywhere, and he hasn’t even pushed in. “You wanted to be chased,” he growls. “You wanted this.” He shifts, your breath stuttering, his hand yanking your shorts aside, not removing them, just enough to push his cock through, not inside yet, just rubbing, slow, heavy, and deliberate. The blunt head drags along your soaked folds, smearing your slick fabric, folding back, and sticking to your skin.
He keeps going, grinding through your folds, your wet soaking everything, the ache making your eyes roll back. “Feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s me. Right there. Not even inside.” He groans, thrusts again, slow, mean, cockhead nudging your clit before sliding back. “Hear that?” he grits. “That wet sound? That’s you, baby.” Your breath punches out. You want to grind down and tilt your hips, but he holds you still, hands firm. “Uh-uh,” he warns. “You’re not in charge.” He rocks again, cock dragging through your slickness, never entering, never giving you enough.
Just rutting between your folds, the head nudging your entrance, slipping lower each time. “I could fuck you like this,” he growls. “Through these fucking shorts. Not even needing to take ’em off. Just keep going until I mess you up from the outside.” Your legs shake, you pant, and he grins against your neck. “Not even inside you yet,” he murmurs, “and you’re already going to cum, huh?” And you are. Your hips twitch, chasing his cock, desperate. He chuckles. “Greedy,” he says, “fucking greedy little baby.” You feel him tense, like he’s about to give it to you, exactly how your soaked cunt’s been begging for.
Your body leans in, thighs flexing, breath stuttering. But then he stops, letting the thick head rest, hot at your entrance, twitching where your slick is messiest. “You want it?” he breathes against your ear, soft like a lover, sharp like a blade. You don’t answer. You can’t. You blink hard, try to nod, and whimper something like ‘please’ but you’re too far gone, strung out, every part of you vibrating with him so close yet not inside. He waits, letting you drown. His hand brushes your hip like he’s calming a spooked animal, mean in its gentleness. He leans in, breath hot. “Cat got your tongue?” You shiver.
He clicks his tongue, low, mocking. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.” Still no answer. His thighs tighten, hand sliding to your throat- not choking, not yet, just claiming space, holding you still. “That’s what I thought.” He laughs, soft and bitter. “You sent me that link like it was a joke. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like you weren’t imagining this exact thing while you watched it in bed.” You shake your head, barely, instinct, denial. “Oh, no?” he murmurs, his hand tightening at your throat, just enough for you to feel how easily he could take the air from you.
“You didn’t want me to chase you? To catch you? To knock you into the dirt and take what’s mine?” You’re shaking now. Not from fear, not really. From how badly you want it. But he keeps going, feeding it to you slowly, heavy, and cruel. “You didn’t want to be dragged back, crying and slippery and too fucking far gone to stop it?” You make a tiny noise, somewhere between ‘don’t’ and ‘yes.’ His cock drags lazily through your folds, slow against your clit, your slick streaking down his shaft. Still, he doesn’t give it to you. “You’re dripping,” he growls. “Soaking these fucking shorts.”
He tugs the waistband aside, gaping you wider, exposing more skin, but doesn’t strip you. “Fuckin’ greedy. Can’t even look me in the eye, can’t even ask- but your cunt’s screaming for it.” He presses forward just enough to make you gasp, then stops, watching you fall apart from the promise alone. “Tell me again how you didn’t mean it,” he croons. “Tell me again how that video was just a joke.” Lips sealed close, not saying yes or no through it but you’re shaking your head with your eyes wide, chest that is heaving, and your hips that won’t stop moving. Rafe sees it. Knows. “Poor baby,” he sighs, dragging the head of his cock down until it bumps your entrance, soaked, twitching, but still not inside.
Your hips tilt toward the pressure, desperate, trembling. His cock slides wetly against your folds, the sound obscene in the dark. Instead of giving in, he shifts his grip and flips you. His hand clutches your thigh, bruising it, wrenching you sideways in one pull. You gasp, head snapping back, knees buckling, and then you’re on your back, spine in the cold dirt, shirt bunched, tits exposed, and nipples stiff. The surrounding smells like wet wood, pine, body sweat from you and him. Rafe is kneeling behind you. One knee is the side of your hips while the other is touching the side of your left thigh. You could feel his cock touching your ass- thick, flushed, soaked in your mess. His eyes were dark and satisfied.
Hands warm in your hips and using the same hands to yank you down until your ass is closer to him. “Lay the fuck down,” he growls, palm pressing to your sternum. “Let me look at you.” You whimper, shaky, but your thighs stay spread, fingers twitching. He stares, like a wolf over a kill. “Is this how you wanted it?” he murmurs. “Pinned in the dirt? Little shirt up, tiny shorts hiding nothing?” He pushes your thighs wider, spits into your cunt, and watches it mix with your slick, his thumb pressing your clit sharply enough to make you jolt. “Shit,” he hisses. “You don’t even know how easy you made it.”
