lottie

“Yeah,” Kelce adds, “As in, she’s everywhere. Out every night, every club on the strip. Unsupervised.”

“She’s not a child, you morons.” Rafe takes another sip of his drink, and it takes everything in him not to down the whole damn thing in one go. You were younger than him, sure. But that didn’t mean he had to personally hold your hand every time you went out.

“No. But if word spreads that you can’t keep her in check? Won’t be good.”

“Yeah, man. Especially those old school investors you’re always having meetings with. They won’t wanna do business with you if they know you can’t discipline your girl.”

“I discipline her just fine,” Rafe snaps, but they’ve got to him. And he hates it. His stupid clown ass fucking friends who couldn’t even dream of having a girl as hot as you in their beds. Talking to him about not knowing how to discipline his own girl. “Trust me, I have things under control more than you’d know.”

They leave it at that and change the subject. But Rafe’s pissed the fuck off. Wants to shatter his glass on the goddamned coffee table type of pissed off.

He’d show them.

***

“Baby, look! That new dress I bought finally came!”

You’re like a ray of sunshine inside his dark, desolate house. Always so excited, always up to something. Trouble, but in the most intoxicating sense. It’s what had attracted him to you in the first place.

But Rafe’s still seething from earlier, and all he does is grunt, tugging his tie off and throwing it on his bed along with his suit jacket. You jump into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Daddy, I missed you. Do you like my new dress?”

“Sure.” He mutters, gently prying you off him and not giving the dress you’re wearing a second glance. He knows it’s the one from some high end designer label’s new resort collection or some shit like that. It wasn’t even out in stores yet, but you’d made him pull some strings to get it for you. The exact one that had been worn on the runway. Nothing less for his princess. And all you’d had to do was bat your eyes and mention that you’d wanted it.

Maybe he was too lenient…

“Well, okay Mister Grumpy,” you giggle, skipping off back to your place in front of the vanity which is littered with your expensive makeup, skincare and hair oils. The ornate, vintage vanity you’d made him buy for you when he’d moved you into his house. “Well, I’m gonna wear it out tonight. Don’t wait up, by the way. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

He frowns, sitting down on the edge of his bed, “What?”

You pout, but it’s only to put your sparkly, candy pink lipgloss on. He loved it on you, it made you taste so extra sweet and made your lips look so fucking sexy and kissable.

“My friend Sierra’s party, silly! It’s at this new VIP club called Absynthe. And then there’s an after party back at—”

“You’re not going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

There’s a few beats of silence before you put your makeup brush down and cross the room. Perch yourself on his lap all pretty, looking so tiny and delicious, yet taken aback at the same time. You grab his hand, pressing it down on your bare thigh.

“Daddy,” you breathe in that sexy voice of yours that gets him weak in the knees, “Is this ‘cause you’ll miss me in bed tonight? ‘Cause we can make up for that right now, if you want…”

You press his hand between your thighs and he sucks in his breath sharply. Fuck, you were so hot. He doesn’t pull it away, instead feeling the warmth of your bare skin which glows with whatever glittery body oil you’ve massaged on. And inhaling that sweet perfume of yours that you’ve spritzed liberally all over your body.

“This dress is too short.”

The realisation snaps Rafe out of whatever spell you were about to put him under. He takes a closer look, unable to stop the poisonous thoughts that invade his mind. The dress barely reaches mid thigh, barely covers your fucking ass. And it’s tight like a second skin, makes your body look insane. Too insane to be seen by any pair of eyes that weren’t his own.

You giggle, “I like short dresses. You said you like me in them.”

“Yes. I like you in them. Doesn’t mean the entire male population of Kildare gets to see you in them too.”

You huff, standing up abruptly, “Fine. Then I’ll change into something else.”

Rafe knows you too well. Knows you’ll change back into the slutty dress the moment you leave the house. You’re trouble with a capital T, and he’s always found it enamouring, cute, sexy, exciting. Except now.

“Change into whatever you want, you’re still not stepping foot outside this house tonight.”

Your hands land on your hips, perfectly groomed eyebrows raised and an indignant look on your face, “You can’t be serious…”

“I am. And spare the dramatics, I’m not in the mood.”

“Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me, Rafe!”

He frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Don’t be a spoiled brat just because I won’t allow you to go clubbing till the early hours of the morning in a dress with your tits practically spilling out.”

Your jaw drops, and now you cross your arms below your chest, and it makes your cleavage look even more incredible. Despite everything, he can feel himself getting hard.

“You’re being mean,” you look at him venomously, but your lower lip quivers. That’s when he realises just how much he let you get away with in the past. But you were just so sweet, so charming. Such a sexy little thing, and you were his weakness.

He couldn’t be weak anymore.

“Trust me, you haven’t seen mean yet.” Rafe mutters, “No more clubbing for the foreseeable future. I won’t have my girl doing that shit anymore.”

“You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.” You breathe.

“No? Do you want me to cut your allowance? Change my credit card details?” He waits, but you remain silent. “That’s what I thought.”

Now you’re glaring at him with daggers in your eyes, meticulously manicured hands curling into fists by your sides. You’ve always been a brat, and right now you look like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum. You’ve done it before, and he’s always given in. Happy wife, happy life, that kind of thing. Not this time, though.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rafe snorts, standing up and running a hand through his buzzed hair, “Why? When I’ve got you for that.” He smirks when you gasp lightly, “Now if you actually want to make yourself useful, then make me a drink how you know I like it, and bring it to me in my study.”

He leaves, but not before tapping your ass on his way out. You huff angrily, but he doesn’t look back. Not this time. Who said he couldn’t discipline you? Hell, you’re lucky he didn’t take you over his knee the moment he saw that fucking sorry excuse for a dress.

