sarah

“fuck,” luke cursed, looking at the aisles of cars stretching before you on the I-405. “we’re gonna be here for a while.” he said, resting his head back against his seat and getting comfy. 

you just let out a noncommittal hum, your mind elsewhere. you knew you should have peed before you and luke left the restaurant you’d had dinner at, but you’d been stuffed and exhausted, ready to go home, shower, and lie in bed. but now, you were stuck on the interstate in miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic with no way to get off to an exit in sight. 

“you alright, sweetheart?” luke asked, resting his hand on your thigh. “you’re quiet.”

“i have to pee, luke.” you whined meekly, your eyes wide with urgency as you surveyed the surrounding traffic. 

something in the air shifted, and a dark, lustful haze clouded luke’s normally bright, baby blue eyes. he moved his strong hand from your thigh to your lower tummy, rubbing with a bit of pressure. “it’d be so embarrassing if you couldn’t hold it, sweetheart.” he smirked. 

your cheeks reddened at the insinuation. “oh my god, shut up!”

“my poor girl would have to ride home in her wet, pissy skirt.”

your blush furthered, huffing and crossing your legs. traffic hadn’t moved, but you weren’t going to let luke win. you gasped, quickly trying to recover when you felt luke spread your legs. “hey! that’s cheating!” you protested. 

“cheating how?” luke questioned, giving you that innocent look that you fell for so many times while he rubbed circles on the fabric of your underwear where he knew you were the most sensitive. 

“b-because. . .” you huffed, but couldn’t seem to find an answer. 

“‘s what i thought,” luke smirked, pulling your lacy, white panties to the side and running his thumb along your dampened slit. “it’d be a shame if you ruined these panties.”

“luke,” you whined. “we can’t.”

“and why is that?” he asked, smirking so hard that his little dimple popped out. 

“because i have to pee.” you said, blushing furiously. 

“well, you seemed confident in your abilities to hold it,” luke shrugged, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit. “you’re fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart.” he groaned, thrusting one finger inside you.

you wanted to fight him, to tell him that you couldn’t do this. not here, not now with people in cars surrounding you and an ache in your bladder and yet, the small, delicious pinch in your lower stomach kept you quiet. you whimpered at the feeling of luke alternating between pleasuring your cunt and your clit, back practically arching off the seat. “i have to pee!” you whined. 

“oh, you will.” luke said, a wicked grin on his face as he kept one hand on the wheel, despite the standstill traffic and used the other to thrust another finger inside you. 

the hurt in your bladder intensified at that. luke’s car had been sitting in the same spot for forever now, the end of the rush hour traffic nowhere in sight. his fingers were bringing you closer and closer to orgasm, no matter how hard you were trying to fight it. 

“let go, baby,” luke encouraged you. “make a big mess for me, yeah?”

his fingers curled, hitting the spot that he knew would have your legs shaking and your cunt clenching. your lower stomach ached as you were brought closer to your high by luke’s fingers hitting all the right angles. by now, you were practically humping his fingers. you knew people could probably see how vulgar and dirty you were being, but you were too high with lust to care. when luke pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit, it was all over. 

“luke,” you sobbed, tears of pleasure pricking at your eyes. “i can’t hold it.”

“i know, sweetheart,” luke crooned, softly pushing on your lower tummy. “now, be good and quit holding back.”

his sweet, filthy words, his fingers inside of you, and him pushing on your lower stomach was too much. you let go, completely unable to hold it anymore. your orgasm crashed over you, pussy clenching and heat arrowing to your core as your skirt suddenly became warm and wet. when you came down from your high, you looked down, what you saw making you yelp. you had made a mess all over your clothes, the passenger seat of luke’s car, and his hand. 

“that was so fuckin’ hot.” a smirk made its way onto luke’s face as he grabbed a napkin and some hand sanitizer that he kept in the console. 

“i made a mess. . .” you mumbled. “that’s so embarrassing.”

He said it so soft, so close, you didn’t even realize he’d stepped toward you until you felt the heat of him. Your fingers curled tight around the hem of your dress, trying to look anywhere but his mouth. His hands stayed tucked in his pockets, like he knew better. Like he’d trained himself not to touch. But his eyes—God, his eyes touched everything.

“I should go,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You should.”

