[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, bdsm, rafe has control issues, some sugar baby vibes, NONCON/DUBCON
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+
In which you interview for a low-level position at Cameron Development, but instead, you unexpectedly find yourself chosen as Rafe Cameron's personal assistant.
[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+
A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)
word count: 4.5k
In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.
well kept masterlist
The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway. When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress.
Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.
Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.
After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.
“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”
Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now.
“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”
That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.
And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.
As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.
At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.
Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery.
“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said,
The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged.
Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you?
“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”
You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out.
There would be enough struggling today, you knew that.
Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes.
Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected.
The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo.
“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice.
You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.
Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs.
The door clicked shut, making you flinch.
“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.
It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.
You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.
“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.
Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.
You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.
“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.
He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”
You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”
All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness.
“Pull up your dress,” He said next.
You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back.
Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Please-”
He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”
You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”
“Just do it.”
You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today.
“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”
You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded.
He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”
“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.
“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.
He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”
“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”
You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind.
Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at.
You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.
Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace.
She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong.
“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”
“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”
“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”
You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”
“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”
“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”
“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”
You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.
“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.”
“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”
“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”
You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”
Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.
You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.
Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.
Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling.
He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen.
The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.
“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest.
“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening.
“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”
“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him.
You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped.
“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”
You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient.
“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”
You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs.
“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.
Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys.
You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”
“Y-Yes,” You whispered.
“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”
“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted.
“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”
“Rafe, please.”
“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”
"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”
He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."
You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap.
Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.
You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.
He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”
You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate.
He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”
“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”
“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy.
When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”
You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.
“Doesn’t that feel good?”
His words all jumbled together.
“Just let it happen.”
“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”
“You look so desperate.”
“So needy.”
“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”
“Just because I told you too.”
“Such a good girl.”
“Look at you.”
The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond.
You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once.
When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang.
Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured.
“Have you thought about what color you want?”
“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”
“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”
“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms.
“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”
You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”
As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails.
“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.
“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”
“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”.
“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”
“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”
“And you started dating?”
“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”
You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.
Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor. “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”
“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock.
“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”
In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.
Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)
[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON/NONCON, corporal punishment, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+
A/N: longest chapter yayyyy :):)
word count: 4.9k
In which Rafe's control pushes you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.
well kept masterlist
Rafe Cameron could handle his liquor, you learned that quickly. After accompanying him to a few dinner parties and watching him down several shots of whiskey before finishing an entire pitcher of beer, you wondered how he maintained his physique. He never slurred his words or stumbled, he seemed entirely happier when he was drinking, a completely different person.
He’d forced you to drink a cocktail and that quickly made you feel wobbly. The nights were a blur of conversations and you were tethered to reality by the feeling of Rafe’s hand on your lower back. He never introduced you as his assistant to his rich friends. You were just Y/N. “She’s cute, yeah?” He would say to people. Usually your dress was way too short or your cleavage was spilling from your top. Unfortunately, you sipped your drink when you were nervous.
You were exhausted by the end of the night and a little tipsy though you hadn’t dared to drink nearly as much as he did.
“C’mon, I’ll take you home,” He’d said, hand on your waist as he guided you out of the restaurant. Sometimes it made you feel protected. Like Rafe could hurt you, sure, but at least no one else could.
“Should you be driving?” You’d mistakenly asked, words slipping out before you could stop them. He took it as a challenge to his manhood and the look on his face made you regret it.
“I’m fine,” He’d looked at you sharply before he commanded, “Get in the fucking car.”
You didn’t hesitate any longer and let him him help you into the passenger side of his truck. He kept his eyes focused on the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, and you hoped he wasn’t angry, maybe just deep in thought.
When he pulled up to your apartment complex, you fumbled for the door handle, eager to escape the tension. But before you could step out, Rafe’s hand was on your arm.
“I’m coming up,” he stated firmly.
“It’s a weeknight,” you said, trying to find a reason that would convince him otherwise. “My roommates are probably asleep by now.”
He gave you an unimpressed look. “I’ll be quiet,” a hint of his boozed up charm returned to his voice. Reluctantly, you led him upstairs.
When you opened the door, you were surprised to find your roommates, Imani and Angel, still awake, standing in the kitchen with a bottle of wine between them. Their laughter filled the small apartment. Their expressions shifted to complete shock at the sight of Rafe behind you. You smiled, trying to give the impression that all was well, that it was completely normal to be returning to your apartment with your drunk, billionaire boss.
Imani, with her flawless olive complexion and neatly styled curls, scrutinized the scene with furrowed brows. Beside her, Angel stood tall and vibrant, her unruly tight curls escaping their single hair tie, her mouth agape in astonished silence as she stared at you. Both much more beautiful than you, a sad thought crossed your mind, and you worried for a short millisecond that Rafe would realize he’d made a mistake in picking you.
“Hey,” You did you best to sound casual, “Rafe, this is Imani and Angel. Imani, Angel, this is Rafe.”
“Your boss, Rafe?” Imani asked incredulousy, her arms crossing over her faded band tee. “I don’t understand-”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Cameron,” Angel blurted out, practically bouncing on her bare feet, “Can I offer you a drink? We both had a shitty day so we whipped out the strawberry moscato.”
“It’s nice to meet you guys. And thanks, tempting offer but I’m quite satisfied at the moment,” His voice was smooth and effortlessly disarming. He placed a hand on your waist, pulling you into him, and your eyes widened, “I’m just here to make sure Y/N gets a good night’s rest.”
Both Imani and Angel looked at you with a mixture of shock and curiosity. Imani’s eyes, in particular, were sharp and disapproving, clearly questioning how you had kept this from her. Her gaze was heavy with the unspoken question: How could you be involved with Rafe and not have told her?
“Make yourself at home,” Angel said, clearly more excited than angry, and Imani’s intense gaze snapped to her, “I’m about to make popcorn and we’re about to watch a movie if you guys-”
“Angel,” Imani whispered harshly, “Leave them alone.”
“I’m j-j-just gonna, uhm, goodnight, guys,” You took Rafe’s arm and led him away from the tension filled kitchen to the narrow hallway that led to your bedroom. You felt he weight of Imani’s disapproval lingering in the air.
Your small apartment that you shared with two other people was a stark contrast to the luxurious settings you’d been in over the last few weeks. As Rafe’s eyes wandered over your tiny room, the awkwardness of the situation continued to build.