Words can’t even come out from your mouth properly when you try to speak. He’s rubbing the head of his cock against your slit, letting the fabric stretch with each drag. “I could fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Don’t even need to take ’em off.” He drags himself along your slit again and again until your legs tremble. “But you don’t want that, right?” he teases. “You said no. You said stop.” His cock presses hard enough to hurt but never pushes in. Your thighs shake, your cunt pulses, and your mouth falls open, a broken whimper. His hands slide down, fingers curling beneath your waistband.
“You wore these knowing they’d be easy to take off,” he mutters. “Didn’t even wear panties.” His knuckles dig in, then one rough tug and your shorts are at your thighs, and then it’s gone. Nothing between you but the heat of him and your slickness. His eyes drop, devouring you, then look up, hungry. “You said no,” he says quietly. “You said don’t.” He strokes his cock, dragging the head over your bare, glistening cunt, watching your breath hitch, chest rise, and fingers twitch, remembering you can’t cover yourself with him pinning you down.
“But your pussy,” he murmurs, “your pussy says something different.” He pushes forward, but just barely and you can feel the head nudging into stretching you then he stops again. “You want it?” he asks like a dare. You blink up, lips parted, hips twitching, cunt clenching around nothing. “I-I don’t know,” you whisper. His eyes darken. “No?” he echoes, shifting forward a fraction, pressing deeper. “You don’t know?” Your breath catches. “I just- I thought…” It’s like you are getting mushy already even though he’s not yet fucking you completely. “You thought what, baby?” he murmurs, soft, sharp. “You thought I’d laugh? Say maybe next time?”
You don’t speak. He pushes again, slowly, sliding another inch in, enough to make you feel the stretch. Your head tips back, thighs trembling, and spine arches- except you’re not trying to escape. “Feels like your pussy knows,” he says quieter. “Feels like you’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Muscle pulls tight around the slow stretch, a soft, wet sound catching under the hum of cicadas. Heat gathers low, a pulse throbbing where slick meets skin. “I didn’t mean-” Leaves move above, and the night feels heavy and warm. Wet sounds mix with quiet breaths; each slow push is felt deep inside. The cool ground stays firm under shaking legs. “You didn’t mean to send it?” he interrupts softly. “Didn’t mean to get dressed up? Didn’t mean to run?” His hand comes to your throat, warm, a collar without pressure. “Didn’t mean to get wet?” You shake your head but it’s weak, unconvincing.
“Say it again,” he tells you, voice like gravel. “Say you don’t know.” And you do, whispering it with trembling body, “I don’t know.” His mouth breaks into a sharp grin. “Yeah,” he growls. “That’s what I thought.” You whimper when he pulls back, the absence cutting deeper. Your body clenches around nothing, twitching. Rafe sees your hips chase him, the tremble in your thighs, and the shine at your cunt. He smiles, predatory. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even take it yet and you’re already desperate.”
You shake your head, but it’s not a real no. He feels it, the yes buried under every shiver. “You want to pretend you didn’t ask for this,” he says at your jaw. Grasp let out from your mouth when his cock presses back against your folds. “But your pussy’s soaked,” he hisses. “So wet you’re drooling down your thighs.” You try to turn away. He grabs your chin, holding it steady. “Don’t look away,” he growls. “You said you don’t know? Let me make it simple.”
His hips jerk forward, shoving the tip inside again, deeper, a stretch you feel high and sharp, still slow, still manageable. “You want me to stop?” he asks. You don’t answer. Can’t. He pushes further, another cruel, slow inch. “You want me to stop?” he repeats, taunting. “Fuh-fuck I-I don’t know.” His hand lands hard on your thigh. “Wrong answer,” he snarls. Then he thrusts, all the way in one rough and punishing stroke that knocks the air from your lungs and pins you to the dirt. You scream. It’s a half-moan, half-shock, and maybe full surrender. He growls into your neck. “Now you fucking know.”
You’re split open on his cock. Too full, too deep, too sudden, and your cunt grips him anyway, tight, needy, like you were made for it. He doesn’t move right away, buried to the hilt, feeling your walls flutter, your breath quake. Then, slowly, cruelly, he pulls back. “All that attitude,” he whispers. “All those little rules you pretend to set.” His hips slammed forward again, harder. “And now look at you.” Another thrust. Your fingers scrabble in the dirt, your back arches, and your tits bounce with every snap of his hips. Tears catch in your lashes- not from pain, but from how your body loves this.