And when your dad announced last-minute that he’d be out of town for the weekend after this dinner—some business conference upstate—you already knew exactly where you were gonna be. Exactly who you wanted to see. Because you clearly couldn’t ignore the feelings in your belly whenever you were next to Rafe.

The next morning, Rafe opened the door in a white t-shirt and sweatpants. Casual. Unbothered. But his mouth twitched when he saw you on the porch, your lip gloss catching the porchlight like sugar. You wore another little dress—this one white, thin-strapped, and just dangerous enough to look like you didn’t know better.

“Your dad knows you’re here?” he asked.

You smiled at him. “No.”

He stepped aside. “Get in here, doll.”

It all had started so simple; so innocent. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, pretending to watch some old noir movie, your thighs clenched and down to the couch. Rafe had a beer. You had a soda you barely touched. Every so often, your gaze slid his way. You knew you weren’t being subtle. But then, you never had been around him. 

“You keep looking at me like that,” he said after a long silence, “I’m gonna forget how long I’ve been tryin’ to be good.”

You blinked. “You’ve been good?”

“Too good,” he growled, voice low and hard. “You don’t even know how bad I wanna ruin you.” He said, the ghost of a smirk decorating his lips. Your stomach fluttered. “Then do it.”

You weren’t expecting him to move so fast or to act on his words, but he did. One moment he was across the couch, and the next he was in front of you, big hand under your chin, thumb stroking over your glossed lips.

“You say that so easy,” he murmured. “Don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed and wet-mouthed. “Then show me.” That’s what you wanted and had been wanting for months now. For Rafe to be all over you; his hands on your skin, his mouth on yours, his fingers inside you. You wanted that and so much more; even if it shouldn’t happen.

His thumb pressed into your lips and onto your tongue, and you opened for him instinctively, tasting salt and beer and skin. His eyes darkened, other hand stroking down the column of your throat just to feel you. 

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Mouth open like a good little girl. You gonna let me play with you, sweetheart?”

You nodded; it was a want and a need.

He leaned in, voice against your ear now. “What about your dad? What would he say if he saw you like this? His baby girl on my couch with spit on her lips and her dress pushed up like a whore.”

A soft whimper caught in your throat. “He’s not here.” He wasn’t here to see how much you wanted his best friend to fuck you. How much you had been thinking about it for months.

“Exactly,” Rafe rasped, pulling back just enough to look at you—truly look at you—before slipping his fingers between your thighs. All he had to do was lift the hem of your dress up to your belly and you were already spreading for him. Your thighs opened, showing the skin of your core, the wetness pooling between your folds and Rafe could almost feel the warmth.

“You’re not wearin’ any panties,” he said, breath caught like a punch. You looked up at him, biting down on your lips. “They showed through.”

He hissed through his teeth. “Jesus Christ.”

His fingers dipped into your folds—slick, needy—and he groaned like it hurt. His thumb rubbed your wetness around like experimenting, trying to see what would make you feel good. “Fuck, baby. You’re soaked. You been sittin’ next to me like this the whole time?”

You nodded, embarrassed and dazed. “Just wanted you to touch me.” You truly did, so much that your stomach already tightened at the thought. It’s all you could think about during the movie–movie that was still playing in the background.

“Oh, I’m gonna do more than that.”

Rafe leaned in and spit—slow and wet—right onto your cunt, watching it drip down to mix with your slick. You gasped, thighs twitching, but his strong hand held you open. His eyes followed the saliva dripping to your hole, how perverted it was.

“Look at that mess,” he said, rubbing his fingers through it. “Goddamn, you’re perfect. All wet and soft and mine.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. All you could do was whimper as he pressed two fingers into you—slow, deep, deliberate—and watched your mouth fall open. His fingers stretched your gummy walls, burning so sweetly that your head almost rolled over to the ceiling.

“Fuck, that tight little pussy,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “You ever put anything in here before?”

You took a deep breath at his question before nodding your head. “M’not a virgin but… just my fingers sometimes. Thinking about you.”

He smiled, wicked. “You filthy girl. I bet you do that a lot, uh.”

He worked you open slowly, curling his fingers until your hips bucked up into his hand. Your moans were high, desperate. You could barely keep your eyes open as Rafe’s fingers rubbed into your walls, searching already for that one spot. He opened his fingers inside you, making a scissoring motion that made you whine out loud.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he murmured, kissing your jaw. “Take it for me. You were made for this.” You clawed at his shirt, needing something—anything—to hold onto. “Rafe—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed. “You wanna make me feel good too, don’t you?” You nodded quickly. “Please.”