“This is …cozy,” He said after you shut the door. He was already taking off his suit jacket and undoing his cuff links. Was Rafe Cameron really going to spend the night here with you? Maybe he was drunker than you thought. “So this is where you unwind after a long day of dealing with me?”
Was that humor you heard in his voice? Dealing with him. You more than dealt with Rafe Cameron. You practically let him walk you around on a leash.
“Do you feel bad for me yet?” You tried to joke but there was too much animosity in your tone.
He chuckled before starting to undo his belt, “I try not to feel bad for other people. Life’s easier that way. Sides’, this won’t be your life for much longer.”
As he stripped down to his underwear, he started to settle into your bed, the lines between your professional and personal worlds now blurrier than ever.
“I wasn’t expecting t-t-t-t … to have company tonight,” You said, gathering his pile of clothes from your carpet and doing your best to fold them and place them neatly on top of your dresser.
“I’m full of surprises, sweetheart,” He winked as he folded his arms behind his head, and you had to avert your eyes from his statue-esque physique. Broad shoulders, thick arms and chest, and abs that acted like an arrow that pointed down to his … “Plus, I wanted to see where you lived.”
“Now you see I d-d-don’t have sss-space for all my new work outfits,” You started to undress now, realizing there was no way out of this long night except by sleeping. You kicked off your heels, placing them neatly at the bottom of your closet. You put an oversized t-shirt on and used it to cover your body as you slipped off your mini-dress.
“Yeah, I see that now. It’s like a shoebox in here,” You shot him an offended look and he smiled stupidly, “It’s cute.”
“You sss-say that word a lot,” You mumbled before finding a pair of fuzzy socks and taking a seat at the very edge of your bed, bending over to slip them on.
“C’mere,” he patted the spot next to him and you hesitated.
He wouldn’t, you thought, not while your roommates were on the other side of a paper thin wall. But he would, you remember, Rafe Cameron would do that. He already had the gall to walk into your apartment with his hand on your waist despite being the one who paid your salary. He would do it and you’d let him because you had no spine.
“Y/N?” You pinched your eyes shut for a brief moment before you inevitable crawled into the spot next to him. You’d never really laid next to him in bed and it wasn’t what you were expecting. Even on his side, laying down, his presence enveloped you. You felt small like you usually did. He easily pressed himself to you, impossibly strong arms pulling your fronts together.
“You hhh-have to be quiet,” You whispered.
“I’m not the loud one,” He chuckled, warm breath tickling your shoulder and making you shiver. He placed a kiss there, one arm wrapped around your back and pulling you closer while the other tickled over the skin on your bare thigh, “I could fuck you so slow, so gentle, and I’m sure you’d be screaming.”
“No,” You argued though you weren’t sure why.
“No? You think you could stay quiet?” A excruciatingly soft and wet kiss was placed on your collarbone.
Your breath hitched in your throat, “I’m sss-sserious, Rafe.”
“So informal,” He shook his head, the hand that was on your thigh started to peel up your shirt. To your surprise, Rafe ducked inside the fabric of your shirt, beginning to burrow his head into your breast, “My fucking favorite place on your cute, little body.”
He seemed to groan, something animalistic, placing kisses along your skin. His breath tickled your nipples and you tried to pull away. He flips you fully onto your back, pinning you with his weight, his mouth threatening to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You couldn’t take it, “Okay, okay, y-yess,” You rushed out, “I c-couldn’t stay quiet. You’re right.”
You look down to watch him pop his head out from under your shirt, “Yeah?”
“Yes,” You nodded, “I-I admit it. Please.”
“Please stop? Please fuck you quietly?” Rafe teased you, “You’re not adding sir to the end of your sentences so it gets kinda hard to understand–”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” You pleaded with him through your eyes, “Please …fuck me quietly, Sir.”
“That’s better,” He pulled your shirt over your breasts before he completely devoured them.
The next time Rafe decided to have sex with you was two weeks later, right as he walked into his office. You should’ve known by the outfit he had chosen for you. The white blouse had an air of professionalism, but the plaid, pleated skirt barely reached mid-thigh, making you certain the entire elevator caught a glimpse of your underwear when you dropped your notebook that morning.
It felt like he’d been teasing you up until that point. You'd lost track of how many times he made you orgasm in front of him during those two weeks. He had an insatiable fascination with watching you pleasure yourself, wanting you completely vulnerable, often in compromising positions, with your eyes locked on his the moment it happened. Whether it was on top of his desk, against the office window, or bent over a coffee table, you were starting to grow comfortable with being uncomfortable.
He couldn’t resist touching you, making you grind against him, or rapidly moving his fingers in and out of you until you were shaking. However, he had managed up until that point to not actually fuck you. It was getting to the point you found yourself pouting at him from your desk as you watched him complete his daily meetings.
You didn’t have a chance to get out your usual spiel about his meetings for the day because his briefcase was already on the ground, and his arms were wrapped around your backside as he carried you over to his desk, “Take off your panties,” He commanded after setting you on his desk. He stepped back, fumbling with his belt and zipper, “Now, sweetheart. C’mon.” He said and you realized you clearly weren’t moving fast enough for him.
Your panties weren’t even around your knees before he was lifting up your legs and pulling them off the rest of the way. He parted your legs, immediately dipping his fingers into you, “You’re already wet,” It was just an observance. No smile or smirk or evidence that he was at all pleased with the revelation, “Desperate little girl. You been thinking about me, yeah?”
You stared up at his lips, pink and parted and imagined them on yours, his soft stubble tickling the skin of your mouth. Why wasn’t he kissing you? Everything with him was a ritual. You couldn’t get what you wanted until you felt utterly humiliated and vulnerable. He couldn’t get what he wanted until you had tears in your eyes. You nodded, “Yes.”
“Fucking say it,” He barked and you winced.
“I’ve b-b-been th-thhhinking about you,” You admitted although he already knew it. Your own well being seemed to rely on being obsessed with him. If you wanted any sexual satisfaction, he was the one who brought it. He was the entire reason you had a good income now. He was everything.
“You haven’t touched yourself though, not without my permission?”
You nodded, “Nnn-not without your permission.”
“Cause you need me,” He finally placed his lips on yours and you nodded against them.
“I nnn-need you,” You mewled between kisses as he pressed his crotch into yours. The two of you both tilted back towards his desk, “Please, Sir.”