“You don’t say yes,” Rafe growls in your ear. “You don’t say no.” He fucks you again, brutal, possessive. “You just take it.” And God- you do. You take it so well. He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t soften. Every thrust lands like punishment, like you broke a rule you didn’t know existed. The sound is obscene and wet, the slap of his hips echoing in the trees. “Say it again,” he pants. “Tell me you don’t know. C’mon, baby.” You whimper, caught in the snap of his hips, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t-” Wrong. He pulls out so suddenly your cunt flutters around nothing.
You sob, back arching, and then- yank. His hand fists in your hair, dragging your head back, throat stretching, jaw slack, a broken gasp spilling out. “Eyes on me,” he snarls. “Fucking look at me when I fuck you.” You open your eyes, barely, and he’s right there- mouth twisted, eyes blown, sweat dripping. He looks unhinged. Beautiful. God, it’s so awful that he’s mesmerizing. Most importantly he looks yours. “Good girl,” he growls, cruelly tender. Then he spits on your chest, warm, slick, and messy, rubbing it in with his palm over your nipples. “Mine now,” he hisses. “Fucking mine.”
A cry rips from your throat when he thrusts back in, harder, faster. One thick arm wraps around your waist, dragging you down while he drives up, the other tangled in your hair, controlling every angle. “Nngh- Rafe-” you whimper and eyes rolling back. “You don’t get to hide,” he pants. “Not from this. Not from me.” His hand shifts going over your mouth, down tight around your throat. He’s not choking you, it’s just there. His thumb finds your pulse point but he doesn’t press and just rests it to feel it stutter. “You like this, don’t you?” he whispers. “Chased you down like a bitch in heat. Caught you. Now I’m breaking you open.”
“Gnh- fuck-” claws out. It’s raw and needy. The sound catches before you can swallow it, and he hears it as a win for him. “You’re soaking me,” he growls. “Came out here in little shorts like you dressed up to be chased.” His hand grabs your hip, spreading you open where there’s nothing left to hide, nothing between you. “You’re going to remember this,” he hisses. “Every step tomorrow. Every time you sit. You’ll feel me.” A soft, broken “mmf- p-please,” slips when you start crying, everything too much, shame and need flooding you, and he sees it and lives for it.
“That’s my good girl, begging when it’s too late.” You try to rise, maybe protest, but his hand comes to your shoulder, pressing you back down. “Stay.” And you do. Open. Shaking. Ruined. Exactly where he wants you. The ground is cold behind you, dirt and uncomfortable. It’s not the best feeling in the world and it’s soaking into your body. It sticks some dried and fresh leaves into your thighs, twigs that scratch your skin, but none of it really matters. All you can feel is him. Rafe doesn’t wait. He drags the head of his cock through your slickness, lets it catch on your entrance, then pushes in slow and steady, stretching and brutal. Your cunt clamps around him, trying to keep him out, or hold him in, or both. It doesn’t matter.
He’s bigger than you can take, deeper than you can hide from. He groans low. “Fuck, baby. Still tight? After all that running?” His palm plants on your shoulder, pinning you down, while the other slides under, groping your tits and your waist, cataloging you from the inside out. “You feel that?” he pants, rocking forward slowly but heavily. “This pussy’s hugging me,” you whimper, half-choked, half from the way his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow circles that make your thighs twitch. “Fuckin’ soaked,” he mutters. “Ran from me just to end up begging in the dirt.” His pace stays slow. Deep. Intentional. Like he’s not trying to get off- he’s trying to ruin you for anything else.
The movements of his hand never stop teasing your clit. It’s unbearable, especially the rhythm; it’s not yet enough to make you cum, but it’s enough to make your leg shake. He groans with his teeth gritted. “You’re squeezing me, baby.” Your lips are starting to feel like metal now from how you stop yourself from moaning so loudly. You can’t even speak to say what’s on your mind because you are getting cockdrunk more than you can admit to yourself. All that comes out is a gasping sob, and you both know he likes it.
“Yeah,” he breathes in your ear as he leans in, “just like that, baby.” Your back arches like a cat because the pleasure gets more into you while his hands are tightening on yours. Suddenly he just shifts above you and pulls out his cock from your pussy that is enough to make you whimper. You barely even process the pull before he flips your body to change position. He dragged your hips and rolled you onto your stomach. The position made your cheek touch the dirt and leaves sticking to your arms, and breath roared out a shocked gasp when your hips got yanked up, ass in the air with your thighs trembling.
“Stay just like that,” he rasps, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you to arch, while the other drags down, spreading your folds open. You can feel the thick, soaked head of his cock teasing your entrance again, lining up, not giving you a second to think before his hips slam forward, cock sliding in deep from behind- so deep you see stars- and his fingers splay across your clit, pressing down while he pounds into you.