He chuckled. “You’re so sweet. Get on your knees, doll.”

You scrambled down between his legs, dizzy and desperate to please him while feeling his fingers leave the warmth of your cunt. His sweatpants were already tented, cock heavy and thick under the fabric. You looked up at him through your lashes. The burning feeling of your knees against the carpet made you realize how much you wanted this; how fast your heart was beating inside your chest.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna be good at it,” you whispered. “I haven’t done this a lot before…”

Rafe cupped your cheek. “Doesn’t matter, just let me use your mouth a little, yeah? Show you how good you make me feel.”

You helped him pull his sweatpants down, eyes widening at the sheer size of him—long, thick, flushed red at the tip and already leaking. His veins ran along the length of his shaft, twitching already with impatience. You licked your lips instinctively.

Rafe caught your face in his hand again, thumb pressing into your cheek. “Open up for me.” You did, thighs pressing against the other, trying to rub yourself.

He spit into your mouth, slow and deliberate, and you moaned as you swallowed.

“That’s my good girl,” he growled. “Now suck.”

You wrapped your lips around him, and he groaned—loud, raw, like it shocked him. The tip was heavy in your mouth, pressing onto your tongue as you sucked onto it. There was a faint taste of salt and sweat that made all your thoughts disappear immediately. You hummed around his tip before taking more of him into your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby. That mouth—”

He didn’t force you. He guided you. One hand tangled in your hair, the other stroking your cheek while he started to rock his hips slowly and gently, letting you learn the rhythm of it. You moaned again around him, so wet and eager, your thighs rubbing together faster as your drool coated his cock.

Your lips tightened the seal around his shaft, your tongue rubbing against his veins in an up and down motion. “Just like that,” he murmured. “Pretty little thing… look at you, takin’ my cock like a fuckin’ angel.”

You whimpered when he pulled you off, eyes glassy and lips swollen. You licked your lips, tasting his pre-cum with a whine.

“Can’t wait anymore,” he said roughly. “Get on the couch.”

Your body moved onto the couch and he laid you back so gently it almost made you cry. Like you were precious. Breakable. His hands slid your dress up again, kissed down your thighs, worshipped every inch of you. Rafe grabbed his heavy cock inside his hand, rubbing the tip of it against your wet clit. The feeling made you arch.

But when he lined himself up at your entrance, it was with the kind of reverence that made your heart stutter. “You sure, baby?” he whispered, cockhead already nudging against your hole, almost teasing with a few pushes.

You nodded, fingers clutching his shoulders. “Want it. Want you.”

He then pushed in slowly, groaning like he was in pain. You gasped, feeling the stretch, the burn, your cunt fluttering around him in protest and desperate need. You arched even more, your thighs spreading for Rafe to come closer as he pushed his cock inside your hole.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “so tight. So perfect. Just let me in, sweetheart… Relax, yeah?”

You cried out when he bottomed out, too full, too much—but you didn’t want it to stop. He felt heavy inside your pussy, stretching your gummy walls, making you feel full. Rafe kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips. “You’re doin’ so good, baby. So fuckin’ good for me.”

He started to move, slow and careful, grinding into you with deep, heavy thrusts that made your eyes roll back. His hips slammed yours so gently as he moved, making sure he was deep inside you.

“I’m gonna wreck this pussy,” he murmured against your throat. “Gonna fill it up, fuck it stupid. You want that, doll?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please—want you to come inside—want it so bad—” He fucked you harder then, gripping your thighs, his body caging yours. His hands were strong, almost bruising in a way that made you clench around him.

You felt his fingers gripping at the fat of your hips, bringing you along as he fucked your hole; almost using your body. Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

“You’re mine now,” he growled. “Gonna stuff this sweet cunt full and keep you dumb and dripping. You’ll be thinkin’ about me every time you sit down.” One of his hands moved between your body to slap your clit a few times, eliciting gasps from your mouth.

The sharp pain mixed with the pleasure you felt and before you knew it, Rafe was now rubbing your nub in circles. Your pussy clenched around his cock, gripping him in.