You had consented, despite not being fully prepared. It didn’t feel like the first or second time. The first time had been overwhelming, your orgasms crashing over you like a storm, while the second time had been so gentle that the pleasure left you feeling like you were vibrating with ecstasy. You wanted him, undeniably, but nothing had prepared you for the intensity of him filling you completely. This was what you had desirel, feeling full, but now you were overwhelmed, as though he was consuming every part of you.
With his hands braced on either side of your head, he looked down at you, his gaze intense and focused. He moved inside you with a relentless, unyielding rhythm, driving into you with an insatiable need.
The room faded away around you. You couldn’t feel yourself breathing nor could you hear the sounds leaving your mind. You just stared back, your face a mix of anguish and pleasure, and accepted your fate. You didn’t fight your orgasm this time, your body moved instinctively, squeezing around him, your hips grinding up for more friction.
When he was close, he pulled out of you. Your energy was already gone, your orgasm having taken almost everything from you, but he moved your body effortlessly. He pulled you off the desk before placing you on your knees in front of you. Your legs folded easily, weakly, “Fuck,” He cursed, pantting, and you watched him take his cock in his own hand.
You reached out to take ahold of him but he pushed your hand away. His hands moved, determined, rhythmic, “Ask me to cum on your face.”
His breaths were heavy, desperate, and he clung to that control that had slipped away when he was inside you.
“Will y-you cum on my face, Sir?”
The question hung in the air, tension thickening, until he was finally gritting his teeth. He broke eye contact only as his orgasm ripped through him. The room filled with his moans and you did your best not overreact to that warm, sticky feeling that was now violating your senses.
“Good girl, look at you,” He said and you squeezed your eyes tightly as it began to drip onto your eyelid.
You breathed deeply, the intensity of the moment deciding to peak, and tears started to spill over. You became a crumpled pile of pleasure, shame and exhaustion. It seemed like the only way to release your emotions. Unexpectedly, you didn’t sit their alone. Rafe was the one to wipe your face with a tissue. He cooed, “Hey, you did good, kid. You’re a good girl,” He whispered sweet nothings to you.
“C-C-Can you hold me?” You asked, voice trembling, so embarrassed that you didn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to see how he was feeling or know what he was thinking. It was all too much.
Without a word, Rafe lifted you effortlessly into his arms. His strength was both reassuring and overwhelming as he carried you behind his desk, his body warm and solid against yours. He settled into his chair, drawing you onto his lap with a sense of protective intimacy. For the rest of the morning, he worked with you nestled against him, your face buried into his neck.
Rafe Cameron’s Appalachian cabin was one of the twelve properties he owned personally. You got to it by passing though a quaint and charming town. Despite the fact that he normally spends only three weekends of the entire year there, all the locals know him.
The four of you; Rafe, you, Eleanor and Topper, made your way down main street which was lined with old-fashioned storefronts. In the middle was the town square which featured an old, courthouse building and a gazebo where you see a few locals gathering. The four of you enjoy a diner meal at the Blue Ridge Breakfast Bar before you walk through a few shops. It almost feels .. normal. You were surprised the three of them were even willing to walk through the antique buildings, let alone find the shops interesting.
You didn’t know people like them even ate at diners or were interested in antique trinkets that cost less then five dollars. It was surreal. In another life, the three of them were normal people, and maybe you and Rafe could have been a normal couple.
You often found yourself glancing at Rafe, marveling at the contrast between his usual, impeccably dressed self and the more relaxed look he wore today. Seeing him in jeans and a baseball cap, casually strolling through the town, was almost disorienting.
It was a similar feeling you got when Rafe suddenly flipped a switch after being cruel to you and decided to comfort you.
Despite the fact that he was technically on vacation, you were still his personal assistant, and yet he hadn’t asked you about anything related to assisting him since he picked you up that morning from your apartment.
You wouldn’t say it to him, partially out of fear that he would deny it, but it felt like he wanted you appear like a couple. Topper and Eleanor undoubtedly new the truth so why was he acting like this? You never held hands like them but his hand would find your knee when you sat next to each other and sometimes he wrapped around your shoulder when you were standing close by.
Sometimes, your body didn’t want to relax around him, and the intimacy brought you anxiety. Soemtimes he was easier to read when he was drunk, or inside of you, or yelling at you. You weren’t familiar with this version of him. But you were stuck with the three of them for the next three nights.
Surrounded by towering pines and the soft hush of nature, the cabin was more of fortress nestled into the natural beauty of the mountains. You followed Rafe across a gravel path towards a large front porch which was framed by sturdy wooden columns. You stared up at large windows that endorned the front of the house, undoubtedly letting in a large amount of natural light, as you walked through the entrance.
The house was a complete reflection of his taste and the extent of his success. As Topper and Rafe left for the bedroom to drop off luggage, you and Eleanor made your way to the kitchen with the bags of groceries you’d acquired from the local mini-mart. Surprisingly, this place didn’t come with it’s own personal chef.
Like with everything else, you followed Eleanor’s lead when it came to cooking that weekend. She encouraged you to get ingredients for a dish you knew you could make on your own and you chose spaghetti despite the idea of feeding billionaire Rafe Cameron your homemade spaghetti making you feel stupid.
“I’ll show you how to arrange a charcuterie board,” She said as she poured you a glass of red wine, “You’ll be the perfect housewife when I’m done with you, Y/N.”
The afternoon actually ended up being fun. You and Eleanor laughed in the kitchen while Rafe and Topper watched a football game in the living room, nursing cans of beer. The wine relaxed you and soon you were giggling over unevenly cut salami and spilled strawberry jam. The two of you ended up eating half the ingredients meant for the board, much to Eleanor’s amusement.
Eleanor loosened up even more, even getting comfortable enough to tell you a story about Topper, “You know, one time back when we lived in Kildare, he tried to make me pancakes for my birthday. From the box, not even from scratch, and he burnt every one. Literally every single one. The kitchen looked like it had been through a tornado. I don’t know how he even managed that.”
You covered your mouth, shaking your head, “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“He went through the whole box! He had to serve them to me like that. No amount of syrup and whip cream can mask that taste.”
“I didn’t realize we were telling personal stories,” You whipped your head around as you heard Topper’s voice. Your heart raced for a second, worried, but he made his way around the kitchen island and hugged his wife from behind. Rafe was following behind him but made his way over to you. You composed yourself as much as possible.