“You don’t even know how pretty you look like this,” he rasps. “Bent over, split wide, taking my cock like you were meant to.” Your thighs twitch, breath stuttering, but he doesn’t speed up. Not yet. He just rubs- deep and slow, one hand groping your tits, the other teasing your clit until your legs tremble. “You’re going to come so fucking easy,” he growls. “A little pressure and you’ll break.” But he doesn’t let you. This isn’t about you coming. It’s about him fucking you exactly how he imagined- wet, open, helpless, face-down in the dirt, your cunt swallowing every inch slowly and desperately.
Soft body bucks beneath him, getting more stubborn just to piss him off. “Get the fuck off me,” you hiss, voice ragged. Not that you really want him to get off, but in your mind, it’s thrilling to fight him off just for him to show you the control you let him have over you. Knees dig in the dirt while your hands scrabble at it; you try to crawl forward, and hips grind back against him like you are also moving every time you welcome each of his thrusts despite you pretending to fight him to get off. It just didn’t work because every time you crawl forward, you just end up getting dragged back, or it’s your own body betraying you, so you grind back. Rafe just laughs, low, like you’re adorable when you fight. “Oh, baby,” he groans, dragging his cock deeper, filling you until your back bows.
“You’re so fucking cute when you pretend you don’t want it.” Head shaking, just for the thrill of it- to push him more off the edge. “N-ngh- I… I-I don’t,” you snap, but your voice breaks, cunt clenching like it didn’t get the memo. His thumb flicks over your nipple until you gasp again. “Yeah?” he pants, mouth dragging hot over your shoulder. “Then why the fuck are you sucking me in like this?” He rolls his hips, grinding slowly. The stretch makes you sob. The angle is sharp, and unforgiving. “F-fuck you,” you breathe. “You’re trying,” he murmurs, teeth scraping your neck. “God, you’re really trying. That’s so brave, baby.” He licks the back of your neck, wet and slow, like a claim. “Think you’re gonna fight me with a dirty mouth?” His hips slam forward, one hard thrust with no warning. It made you yelp, loud, broken. “Aw,” he coos. “Was that too much?”
You growl. “I hate you.” He laughs harder. “Yeah? Hate me so bad your pussy’s crying for me?” His hand dips lower, finds your clit, and flicks fast and cruel. You squeal and kick. He pins you harder. “You say no,” he mutters, lips brushing your jaw, “but this greedy little cunt says yes, sir, every time I push in.” Your mind scrambles, hating how good it feels, hating how your hips keep lifting. You think you should push him away, but your body begs for more. You can’t even hide it, every nerve waiting for him to do it again. “Shut up,” you pant. “You shut up,” he snaps, grabbing your face, palm over your mouth, turning your head so he can see you. “Before I make you fucking mean it.” Your eyes flutter, a moan caught behind his hand. “That’s better,” he whispers. “Be good.”
He watches you, ragged and wet and silenced, grinding again, cock sliding so deep it punches the air from your lungs. “You want to curse me out?” he growls, breath hot in your ear. “Want to tell me to stop? You better fucking say it like you mean it.” You don’t because you just can’t. You tremble, whining into his palm, arching back, cunt squeezing, thighs shaking. “Oh,” he breathes, softer now like it’s devastating. “You’re so fucked.” He releases your mouth just enough for you to speak- but not enough to escape, thumb at your pulse. “Say you don’t want it,” he dares. “Go on. Tell me again.”
You do… Well, you did try, but not really because you didn't form a word besides moaning a broken ‘a-ah’ from your mouth. It looks like you’ve already surrendered your body to him. Maybe you have. The earth is cold beneath your knees, damp with every grind of his hips. Leaves bite your shoulders, moss clings to your calves. Your body is open, bent, used, and breathless, and Rafe doesn’t give you a second to breathe right, not when you’re clenching like this. He’s got one arm looped around your waist, palm pressing between your shoulder blades, holding you down and pulling you back at once.
His other hand moves under you, dragging across your chest to cup your tits like it’s his lifeline. “Fuck, baby,” he groans against your shoulder. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are around me?” You feel everything. The stretch. The burn. You know he fucking loves the feeling you wrapped around him because he barely pulls back before sinking back again. It’s like he’s savoring the feeling of your pussy and if that’s even possible but it gets deeper each time he slams his hips. He wants to shape his cock inside of you, to make a mark inside of you. It’s like he’s reminding you that your cunt feels better and fit with him than any man will try to get you. He’s choosing to keep you here, face down, ass up, your knees scraping the dirt as your body twitches with every thrust. Your breath catches as he shifts his grip, hand sliding down to grab your hip, hauling you back onto him, making you cry out, the angle hitting something unbearable. “Yeah,” he pants, sweat dripping onto your spine. “Right there. That’s where I want you.” Your shorts are twisted high, your shirt bunched around your shoulders. He hasn’t stripped you; he’s just fucking you through it, under it, around it, because he can.