No, this time you’ll learn.

***

Predictably, you don’t bring him his drink. Instead, he leans back against his leather chair in his study, watching as his phone pings with multiple rapid notifications from his bank.

You were using his credit card right at this very moment, spending his money on a bunch of different shit. Several thousand dollars at Van Cleef, Guiseppe Zanotti, Chanel. It was your way of getting back at him, but you spending his money only served to turn him on.

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches upwards. He could block his credit card from your phone, or change his details. But he’s never had a problem with you spending his money. In fact, he found it to be the hottest fucking thing: the confidence with which you spent his money on the most extravagant shit possible. And he loved that he could show you off, his girl who was always dripping head to toe in diamonds and designer labels. Well taken care of. And all his.

Now if only you could just be a good girl and stop going out partying so much.

It’s not that Rafe cared much about you going out clubbing before today. He himself felt too old for that shit, but he never had a problem with you going. He liked to see you have fun, and you always came home to him all drunk and giggly. Snuggled up to him and let him take care of you. He liked that. Because he trusted you and knew you were a good girl who knew who she belonged to. But what he didn’t like was other people thinking he was some pussy-whipped little bitch.

It takes him upwards of an hour to get through the remaining work he has. By the time it’s all done, Rafe’s itching to get in bed with you. Hopefully you were done being dramatic and he could have a quiet night.

Instead, he walks back into the bedroom to see your suitcase open wide on the bed, and your shit strewn everywhere.

“The fuck is this?”

You sniffle, dramatically folding an article of clothing, “I’m leaving you.”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you leave me tomorrow? I’d like to sleep right now.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder in frustration, shooting him a glare but all he can focus on is how hot you look. You’ve changed into a pair of tiny pink silk pyjama shorts and a matching vest top. Hardly the kind of attire you’d wear when you were about to leave someone.

“You’re such a jerk, Rafe. A mean, horrible, unfair jerk. Fuck you.”

Rafe yawns, leaning against the doorframe and watching you in amusement, “A mean, horrible, unfair jerk, huh? For setting boundaries that you clearly need?”

You scowl, “I’m not your child, Rafe. And you’ve never had a problem with me going out before.”

He shrugs, “Yeah, well that’s going to change from now on going forward. I can’t have people thinking I don’t know how to control my girl.” He makes his way over to you and shuts your suitcase with a finality, pushing it onto the floor, “Now get in bed, I’m tired.”

“Of course you’re tired. You’re old and boring and you don’t understand that you’re smothering me and I hate you!” You’re growing more hysterical by the second, but it’s not something Rafe isn’t used to. This isn’t the first temper tantrum from you he’s had to deal with, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Baby,” he wraps his arms around you, not budging even when you fight against him with your feeble, ineffective little punches that only make him chuckle, “C’mon, don’t be like this. You know I’m only trying to protect you.”

“No. You’re just trying to control me. Because you hate me.”

“If I hated you, you’d be dead,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck while you’re still trying to push him away, “Now come on, there’s worse things to pout about than not being allowed to go clubbing.”

“It’s supposed to be the biggest party of the summer! And my outfit was soo good!”

“Why don’t you act like all the other girlfriends? Plan a brunch or go to the country club?” He continues pressing kisses down your neck.

“Because I’m not a brain dead tradwife, Rafe!”

That makes him laugh, and he can sense you holding back a smile too.

“No, baby, you’re just a brat.”

He kisses you, claiming your mouth while his hand reaches down to palm your ass. He grabs a handful, giving it a squeeze through the silky material of your shorts. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks, ignoring how you pound at his chest.

“Let go of me! I told you I’m leaving!”

But you let him push you down on the bed, let him climb on top of you and kiss you some more. Sure, you have a lot to say, cursing and whining and crying about your stupid club all while he kisses you everywhere. Your face, your neck, your collarbones, pushes your top down to kiss your breasts. And he can taste the chocolatey coco of your shimmery body oil, and he’s so fucking hard.

“I wanna go to the Bahamas.” You say while he’s between your legs, eating your cunt like he’s starved. It’s his favourite type of food, and he loves pressing your thighs so far apart he’s sure he’ll leave bruises.

He looks up at you indulgently, “Sure, baby. Anything else?”

A trip to the Bahamas with him was better than you going clubbing by yourself.

“I’d like a car. Like a cute pink convertible.”

“Of course you would.”

The truth is, he’d buy you just about anything you wanted. All the dresses, cars, jewellery, makeup, trips, all of it. If it meant you’d be happy in your gilded cage, satisfied enough that you’d give up your frivolous clubbing and wild ways that made him look bad.

Now, you thrash above him, grabbing at the sheets and at his head as you come undone. Arching your back so pretty, pressing your wet pussy right on his face as he laps you up. He knows he was hard on you today, and you need the extra attention.

“Mmmm, dada… I-I…”

Rafe makes you orgasm three times before coming up for air, kissing you possessively so you can taste yourself on him. And you’re more docile now, you always are after he’s tamed you and gotten you off. Like you’ve orgasmed the brattiness out of you. Except it never lasts long, but he’d take what he could get.

“Go to sleep now,” he orders you, pecking your face a couple more times. “It’s late.”

“For you it’s late.”

“Shhhh,” he kisses you again till he can feel you smiling against his lips.

“Fine.” You yawn, letting him tuck you by his side and pull the covers up as he turns the lamp off.

He knows it’s anything but fine, and the battle is far from over. But he’s got you tamed for now, which was a victory in itself.

Fuck his dumb fucking friends. Who said Rafe Cameron didn’t know exactly how to control his girl?