“I was telling Y/N about how good of a cook you are,” She joked and he playfully tickled her sides and soon they were laughing together.
The two male’s casual demeanors seemed to complement the laid-back energy of the afternoon. You watched Rafe’s lips pull into a smirk as he surveyed your work and your empty glass of wine.
Dinner rolled around a few hours later, a relaxed atmosphere continuing to permeate through the air. You’d set the table in the dining room, the ten-person table sat next to a large window overlooking an expansive lake, and aided Eleanor in preparing her beef stir-fry.
“It’s really good, Eleanor,” You complimented her once all of you were seated and digging into your food.
“Thanks,” She grinned, “You’re a good sous chef, Y/N.”
A smile tugged at your lips, “Not better than me though, right, honey?” Topper asked.
“Of course not, honey,” Eleanor winked at him.
Small talk ensued and despite the fact that Eleanor warned the two men that business talk would bring down the room, they spent a good ten minutes talking about something called “tax increment financing”.
Eleanor interrupted after it became too much, “So, Rafe, are you going to do any more renovations on this place?”
“After they finish the pool next summer, no. Did the home theatre, renovated the master bathroom and expanded the garage this summer. It’ll probably be move-in-ready next year.”
“Oh, are you selling it?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.
Rafe’s gaze flickered away, an unusual reaction for him. He usually had a quip or a witty retort ready. “No, I plan to spend more time away from Charlotte after New Year's. I’ll be living here at least five days a week.”
“Oh,” You nodded though you really hadn’t comprehended his words. You looked back down at your plate, and as you took another bite, his words started to set in. It was an inappropriate time to delve further but your mind started to race. He’d never mentioned that he wouldn’t even be living in Charlotte after the next few months. Shouldn’t he have mentioned this by now? “I-I thought …”
“We can talk about it later, Y/N,” Rafe dismissed you, bringing a piece of meat to his mouth, and looking away.
He spoke as if you were annoying him now. Eleanor opened her mouth again to change the subject but you interrupted her, “I-I’m sorry … w-will you still need me then? If I’m in Chhhh-Charlotte and you’re here.”
“Did you hear me the first time, Y/N?” Rafe’s jaw set as he dropped his silverware. The clang made you jump but your mind was spinning. It was a simple question, wasn’t it? Was he stringing you a long? Would you be out of a job next year?
“I-It p-p-p-pertains to me,” You continued, your heart racing as Rafe grimaced, “Can’t y-you just say if I’ll have a job or not?”
“You’ll have a job,” Getting confirmation made your shoulders drop from relief. It was almost worth whatever seed of rage you’d planted within him, “But you’ll relocate with me.”
“What?” You pushed your plate away, leaning back in your chair.
Topper and Eleanor exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the escalating tension. It felt like you’d already poked the bull, you felt like you had to see it through, “I’ll need you to move here. Won’t make sense to juggle from two places.”
“Mmm-my life is i-in Chhh-Charlotte. You n-never said this before,” You tried to keep your voice steady, to express your genuine disappointment despite your frustration.
“It’s not my fault you haven’t caught on, Y/N,” He spoke sharply, “You know how this works. I manage my properties and business. My plans change. You’re a part of that. You’re making it an issue when it’s not. You’re acting like you have a million options.”
“I-I know I don’t–”
You looked at Topper and then Eleanor. Now, the two of them were looking anywhere but the two of you.
“Then act like it.”
“Rafe–”
“I fucking own you, you don’t even understand that.”
“Rafe!”
“One more word, Y/N, and I swear to God.”
Your lips parted and your voice started to tremble as you felt the sting of his words, “This is so … shitty,” Perhaps it was the distance, the wood table that sat between you that made you feel so bold.
Rafe’s anger erupted, his face reddening as he slammed his hands on the table. “Boo-fucking-hoo, sweetheart! I’ve given you everything, the clothes on your back, keeping the lights on in your crappy apartment, and you’re still ungrateful?”
Your frustration reached its breaking point. “Fuck you, Rafe!” you shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t want it anymore!”
You pushed your chair back abruptly, no goal in mind for where you’d stomp off to but you felt your blood boiling. Was his entire goal to completely ruin your life?
“Y/N!” He called after you and you turned your head to realize how close he was on your tail. Adrenaline surged through you, the thought that you might never have control of your life left you close to completely spiraling. Determined to get away, you picked up your pace, practically running through the million-dollar home, over shiny waxed floors, moonlight shining through tall windows.
He barked your name again and before you could reach the front door, his hand shot out and seized your upper arm. You screamed, his fingers squeezing your flesh so hard that you thought your skin might break. Swinging your body around, your feet lifted off the ground as he through you over his strong shoulder.
Kicking, struggling, screaming and crying, Rafe carried you up a grand staircase, “Please,” You were begging but adrenaline was pumping though him too, making him moved with his own determination. He kicked open door and your head whipped as he stepped inside, slamming it closed. You couldn’t focus on any detail in the room but as he through you onto an expansive bed, you assumed it was the master bedroom. For a moment, you played a game of cat and mouse. You gained your balance, and tried to crawl off the bed. Every direction you went, he moved faster, until you were sitting on your knees in the middle of the bed.
“You need to understand your place,” You watched as he started to loose the brown belt looped into his blue jeans.
You shook your head frantically, “I don’t w-want this.”
“It will be easier if you just apologize,” Rafe let out a breath of air, a weary sigh, his face frustrated, “I promise, I’ll make it easier for you.”
“If I-I …w-will you use the belt?”
“I have to use the belt, sweetheart, you’ve been so bad. Tell you what, if you apologize, I won’t tie you down to the bed. How’s that sound?”
The offer was as chilling as it was manipulative. You shook your head. You couldn’t bring yourself to apologize.
The process of what followed was both brutal and dehumanizing. You were left feeling exposed and vulnerable, your body laid bare and handcuffed to one of the posts of the canopy bed. The sting of the belt on your skin was relentless, each strike leaving a deep, aching mark that quickly turned to a disturbing shade of purple. Your apologies came out in frantic, broken pleas, but they seemed to come too late.
You even managed to ask him to hold you but he didn’t grant your wish that time. He left you to go back downstairs. You slid down to your knees when you couldn’t stand any longer, falling asleep in that position, head resting at a strange angle against the mattress.
When you next awoke, the light of morning was gently filtering through the curtains. Rafe’s arms were wrapped around you, his steady breathing and soft snoring a stark contrast to the harshness of the previous night. His nose pressed into your hair, a reminder of his physical presence.