The earth is cold beneath you, damp with every grind of his hips. Maybe each leaf under you is angry at you because of the way it bites your knees. Or maybe the moss prefers you more because it’s so clingy with your calves. Maybe it’s just how you bent forward with your chest, feel breathless and face warm from the way his cock and hips move behind you. The goddamn woods knows you try to keep your trembling thighs to keep steady and how you try to balance yourself with the way your fingers dig in the dirt to have something to hold. Rafe doesn’t give you a second to breathe right, not when you’re clenching around him like this, taking him so deep you feel split open. “Shit, baby,” he groans, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back onto him with every thrust. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are around me?”
You feel everything. The stretch. The burn. The slick mess running down your thighs. The way he barely pulls back before slamming in again, deep, like he’s trying to leave himself inside you. A ragged, high sound spills out of your mouth, helpless. “Nnh- mff- g-gah- Rafe-” You sound like some girl from a porn video especially from the way you can’t control it. “What, baby?” he grits, rutting into you harder, your back arching under the force, another dark grunt tearing from his chest. “What do you need, huh?”
“Ah- please-” you gasp, voice breaking around a soft hiccup as your hips rock back. “I- oh- wanna- nngh- wanna see you- p-please-” He stills, cock twitching inside you, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Fuckin’ hell…” Slowly, his hands slide to your waist, guiding you down, pulling out just enough to make you whimper- “mmf- s-shit-” before he flips you over, pressing your back into the cold earth. Your legs spread instinctively, hips tilting up, your cunt clenching around nothing.
“There,” he mutters, eyes dark, chest heaving, lips parted. “You wanna watch me while I fuck you, pretty girl?” Of course you do. You don’t give a fuck if you are going back and forth from being all fours and laying down. Both feel good, but you want to see him, or you are going to bawl your eyes out if you don’t. “Uh- y-yeah- please-” you whine, lashes wet, body shivering as he lines himself up and pushes back in, thick and slow, forcing a strangled sound from your throat. “Ahh- mmh- fuck-”
The air is cold, but Rafe is molten, leaning over you, chest brushing yours, hands sliding everywhere- one gripping your thigh, the other palming your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple until you let out a small, shocked squeal. “Mmn- n-no- s-sensitive- oh-!” His mouth drags along your jaw, your neck, biting down when your moans rise too loud. “Quiet, baby,” he pants, hips rolling in deep, deliberate thrusts, controlled, heavy, making your body jolt with every push. “Stay still for me.”
You try, but every thrust drags another helpless sound out of you, fingers clutching at his shoulders, head tipping back, mouth falling open around incoherent, needy noises. “Hah- nngh- mmf- Rafe- s’deep- oh- c-can’t-” Each moan coming from your lips is showing how far gone you are. You can feel his eyes locked into you, he’s watching you like he’s a director for the show you are giving out to him and he has to direct it with his cock that is plunged deep inside you. One of his favorite sounds in the world is the way your voice cracks whenever he hits your g-spot. And right now he’s hearing it and it makes him let out a low grunt from his chest with his jaw flexing. “Fuck- look at you, baby.”
Your moans spill out like you can’t control them, wet, slurred, pretty in their desperation. “Mmm- ah- unnh- fuck- R-Rafe-” The last word slips, soft, high, your eyes going wide even as your cunt squeezes around him. And he loves it. The way you look up at him, tear-glossed, dumb with it, your mouth dropping open around every choked whimper while he fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, each thrust pulling a gasp, a sob, a broken syllable out of your throat until it’s all you can give him.
He thrusts forward and stays there. He’s buried, and grinding tight circles that make you claw at his back. Can’t even stop the way his cock pulses and twitches. He’s trying his best not to nut faster than he likes. He wants you to come first before him. “You’re so warm,” he breathes out. The feeling of your pussy is making him lose track in his mind and making him crazy. “So wet I don’t even have to move and you still squeeze me.” You whimper, your body shuddering under his weight as his hand drags down your stomach, sliding between your legs, two fingers finding your clit, barely touching, just pinning it there like it’s his.
Your body locks up, a gasp tearing out of you as your hips jerk, his grin pressing against your cheek as he shoves you closer, deeper, until you swear you’re not breathing air anymore, just him, denim scraping your thighs, the heavy push of him inside, and the cruel press of his fingers holding you exactly where he wants you. “You like this?” he breathes. “You like being touched like this? Fucked like this?” You don’t answer. You can’t do that because you feel too stuffed from his cock, it’s stretching out, you also feel so hot despite the wood feels windy, and you are definitely too fucked even he haven’t even let you come around him yet.