You were already there—gone, wrecked, dizzy with how good it felt. Then, his hips angled up and his tip started to hit onto that special spot inside your pussy, making your eyes widen and lips part in shock. Your eyes locked with Rafe’s as you spoke. “M’coming! There, just… please!”

And when he started grinding deeper as a reply, rutting into you with rough little snaps, you screamed his name with your orgasm; head rolling back on the couch, legs shaking and breathing labored. Your pussy immediately clenched around him, trying to keep him inside.

Rafe came next with a groan, spilling deep inside you; hips jerking as he fucked it in with slow, possessive thrusts. You clung to him, ruined and full and sweating on his couch.

He kissed your cheek, your temple, your parted lips. Slowly, he pushed himself out of you and you felt the deep emptiness he left there. You sighed, feeling his semen dripping out of your hole, mixed with your own juices. Rafe looked down at it before back at your face.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he whispered. “We’re so fucked.”

And you—dizzy, stuffed full, marked and dripping—couldn’t help but smile. “We can just keep this a secret.” You said, shrugging, still laying on your back as Rafe got up to grab tissues from the table and walked back to you. “Naughty girl.” He replied as his hands moved to your thighs; slowly, gently, tenderly cleaning you up.

When he was done, he threw the tissues onto the coffee table and brushed strands of your hair away from your face and smiled. “Just hope you know it’s not just about sex to me.” He seemed sincere and you had never thought of him as a liar anyway, you were glad your feelings were reciprocated. “It’s not about sex for me either.”

Rafe smiled and moved closer to you, almost laying on your body as he kissed your lips again. That time, it felt like something had shifted between the two of you. He wasn’t just your dad’s best-friend but more.

His breath catches.

A flicker of panic flashes across his face—barely there, but you know him too well. He tries to look away. His jaw tightens, like maybe he wants to laugh it off, but his body betrays him: his hips buck slightly beneath you, as if chasing your weight.

You blink, feeling the rush of heat shoot straight down your spine.

“Rafe.” You say it softly, more of a question than a name. You reach up, thread your fingers through his hair—not to comfort, not gently this time. You pull. Not hard, but firm enough that his breath hitches.

“Did that feel good?”

He nods once, reluctant. Then again, harder, like he can’t help it.

You shift your hips just a bit, grinding down in a slow, languid roll. His breath shudders. You feel him twitch beneath you, already hard, already aching. And then—there it is again. That sound. Guttural, soft, like it escapes without permission.

A real whimper.

Fuck.

“You like it when I do that?” you ask, voice slipping into something huskier. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, lips slightly parted.

“I—fuck, I don’t know,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper. “It just… feels different. When you’re on top like this.”

Different.

It’s a word that hangs in the air, heavy and promising. You don’t usually take the lead like this, not completely. But now, with him beneath you—flushed, squirming, needy—something primal blooms in your chest. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You can let me take control. If you want.”

His gaze flickers to yours. Vulnerable. Trusting. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Please.”

Please.

That single word nearly ruins you.

You pull him into another kiss, this one deeper, dirtier. He lets out a shaky sigh into your mouth, fingers digging into your hips as if trying to anchor himself. You grind down again, slower this time, really letting him feel it. The way his cock strains against his sweats, the friction dragging between you—it makes his breath hitch, his hands tremble.

You pull back slightly, just enough to murmur against his lips, “You always act so in control. Look at you now.”

“I don’t care,” Rafe whispers. “I want you to do whatever you want.”

That admission makes something throb deep inside you. He’s giving you everything. No bravado, no performance—just Rafe, soft and pliant, eyes searching your face for direction.

You sit back, hands sliding up his chest. His t-shirt is rumpled beneath your palms, clinging to his torso with sweat and heat. You take your time, watching his chest rise and fall as you ghost your fingers under the hem and tug it up. He helps you, arms lifting without a word.

He’s gorgeous, but you’ve always known that. What you didn’t expect—what makes you ache—is how fucking pretty he looks right now, flushed and needy, lips swollen from kissing.

You roll your hips again, this time grinding hard against the bulge in his sweats. Rafe gasps, one hand flying up to grab your wrist—not to stop you, but just to hold onto something.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Do that again, please.”

You do, deliberately slow, and his head tips back against the couch, throat exposed. You dip down, kissing along the column of his neck, and when your teeth scrape lightly against his pulse point, his hips buck up again. He’s so loud.