You cried softly against him, the tears slipping down your cheeks as you clung to him. The sounds were muffled against his chest as you hugged him tighter.
[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+
A/N: even longer chapter :)
word count: 5.3k
In which Rafe presents you with his plan for your future and you question the true cost of his offer.
well kept masterlist
You breathed easy for the first time in a long while. You laughed, smiled, and your heart beat at a normal pace. You sipped your drink not from nervousness but from a desire to truly enjoy yourself. The evening was about fun and connection, and you were determined to embrace it.
The week following your cabin trip had been a deep pit of depression. Your friends, concerned by your obvious distress, had insisted you join them for the weekend. They only saw the stress of work weighing on you, Rafe’s hidden bruises were invisible to them. You had opted for jeans and a crop top, deliberately avoiding a dress that might reveal the lingering marks of his anger.
It was an act of rebellion to wear something Rafe hadn’t picked out but it was freeing. It was time you accepted that he didn’t own you 24/7, he had no right to you two days out of the week.
You bought your friends drinks, a part of the new perk that came with having salary. You liked treating them but every swipe of your card reminded you of all you were putting up with to get it.
What Rafe did to you, he did out of selfishness, no one who cared for you truly could treat you like he did. You certainly weren’t a couple like everyone in Rafe’s close circle assumed you were. You didn’t know much about relationships or what real love looked like, but you were certain of one thing: whatever you had with Rafe would never evolve into something warm and tender enough to be labeled as love. You were reclaiming some normalcy. Or at least, that was what you hoped for.
The three of you had decided to move the party back to your apartment at 2 AM, and the city lights flickered like stars in the darkened sky. Imani, with her arm securely interlocked with yours, clung to you, her presence both comforting and grounding amidst the night’s chaos.
You squeezed into the backseat, chatter and laughter from the evening buzzed in your ears. Angel was making smalltalk with the driver because that was just the type of person she was. Closest to the window, you checked your phone for the first time all night. Three messages from Rafe. Your heart started to beat in the rattled way it had been, pressing against your ribcage in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe.
Two images of you. Outfits you’d sent him. Along with a message.
For Monday and Tuesday. - R.C.
Sent at ten the night before. Imani leaned closer and you locked your phone, shoving it between your legs.
“He’s really texting you? It’s Saturday.”
“Sunday now,” You tried to not sound rattled as you met her eyes.
“Like that makes a difference,” You expected her tone to be light given the vodka on her breath and silly pop songs playing on the radio, “No wonder you’re going crazy.”
“Crazy?” You laughed but it came out hollow, “Y-You guys thought I was sad and now I’m going crazy?”
“Yes,” She spoke matter-of-factly, “And it’s strange that you won’t tell us anything about him.”
“I don’t wanna talk about this,” You said, realizing she wasn’t going to drop it. You wondered if this was her plan, to get you drunk and then pry out all the gossip about your new boss.
“I’m really worried, Y/N,” She said, “You don’t have to tell us everything but at least … let us help. We can help, I promise.”
Angel tuned into the conversation, realizing it had gone serious, “Yeah, my Mom and Dad are literally cops, Y/N. Just say the word-”
“I promise it’s not that serious, Angel,” you said, shaking your head. The idea of involving the police felt almost laughable given the magnitude of Rafe’s wealth and influence. “I told you g-g-g-guys, he’s just a demanding asshole.”
“If it’s not that serious than why has he been over at our apartment? If you’re not sleeping together or not dating?”
“It’s complicated,” You spoke robotically.
“We want to be there for you,” Angel added. You wanted to believe that. If you told them the truth, you’d have to explain why you hadn’t walked away yet. Rafe had given you every reason to quit and yet here you were.
“You guys are there for me. I-I-I appreciate this night so much. I’ve just b-b-b-been letting work consume me. You guys have pulled me out of my fog. This next wwww-week will be better because I’m actually taking care of myself.”
It was an excuse, a way to rationalize why you hadn’t walked away from Rafe yet. You started to believe it, convincing yourself that things would get better just because you were trying to take care of yourself now.
“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he gets to have your body,” The world seemed to go quiet after Imani spoke those words. The music quieted and both you and Angel stared at her, the heavy silence enveloping the three of you.
“She’s right, you know,” Angel said softly.
How had she seen so clearly what you were trying to hide? Why were they prying into your life? You were an adult, after all. You should have the right to make your own decisions, however flawed they might seem to others. But their concern felt invasive, as if they were prying into a private struggle you were barely managing to keep under control.
Pity.
Your best friends pitied you, “Oh, y-you’re not serious,” You smiled crazily, “He’s not …I’m nnn-n-not …you both have it so so wrong.”
They stared at you, trying to guage your reaction, but your heart and brain were going crazy. You couldn’t pick what emotion to convey because you were feeling all of them.
“I’m drunk,” You rested your head back, “I’m so drunk.”
As the rideshare pulled up to your apartment building, you fumbled with your seatbelt, eager to escape the heavy conversation, “Y/N, we didn’t mean to upset you,” You heard Angel say at they followed you out of the car.
“I’m okay. So okay.”
You wanted to hurry inside the lobby but felt a hand wrap around your arm, “Y/N,” Imani stopped you.
You whipped your head around, panicked, “I’m fine. I sss-said I’m fine.”
“You boss’s car is parked over there.”
You followed her pointed finger, and your blood ran cold. There it was—Rafe’s sleek black car, parked conspicuously outside your building. “Wha—” you stammered, unable to process the sight of it, “Oh.”
“Why the fuck is he here?” Imani cursed.
“I’ll meet you guys inside–”
“Go talk to him but we’re standing right here until you’re done,” Imani crossed her arms in front of her and gave you pointed look.
“Angel,” You looked at you other friend, pleading.
She shook her head, “We’re standing here, Y/N.”
“Fine,” You whispered. It was a quiet declaration of your frustration, a statement of your internal struggle.
They didn’t trust you. You could take care of yourself. This would upset Rafe, you knew it would. You took a deep breath as you wandered towards the small parking lot beside your building. His bright truck lights shined against the brick of the building and you saw his arm resting outside the window, fingers drumming nervous on the frame. You pulled at your crop top, wanting to force it to be longer, as you got closer.
“Y/N,” His voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge.