Hips pressing deeper, making his cock kiss your cervix and it’s enough to earn a gasp from your throat while you clenches and walls flutters around him like they want to keep him jailed inside of you. Rafe hisses, breathing hard against your jaw, dragging it out like he wants to break you inch by inch, muttering, “God, baby, you’re holding onto me so fucking tight.” Your hips twitch, cunt clenching around every slow, brutal grind, still not the way your body begs for it- he’s not fast, not rough, just deep and steady, like he’s fucking into the shape of you, molding you around him, claiming you.
“You’re so fuckin’ good like this,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours, “just letting me use it. Letting me keep you.” He hands sneak into your cheek and strokes it with his thumb grazing your skin like it’s some instinct every time he touches it. “I’m not going to pull out,” he says, voice so soft and not even fitting to the scene the both of you are in. “You know that, right? God if you just know how I feel around you baby- f-fuck. I’m gonna fuck it in deep and leave it there.” His words makes your clit pulse, or maybe just your cunt in general. You even try to reply to his words, but he just hushes you with his thumb brushing your lips. He can feel your hot breath when he settles it there as he speaks, “You don’t have to say anything.” He adds, “Just lie back. Let me finish what I started.” When he moves again, it’s slower, still deep, still designed to have you, but there’s no rush.
Movement is steady. There’s this rhythm that is certain that translates to he’s fucking you until this fuck is going to be craves into your brain and your bones. He can feel and see how your thighs shake, the way your lips can’t close because of your little noises, how your body is caged by him. He knows you are far gone to speak to him, you don’t even speak much during sex because you are a whiner, you are loud, and he likes hearing you. God, don’t also forget how your cunt pulse around him. It’s tight and choking his cock like it’s begging without any words. This time, Rafe doesn’t tease. Doesn’t pull away or smirk. From your face, he slides it down to your hip to hold you down while the other settle between your thighs and touches your clit. “You’re right there, huh? You feel it?”
“Mhm- mmf- yeah- so good-” You cry out with a nod. “Feels s’good-” Eyes fluttering, cunt clenching around him with your mind only thinking about him, and your head tipping back more to the ground. You can’t even pretend you don’t love this from the way your pussy is sucking him more deep and how your hips lifting from the ground just to welcome his cock. His hand from your hip lifts up to swat your sweaty hair away from your face and his gaze is just on you like you’re his world. “You don’t have to hold it back,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing slow, wet circles. “I want you to come. Wanna feel you cum on me.” His hips don’t slam now; they roll- deep, controlled, heavy- like he’s fucking the orgasm into you instead of ripping it out. His body braces around yours, chest pressing to yours like he needs to feel your heart stutter when you go over. “You’re being so good,” he whispers, thumb grazing your jaw, eyes hungry and dazed, “so fucking perfect for me.” Your legs shake, eyes flutter, then he says it, quiet, rough, almost sweet: “Come for me, baby. Let go.” And you do.
Your body locks, arches, and goes tense; the sound you make- high and broken- has his eyes rolling back. You come hard around him, hips bucking into his hand, legs trembling, your body jerking like it doesn’t know how to contain it. Rafe moans, deep and guttural, kissing you like he needs your breath to survive while staying buried inside, fingers working you through it, praising you with every wave. “That’s it. That’s it, baby,” he groans, forehead touching your shoulder. “God, you’re so tight. So fuckin’ sweet.” Mouth can’t form any words for him and you are just twitching beneath him with your eyes wide and cunt still cleaning around him and it triggers the gates for him. His rhythm starts to stutter. His hips jerk deeper. It’s heavier, and he’s chasing it now.
Groans get more ragged while he’s folding your legs tighter as he fucks into you slow and hungry motion. “Shit- baby- ” his voice breaks as he buries his head to your neck. “You’re still fucking squeezing me- ” He moans as he listens to your whimper, and feel your cunt still fluttering with every drag of him. “I can’t- I can’t hold it-” and then he’s coming with his body locked above you. But he doesn’t stop moving, he can’t just find the will to stop. Movement is soft and grinding his hips as his cum settles inside your pussy and touches your cervix with a hot feeling. That doesn’t stop him from grinding deeper inside you, forcing more of his cum in and stuffing you full to the last drop while your cunt flutters at the feeling.