Every breath is ragged, every moan desperate, and you realize you’ve never heard him like this before. Not like this. No smug comments, no dirty quips. Just sounds—raw, vulnerable, real.

“God, you’re so sensitive tonight,” you murmur, tongue flicking against the shell of his ear. “It’s turning you on, isn’t it? Letting go?”

Rafe groans, nodding. His hands twitch uselessly at your sides, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. You sit up again, still straddling him, and hook your fingers under the waistband of his sweats. He lifts his hips, eager—and then you pause.

You pull enough fabric down to expose his boxers. He’s hard underneath, the outline of his cock straining against soft cotton, a growing wet spot soaking into the front. Your mouth waters. You stand up from straddling him to fall on your knees between his thighs.

“Wait,” he breathes, eyes wide.

“Shh,” you murmur, lips ghosting over the fabric. “I wanna taste you like this first.”

Then you kiss him.

Right through the boxers. Wet and open-mouthed, tongue dragging up the shape of his cock through the fabric. Rafe lets out a noise that’s almost a sob, his hand flying up into your hair—so you pull his wrist away and press his arm to the couch instead.

You lick him again, kissing the head through the damp fabric, mouthing at the outline, teasing with your tongue. He cries out, hips bucking, absolutely wrecked from the sensation.

“You’re gonna fall apart just like this,” you murmur, dragging your lips up the damp cotton one last time. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.” He’s panting now, sweat beading along his brow, pupils blown wide.

“Can I take these off?” you ask.

He nods instantly, hips lifting again. You help him out of them, dragging the fabric down his thighs until his cock springs free—already flushed, twitching, leaking precum down the shaft. You exhale slowly.

“God, Rafe…” He whimpers again, embarrassed, trying to cover his face with the back of his hand.

You catch his wrist. “Uh-uh,” you say, pulling his hand away. “Don’t hide from me. I wanna see your pretty face when you fall apart.” And he does—his eyes lock with yours, wide and glassy, the corners already damp.

“You’re gonna cry for me, aren’t you?” you whisper, thumb brushing under his eye. “You’re so close already.”

“I can’t—” His voice is tight, choked. “I’m gonna—fuck, please.”

You grip him in your hand at last, skin to skin, and his entire body jerks. His head falls back with a wrecked groan. You stroke him slowly, deliberately, twisting your wrist just enough to make his thighs tremble again. His eyes snap open and meet yours, and for a moment—just a heartbeat—it’s overwhelming. This man, so ruined beneath you, gazing up like you’ve just wrecked him and he loves you for it.

And then the tears well up.

You don’t rush it.

Even with his cock twitching in your hand, even with Rafe trembling under you like he’s about to come undone, you keep the pace slow. Deliberate. Each stroke carefully measured, your thumb sweeping through the sticky head, your palm dragging down the thick, flushed shaft. You watch him intently.

And Rafe watches you back.

His eyes are glassy—dilated and wet, bottom lashes clumped with early tears—but he won’t look away. Not even when his thighs start to tremble again, not even when his hips buck with each slick motion of your wrist. You tighten your grip just a little, twist on the upstroke, and Rafe whimpers.

“F-Fuck,” he breathes, voice breaking, and one hand scrabbles for your free wrist like he needs you to anchor him. “I can’t—baby, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” You move your hand and lace his fingers with your own and press his hand into the couch beside him. You lean up a little more, your lips brushing his jaw. “You’re gonna take everything I give you, Rafe. Gonna be good for me, aren’t you?”

He nods instantly, almost desperately, like he’s afraid you’ll stop if he hesitates. “Yeah—fuck, yeah, I’ll be good. I am good. Just—don’t stop, please, don’t—”

“I’m not stopping,” you whisper. “You’re doing so well for me.”

His entire body stutters. His hips jerk beneath you again, and his free hand tightens the grip he has on yours, but he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t even try to. His eyes are still locked on yours, wide and raw and brimming with emotion, and the sound he makes when you squeeze him tighter goes straight to your core.

A moan.

High, broken.

A real whimper.

You lean in, breath hot against his cheek. “You like being touched like this? Like you’re mine to play with?” He nods frantically. “I—yeah, I—God, yes—”

“You’re already so close,” you murmur. “You’re shaking.”

He is. Completely. His thighs, his voice, his grip on your hand. You stroke him slow again, teasing the slit with your thumb, watching his face crumple. “You gonna cry for me?”