Tonight, Rafe’s blue eyes were wild. Instead of the usual darkness you saw behind his pupils, you saw wildness. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his other hand was busy rubbing worried circles over his buzzed haircut, a nervous habit you hadn’t seen before.
“Rafe, wh-what are you doing out here?” You dropped the formalities. It felt wrong to address him with respect, more than it usually did, when he was sitting outside of your apartment at two in the morning.
He looked you over once, before his door opened, and he climbed out. Dressed in a polo and khaki shorts, he left his car running, before he was standing in front of you. Only a foot away and already you weren’t breathing correctly. He moved closer but you said, “You shouldn’t touch me.”
Hurt, confused, he gave you a look you hadn’t seen before, “Why not?”
You gestured as subtly as you could, to your two friend who were settled under the awning that hung over your apartment buildings entrance, “My roommates are waiting for me.”
Rafe’s jaw ticked, before his hands found his hips, “Right,” He nodded before he laughed, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just feel crazy tonight, you know?”
Yes, you knew. Now your crazy was starting to feel like nothing compared to whatever was building inside of your boss. He was different tonight, younger, and out of control, “What are you doing out here?” You asked again, “It’s two in the mmm-morning.”
“Yeah, I didn’t mean to show up like this. I just wanted to talk to you. I came earlier and you weren’t here and I … I started spiraling, you know? You’ve been out all night. I don’t like …I just felt fucking nervous.”
“Nervous b-because I went out with mmm-mmm-my friends?” Your words were cautious but you couldn’t help that your eyebrows raised in confusion.
“I needed to see you.”
“You see me now,” You said, “What … what is it?”
Rafe took a breath, “I made a mistake at the cabin and I think, ever since then, you’ve been distant.”
You nodded as you tried to understand his meaning. He made a mistake when he spanked you with a belt, making two of his close acquaintances listen to you scream, and leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. The distance he now complained about was a direct result of his actions—a defense mechanism you’d put in place to protect yourself. And yet, here he was, expressing frustration over your response, as if your withdrawal was the real issue rather than his behavior.
“Rafe, honestly, this isn’t h-h-helping … I d-d-don’t know if I can handle this right now. I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be,” You took a step back and you were comforted by the fact that he couldn’t take a step towards you. He wouldn’t make a scene, not in front of your roommates. Maybe you could forgive their intrusiveness.
Rafe seemed to tense at your words and you watched as his eyes wandered down the sidewalk towards your friends, “Okay, uhm …they say something to you?” His voice carried a note of suspicion, as if their presence was somehow a direct affront to him.
“They’re my friends,” you replied tersely, hoping that would be the end of it. Of course your friends had expressed their concerns about him.
“Okay,” Rafe said, his voice edged with frustration. “I just … I’m here because I want to fix things.”
“C-Can we talk about it on Monday, please?” You asked, “I’ve been-”
“You’ve been drinking,” He filled in your words, more unamused than before, “It’s not safe, little girl like you, only your friends to protect you … there’s lots of bad, bad people in this city.”
The way he said "little girl" stung. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt more patronizing and condescending tonight.
“I can take care of myself,” you said firmly, taking another step back towards your building, trying to put more space between you and his imposing figure.
“Can you?” he taunted, the words heavy with mockery. “Alright, I’ll give you some space. You know what? Go ahead and take Monday off, you deserve it, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight,” You said before you turned away from him. You jumped when you heard his truck door slam close but you didn’t look back.
Your friends, witnessing the tense exchange from the corner of the awning, approached you with concern written on their faces. Angel reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with worry.
“Fuck, that dude is crazy,” Imani said, “You have to quit. I’ll get another part time job. We both will while you look for something else. We’ll make it work.”
You should have cried in their arms, letting their comfort and love wash over you, but instead, all you felt was exhaustion and apathy. You didn’t have the energy to be comforted or to express your gratitude. Numb and drained, you trudged inside, your mind already longing for the softness of your pillow. Your friends followed quietly.
Tuesday morning, your alarm didn’t wake you up. There was a pounding on your door before Imani stormed into your room. Heart racing, you lifted your head and checked your phone sitting on your side table. It was thirty minutes before your alarm was even supposed to go off, “What the-”
“Look!” Groggily, you sat up in your bed just as a crumpled white envelope was thrown at your chest. You held it up to the light trickling into your room from the window, and you easily saw red bold letters stamped across the top of the letter: EVICTION NOTICE.
Without another thought, you ripped open the envelopement, “It’s probably a-a prank, Imani.”
“What is going on?” Angel stumbled into the room next, mouth full of foaming toothpaste.
You held open the letter as you began to read carefully, “As per the terms of your lease agreement and in a-a-accordance with the state and local regulations, this letter serves as your official notice of eviction–”
“Fuck,” Imani cursed.
“This decision has been mmmm-made in alignment with our current business strategy which includes renovating the apartment to increase its value and preparing the property for sale to a prospective buyer …”
You continued reading, “The termination for your lease w-w-w-will be affected sixty days from the date of this notice. Please ensure thhh-that you vacate the premises by this date …”
You read the letter over and over, trying to make sense of it. The signature at the bottom confirmed its legitimacy.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Imani sat down on the edge of your bed, head in the palm of her hands, “They can’t do this. It’s illegal! Where are we supposed to go?”
“Sixty days from now is right before the holidays start,” Angel leaned in the doorway, her eyes starting to well with tears, “I can’t go back home.”
Imani shook her head, “This apartment is my home.”
Determined, you climbed out of bed, pulling on the work clothes you had pre-selected. You kicked off your fuzzy socks, removed your bonnet, and began fixing your braids into a messy bun. “I’m going into the office,” you said resolutely. “I w-w-w-work for a real estate company. Rafe will know what to do. They can’t just do this. If anyone knows how to get out of this, he will.”
The two girls exchanged glances, their concern palpable. “We don’t need his help,” Imani said firmly.
“I don’t think I want it,” Angel added quietly.
You stared at them, incredulous. “He c-can help. You don’t know him like I do.”
“Y/N, is this really smart?” Angel asked, her voice tinged with worry.
“I can’t believe you guys. Get out, I’m getting ready,” you snapped, frustration rising. “Get out, now!”
As they left the room, their worried faces lingered in your mind, but you were focused on finding a solution.