His hands also didn't stop touching you, it’s like it can’t calm down and continues to feel the curve of your body while his other hand is stroking your cheek and whispering low and warm into your hair. “You did so good, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Took it so well,” he adds before pressing kisses and peppering you with it. Lips touching your cheek, neck, and shoulder, and he drops his head down to kiss the cleavage of your chest. “So good,” he whispers, hoarse, trembling, “so fuckin’ good, baby- made me feel so good-” You can barely respond, breath caught, body spent, aching, still wrapped around him, but he doesn’t need you to say anything. He can’t stay still because his lips are on your body again like he’s worshipping you and his hands are doing the same too. Words are softer now with his ruined voice like he’s trying to sink inside you. He moves gently and calms you both down without letting you go as his hands caress your thighs up to your stomach and ribs and to your nipples. “You took all of me,” he whispers, “all of it. So fuckin’ perfect, baby.” You’re still trembling, twitching in the afterglow, and he feels every flutter of your cunt gripping him through the last throbs of his orgasm.
Lips press more kisses to your mouth- slow, open, grateful- and then he just stays there. Cock still buried, weight folded over yours, like leaving isn’t an option. He doesn’t pull out even as he softens a little, even as you pulse around him, overstimulated and sore, pressing deeper, hips flush, cock snug inside your aching cunt like he’s trying to plug the mess in. His fingers trace your hips, coaxing you back to earth while you can’t speak, just panting, lashes fluttering, and chest heaving. Your back sticks to the dirt. You feel filthy, beautiful, and exposed. His hand moves your hair out of your face with gentleness and palms your jaw after with his thumb grazing the softness of your cheek before his hips give you one more thrust that makes you clench and flinch.
He kisses your temple before he shushes you when he hears you whimper. “I know. I know, baby. You did so good.” Your voice finally comes, small and hoarse. “Still inside,” you whisper. His breath catches, but he doesn’t pull out. “I know.” Your heavy-lidded eyes take him in: the uniform, the smudged jaw, the weight of him braced over you while you lie there beneath him. “I’m all messy,” you breathe. “You made a mess of me, Rafe.” His jaw ticks, eyes darkening, one hand sliding between your thighs, and fingers brushing the mix leaking down your legs. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking dripping for me.” You gasp, body tensing. His hands just continue holding you there. You feel full, stuffed, warm, and trembling in his arms while the woods are quiet around you. The air smells more like sex more than the environment. Or maybe you are just close to each other. And you lie there, messy and stretched open, caught under him, both of you breathing slowly. Just like that. Exactly where he wants you.
“Too much?” he asks when he starts moving his hips a little, just so gently, not slamming fully. Moving only just to ease more pleasure for you, and not to get another orgasm out of you. Hum found your lips, but you shook your head. “No. Just… a little. Please.” His smile deepens; it’s soft, and his eyes are full of adoration. “Yeah?” Rafe pulls his cock just to push it halfway in slow motion. You can feel it even if the whole of it is not inside. His hand holds your jaw while the other is resting on your stomach just to stroke your skin like he’s soothing the pain from the sex he caused you. “Feels nice…” You whisper. He kisses your shoulder.
“Is that good for you, angel?” His cock stays deep while your cunt keeps tightening around him, the air thick as you catch your breath. “Mhm…” Pressure eases in your chest while you listen to how he breathes. You like how his body stays heavy and warm against yours as your legs soften and shift around him, and you like letting him hold you close while you are getting out from the intensity of what you both did. “You’re still fluttering around me,” he murmurs. “Still squeezing me like you don’t want to let me go.” Lashes blink slowly while you feel how your body clings to him without thinking and how each slow push reminds you of what you took, how you let him stay inside while you let your head rest back against his arm. “I don’t want to,” you confess, too softly. His hips stutter, a groan slipping out. “I know,” he mutters, licking his lips and eyes while watching you. “That’s why I’m still here. You’re safe, and I know the sex… was intense. I’m sorry,” he apologizes before he kisses you everywhere. It’s slow and hungry, tasting your throat, your shoulder, and your tits, like he can’t stop.
“That was new to me, but I like it,” you say before you whimper beneath him, skin hot and open, your body full and aching. His cock softens but stays inside, his body covering yours, kissing words into your skin instead of growling them in your ear. “We should talk about it next time, Rafey… The, uhm… like the limits, safe word, and the other things, y’know,” you add, and it’s not like you are completely clueless about this, the rough sex. No. But you are just too shy to bring it to him, but you are aware that he might like it. The air cools, dirt sticking to the sweat behind your shoulders while his uniform is still buttoned, all tight authority while you’re naked and trembling under him. He does those little thrusts- it’s barely there. The movements of his hips are not even about fucking anymore, just staying.