“I—I think I already am,” he chokes, voice cracking around the edges.

You glance up—tears track down from the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. It breaks something inside you. You slow your hand, not to tease, but to savor him—how soft he is in your grasp, how wrecked and willing. “I’ve got you,” you whisper. “Let go for me, baby.”

That’s all it takes.

Rafe’s whole body tenses. His mouth drops open on a sob, and his cock pulses in your hand. You stroke him through it, slow and steady, watching ropes of cum spill over your knuckles. His legs shake violently under you, his cries messy and unrestrained. “Oh my God,” he gasps, his chest heaving. “Fuck, I—fuck—”

You don’t stop. Not completely. You ease him through it, let him come down softly, and when he twitches too hard, you finally lift your hand. But your other one? Still holding his. Still grounding him.

Rafe’s head lolls back. His eyes are red-rimmed, tears drying on his flushed cheeks. His chest rises and falls in deep, uneven breaths. And then, after a few seconds, he looks at you. Like he’s starving.

“…You okay?” you ask gently, brushing your fingers up his jaw when he finally lets go of your other hand. His voice is ruined when he says, “Can I have more? Please—I—”

Your brows lift. “Already?”

“I can take it,” he whispers, eyes blown and dark and needy. “Please. I want your mouth. I want to feel you.”

You smile. “You’re insatiable.”

His cock is still sensitive, but already twitching back to life, half-hard and glistening with your previous work. You don’t start with your mouth—you start with your tongue. You lick a stripe from the base to the tip. Rafe moans so loudly it echoes in the room.

You look up at him through your lashes and say, “Gonna keep those pretty eyes on me?” He nods frantically again, already clinging to the couch cushions. You kiss the head of his cock, soft and slow, and then take him in. Not all at once—just the tip, swirling your tongue around it, teasing the sensitive underside.

Rafe’s hips buck, but you press your hands to his thighs to hold him down.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, please, more.” You hum around him and sink lower, mouth hot and wet around his length. He moans again—high-pitched, helpless, his head thrown back and fingers scrabbling uselessly at the fabric of the couch under him.

And you keep going. Deeper. Sloppier.

You let him feel everything—the drag of your tongue, the suction, the heat. You hollow your cheeks and bob your head slowly, letting your spit coat his cock until it’s wet and messy and gliding perfectly into your throat.

He’s making so much noise. Whimpers and gasps and broken little cries, and it only gets worse when you reach up and start to play with his nipple. You would have never guessed that Rafe was so sensitive in that spot, but he is. His back arches, giving you the opportunity to pinch the little buds.

He sobs.

It’s not loud. But it’s there—a shuddering sob, the kind that comes from your chest when you’re holding too much in. His thighs shake. His whole body shakes. “Oh my God,” he chokes. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum again—”

You keep going, no mercy. You stare him down as you take him deep, one of your hands cradling his thigh, the other still playing with his nipple.

And then he breaks.

His back arches even more, and his mouth drops open in a silent cry. You feel him pulse on your tongue, hot and wet and overwhelming, and this time—he’s crying in earnest. Real tears. Rafe Cameron, golden boy, broken and wet-faced and whimpering into your name as you swallow every drop.

You finally release him with a soft pop, licking your lips, and reach up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey,” you whisper. “Look at me.” He does. Barely. His eyes are swollen and red, mouth open like he can’t quite catch his breath. “You okay?” you ask again, gentler this time.

He nods slowly. “That was… I didn’t know I could feel like that.”

“You were perfect,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth. “So good for me. So beautiful. Such a good boy.”

He shudders.

“Come here,” you say softly, crawling back up into his lap and pulling his head into your chest. He melts instantly, burying his face in your shirt, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear. “Thank you,” he whispers against your skin.

You stroke your fingers through his hair, nails dragging lightly across his scalp. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” you say.

“I do,” he breathes. “You saw me like that and didn’t stop. Didn’t make me feel weak.”

You kiss the top of his head.

“You weren’t weak, baby. You were honest. And you looked so fucking good falling apart for me.” He lets out a shaky breath—something between a laugh and another sob—and holds you tighter.

“I’ve never… felt safe like that. Not like this.” You press your cheek to his hair, letting your hands stroke his back. “Then you’re gonna keep letting me do it. Over and over. Until you know for sure.” Rafe nods, breath hitching.