Despite drunkenly conveying your uncertainties about your position with Rafe a few nights before, that morning, you were the epitome of perfection. You wore exactly what he had chosen for you: a light blue dress embellished with sparkling sequins, pockets, and a Peter Pan collar. You even spent more than ten minutes putting on your makeup that morning, you looked flawless, more effort than you’d ever put in before.
You recited his entire schedule with only a slight stutter, had a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him at his desk, and arranged for lunch from one of his favorite restaurants. You allowed him to wrap his hand around your waist, to lean down and bury his face in your neck, to inhale your scent and press a gentle kiss against your skin.
It was like nothing had changed. Seeing Rafe outside of your apartment that night was frightening, a reminder of the presence he now had in your life, but you’d never seen him look so … desperate. Rafe Cameron was desperate for you, of all people. It dawned on you that perhaps there was room for negotiation. At the cabin, you had vehemently resisted his behavior, and his reaction had been explosively violent. But now, with him admitting to a mistake and showing a rare glimpse of vulnerability, you realized you might possess more leverage than you had previously imagined.
You spent the first few hours at work hyping yourself up to bring up the eviction notice to Rafe. All of his morning meetings went well and he didn’t have the usual cloud of darkness that was constantly over his head. When there was finally a lull in the day, you finally told him the news you’d learned that morning. However, his reaction made your face fall into a frown that you didn’t have the strength to correct.
“I’m not sure what the problem is. Don’t I pay you enough to be able to afford your own apartment?”
“My friends …” you began, struggling to find the right words. Mentioning your friends was wrong. You knew how he felt about the voices of reason in your life.
“Right, your friends. What would you have me do?” His words continued to be indifferent and detached, as if he could want you so bad, but care nothing about the lives that were closest to you, “Offer them jobs? Pay for them to live as well?”
“No, that’s nnn-not what I mean,” It felt like he was purposefully miscontruing your words, and in turn, your character. Of course you didn’t expect for him to take care of your friends. Not letting him take advantage of the sea of emotions you were feeling, you recited your problem clearly, “I just want to know if you have any advice. For handling the situation. Something that’s in our control as tenants.”
“You don’t have much power at all, as tenants. You’re subject to the decisions made by the property management and the owners,” Before the reality of his words fully sunk in, he sighed, continuing, “You could look at your lease agreement and read it thoroughly to find any clauses that protect you. You could consult with a lawyer though that would be a pricy right to go down. You could talk to your landlord and try to get an extension to find a new place. That’s where I would start, sweetheart.”
Rafe’s hands folded together, looking up at you, as a smile graced his face. You nodded, “Okay,” You were grateful for a straight answer, but admittedly, you thought he would offer a better solution, “What should we look for in the lease? What would protect us?”
“Anything about early termination, language about renovations or changes in property management. Stipulations about how much notice is required before evicting you. If the landlord has violated any of those terms, it could be grounds for negotiation.”
“Huh,” you nodded, your heart filling with a small bit of hope, despite how out of reach some of his suggestions felt, “O-Okay, thank you. Yeah, I’ll t-t-talk to my roommates about it.”
“If it were me, I would be make sure I focused on my own safety and well being. You can’t really help your friends if you’re out on the street with them.”
His words, rude and smart like always, stung but you didn’t dwell on them, “Thanks for the advice, sir.”
For the rest of the morning, you shuffled between tasks and scrolling through your lease agreement. You searched it for the keywords that Rafe at mentioned and when that search wasn’t fruitful, you started to read it top to bottom. Your landlord was only required to give you sixty days notice for an eviction. You found absolutely nothing about property management changes. Hours passed and as lunchtime approach, you were sufficiently frustrated.
You brought Rafe his lunch as he sat through a lunch time meeting but you made your way to the breakroom quickly afterwards.
Imani had called you a few time so you returned it. You’d texted your groupchat about all the steps that Rafe had mentioned. Imani had replied that he was probably withholding information. You weren’t quite sure why that idea hadn’t crossed your mind.
“Hey, I still haven’t found anything–”
“Cameron Development is the one purchasing the apartment building, Y/N.”
Your heart sank and you plopped down on the breakroom’s leather couch with a heavy sigh, “Shit,” You whispered.
“Shit is an understatement,” She replied, “Y/N, I’m starting to think you need to be really careful. Maybe we should go to the police.”
He’d lied to your face, unabashedly.
"We'll talk about it later, I promise," You spoke before you hung up, not giving her a chance to argue.
It was much too late for careful. You should’ve ran after your first conversation with him but now … you were effectively trapped. Rafe had sex with you even when you didn’t want to. He hurt you and you held him for comfort after you. It had been weeks since you’d even felt like yourself.
You leaned back to stare at the ceiling and you didn’t move for the next thirty minutes. Eleanor was the one who came to find you after you’d gone missing, “Y/N, Rafe’s been looking for you. What are you doing?”
“Did you know?” You asked her solemnly, your voice felt broken.
She came to sit beside you and you felt her place a hand on your shoulder as she leaned closer, “Topper told me they rushed the deal. Offered twice the asking price. Said it was horrible idea, completely financially irresponsible, but Rafe insisted. ”
“Wh-What should I do?” You turned your head towards her, tears in your eyes, “I-I’ve never had sss-someone feel this way about me b-but th-this feels wrong.”
“What should you do?” She repeated, “I think he loves you.”
“L-Love?” You seemed to choke on the words.
From what you could tell, it didn’t seem that Rafe was capable of loving anyone, “What does your gut tell you?”
This entire time, your gut had been telling you one thing, “T-To run?”
Even now, you were so unsure of yourself, “Makes sense, he’s suffocating you.”
You sat up in your spot, “Should I go now? Leave all my stuff? He p-paid for it, anyways.”
“I don’t think this is the time,” She squeezed your shoulder gently, her eyes soft as they fixed on you, “If you run, he’ll drag you back to his mansion kicking and screaming. Rafe just made this grand gesture to display his power. A huge fuck you to all the people you care about. He’s desperate. This is your time to get what you want from him. Tell him, you’re not going to be his little sex secretary anymore or follow him to the mountains, unless he changes.”
“Y-You think he can change?”
“I didn’t think so before,” Eleanor said, her voice firm. “But now, seeing how desperate he is, I believe he’ll do anything to keep you.”
You could barely admit to yourself that part of you wished what she was saying was true. The notion that Rafe might have feelings for you, even if expressed through flawed and controlling actions, was both intoxicating and unsettling. Maybe you could take the bad with the good if the good started to outweigh the bad. But Rafe’s bad was more than bad. His soft gestures were often accompanied by demands and manipulations.