“Rafe…” Breath hitches while fingers curl in the fabric at his chest, pulling him closer without thinking. Thighs tighten around his hips, holding on while air slips out shakily. “I know, baby. We will talk about it, pretty girl.” His words slide near your ear, warm and low, while his hand drags up your side and your lashes flicker with the quiet pulse that keeps pulling him deeper. “Did I go too hard on you?” A shake of your head comes slowly while your lips part, chest lifting as you try to catch a breath, the tight clench inside begging him to stay, needing every inch he gives. “No. It’s not that, I just-” You swallow, breath catching. “Maybe a little… But I don’t want you to stop.” He exhales, hand cupping your cheek as he tilts your face up, eyes soft, full of you. “You’re so fucking sweet like this,” he whispers, thumb dragging over your mouth. “Letting me fuck you in the woods like a filthy girl, now clinging to me like I’m all you got.”
You blink, dazed. “You are all I got.” His breath catches, cock still buried in your soaked cunt. That melts his heart, so he leans down to kiss you slowly and warmly. His lips are gentle, and there’s not even a tongue when he kisses you. It’s like he’s just savoring you and feeding you pieces of himself with every breath before he pulls away to kiss your forehead. “I fucking love you like this.” Something in him feels scared to admit how easy it is to call this love when your body holds him so sweet, how much he wants to keep you like this because letting go feels like losing air. This softness feels dangerous, a need curling in his chest that wants to claim, protect, and never leave. “Like what?” you breathe. “Just there. Messy. Full of me.” Another slow thrust. “Like you were made for me.”
Your eyes flutter shut. “Don’t say that,” you whisper. “I’ll believe you.” Can’t help wanting it to be true, wishing it’s real, wishing it could stay this warm and close forever. Every slow pull makes you melt in a way that feels safe. It’s like maybe you’re allowed to need him, allowed to let him have you. “You should.” Then he pulls out. It’s slow and gentle. You can feel your body clenching on nothing, both of your cum spilling out, which breaks out a desperate sound breaking from your throat. He groans, watching the mess leak from you. “Jesus, look at that.” You squirm, thighs twitching, but he lays you back gently, shushing you, one hand gathering the spill, the other cupping your jaw. “Still warm,” he murmurs, “still mine.”
Then he kisses your jaw down to your neck and collarbone and shoulder. His kisses are soft and wet. It is gentle. Maybe he’s saying sorry to you through it. Maybe he’s trying to make up for being rough with how he chased and fucked you. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “Don’t want to let you go.” His breath is warm while he presses closer, grounding you in the dark. Kisses sink into your skin, gentle after everything he’s done. You feel safe right here, not caring about anything else. “Then don’t,” you whisper. “I won’t.” You settle with him and his uniform rumpled with his cock wet with you. His head leans down before his forehead rests against your chest, and his lips give the same area multiple pecks, and his arms are warm and wrapped around your waist. “Are you going to carry me back to the house?” you ask him gently, but you are more like teasing him because you know that your legs are too wobbly to walk properly back there. He laughs softly but doesn’t answer. He just leans in and presses one last kiss to your temple before shifting back, sliding his hands beneath your thighs and back, lifting you like you might break. He sits there first while holding you and his back leaning against a tree. He settles you into his lap while you melt into him, folding your knees in, tucking your face to his chest.
Neither of you speaks. Both of you are just breathing slowly and coming down. The woods are humming around you. His lips in your hair, nose against your temple while fingers rub circles into your thigh. “Are you okay?” You nod against his chest. “Mhm.” His hand brushes your jaw. “Are you hurt, baby?” You shake your head. He leans back to see your face, cupping it. “Sure?” You meet his eyes and nod. “Good girl,” he whispers, eyes soft. “You took me so well.”
Your eyes flutter shut as he kisses your nose. “Didn’t even cry,” he teases. “Kinda wanted to see that pretty lip wobble.” You huff a laugh. “I almost did.” He grins, kissing you slowly, warmly, unhurriedly, and full of something softer. You pull back with a shaky breath. “That was…” Should feel embarrassed, but there’s nothing left to hide. Muscles still shaking, cunt still dripping, your skin carries every mark he left. It should feel like shame, but it only settles warm and quiet inside you. “I know,” he says softly. His fingers trail down your side, tracing where he left bruises, like he’s sorry and memorizing it all at once.
“Can we stay here?” you murmur. “Just for a minute?” No rush to move when the world feels so heavy and quiet. Warmth pools low while your limbs go light and your breath catches as your body remembers what he did. The air smells like sweat and dirt, like him, and it feels safe. Chest loosens with every slow inhale while the trees sway above as it hides you both from everything else. Everything feels clear, like the world outside doesn’t matter for now. “Yeah,” he says instantly. “We’re not going anywhere yet.” He holds you tighter, letting your head drop to his shoulder and your legs fold across his lap. His breath slows with yours until you’re both sinking into something warm and quiet. Something that has nothing to do with roughness anymore. Just you. Just him. Just the soft, fucked-out silence of the woods.
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⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.
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