There was no pros and cons list to be made. You looked at your situation objectively, Eleanor’s words having finally forced you to. If you ran, he’d come after you. If you ran, you’d have nothing. No apartment or salary to support yourself. You longed for a relationship where you felt safe and cared for and you wanted to live in a world where your friends were also taken care of.
“I hope you’re not handling your personal business during workhours,” Rafe had said when you finally returned to the office.
Ironic, given all the personal things you two had done together in that very office.
“I’m not the one who made it personal,” You spoke easily, smoothly.
You made your way to your desk. Your words seemed to bothered him but you didn’t glance at him long enough to take in his reaction.
“And how did I make it personal?” You flipped through your personal calendar, taking a pen and marking down all of Rafe’s scheduled social events.
“It’s not g-g-going to work. Using my friends to threaten me.”
“Oh?” That single word was dripping with venom.
“Just makes me think even www-worse of you. And I-I already had a poor opinion.”
“Yeah?” You wanted to look at him but you kept your eyes focused down, “What makes you think I give a fuck about your opinion of me?"
“B-Because I drive you crazy. Because I’m the one person y-you want to control completely.”
“Maybe I wanted to make things easier for you. Maybe I know that you’ll outgrow your little friends soon and you need a push in the right direction. You have friends in higher places now, you know that?”
“Y-You don’t like that they tell me to quit. That they know sss-somethings wrong with you.”
“You’re wrong,” He shot back.
“You’ve done a good job b-because now I can’t leave without losing everything,” It took everything to keep your voice from breaking. Finally, you turned your heads toward him. You saw the way his chair was towards you, the way his grip was tight on the armrests of his chair.
“Maybe I’ve been selfish.”
You scoffed at that, “You’ve mmm-made it clear that you don’t care about my needs or mmm-my feelings.”
“I know your feelings, sweetheart. You wear them so clearly,” Rafe replied, you could see it in his face that he was trying to keep his tone subdued He leaned foreward slightly, eyes as intense as ever, “Tell me what needs I haven’t tended to. Let me fix things, yeah?”
His offered seemed genuine and exactly what you were hoping for, weren’t you?
“You really want to fix things?”
“Yeah,” He said like the crimes he’d committed against you were something that could remedied, “I can’t change what I don’t know.”
“It’s not just about what you’ve done wrong. It’s a-about how you handle things from now on,” You started, choosing your words carefully, “It’s about allowing mmm-mmme to set boundaries and respecting them.”
“Boundaries?” His head twisted to the side like he wasn’t entirely familiar with the term, “There’s multiple?”
“First, I want you t-to do what you can to remedy this apartment situation. Then, I don’t want you to ever bring my friends into this again.”
“Fine, I’ll get them another apartment. I’ll even throw in free rent.”
“No,” You shook your head, “You own the building which means you let us stay. No renovations.”
“I made an investment. I have to make a profit–”
“I’m serious,” You countered, “Y-Y-You made your point. You have all the mmm-money in the world and we have nothing in comparison.”
Rafe sighed, fingers tapping against his leg, “Okay, they stay but you come to live with me.”
“What? Why?” It was another layer of control, not a solution.
“Your friends will want nothing to do with me or my help. If you continue to work for me, they won’t want anything to do with you either. If you want to maintain those relationships, some space would be better. Let them see you happy and they’ll come to their senses about our relationship.”
The implication of his words was clear. He was offering you a way to keep your friends, but it came with the price of further entangling your life with his. It felt like a manipulative trade-off. You thought about the way he had manipulated you before, using your friends as leverage, and it made you wary of his intentions.
“I won’t say yes right now,” You decided, “Sss-sss-since we’re talking about living situations. Next year, I want to stay in Charlotte.”
“That won’t work.”
What had Eleanor told you to do? Had she forgotten how stubborn he was?
“Y-You’re asking me to move across the state with you. I-It’s t-t-t-to much. There will have to be another arrangement.”
“Hmm, I won’t say yes right now,” he repeated your wording with an edge of mockery. You scowled, feeling the frustration build up inside you.
“You just sss-said you wanted to fix things.”
“My intentions … my intentions are to leave the city and spend the next few years settling down. I’m getting to a certain age and I’ve been thinking about, you know, getting married and having kids. It feels like the right time,” The information is a shock to you, not the thought of Rafe wanting a wife and kids, but knowing immediately he was implying that you’d be filling that role, “It’s a beautiful area. I wouldn’t expect you to continue your role there. You’d fully be a stay-at home wife, you could pursue any hobbies you wanted, and of course you’d have access to even more money than I’ve been paying you.”
Rafe began to paint a picture of a gilded cage. On the surface, it was tempting: a life of comfort, stability, and freedom from financial worries. But the price was your independence and autonomy. The thought of becoming a stay-at-home wife, completely reliant on him and cut off from your own life in Charlotte, was suffocating.
“What if I d-d-don’t want that life? W-What if I want my own career?”
He hesitated, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, “What career do you want? I’ll give it to you. You can do practically anything from home these days. If you want to spend the first years doing that, fine, I’m not expecting kids right away.”
You hadn’t realized it but your breath was starting to quicken. You placed a hand over your chest, all of that resolve you had going into the conversation starting to fade away, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Rafe seemed to talk to himself, “Hey, hey, calm down.”
Your breath came out in quick shallow breaths. Rafe’s proposal pressed down on you as the room started to spin. You felt his arms around you before you could fall from your chair, “Eleanor, I need you here,” You heard clearly. For the next moments, you could only hear their muffled talking. You remembered seeing both of them, panicked look on Eleanor’s face, a hand rubbing down your back. Rafe was talking to you, his eyes trained on you intently. You remembered a glass of water coming to your lips and you tilted your head back, welcoming the liquid, thinking it might quell the fire inside your mind.
Though your thoughts still raced, the room’s spinning slowed down, and the you heard Rafe dsay, “It’ll help you feel better.”
He stayed with you, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your thighs, “Thank you,” You whispered though you hated that you found comfort in his touch. A wave of drowsiness overcame you and despite your best efforts to stay alert, you felt yourself lean forward until you were fully in Rafe’s arms, “Rafe–”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Rest,” Rafe murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he held you close.
This got too long, gonna have to make another part! Pls pls pls reblog and let me know your thoughts and predictions!
