✨Piercedheartss ✨

But not just any picture. That picture. The one you had sent only to Rafe—the one meant just for him. You were wearing a delicate pink lace bra, his favorite, with matching panties. Your heart started to pound, your hands suddenly clammy against the keyboard.

And then, you saw Topper’s response.

“Damn, man.”

Your stomach dropped. A sickening wave of confusion and embarrassment crashed over you. Why would Rafe show him that?

Before you could process it, the bathroom door creaked open.

Rafe stepped out, a towel slung dangerously low around his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He ran a hand through his wet hair, his blue eyes locking onto you.

“You on my laptop?” His voice was casual, but there was something underneath it—something unreadable.

You panicked, quickly clicking away from the chat. “Yeah, just looking for a movie for us to watch,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steady.

He studied you for a second, then relaxed. “Find anything?”

You forced a small smile, shaking your head, but inside, a storm raged. You couldn’t let him know what you had seen. It was just one picture, you told yourself—maybe a mistake. Starting a fight wasn’t worth it.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You spent the night with Rafe in his mansion, you didn’t even finish the movie—Rafe had been too needy, as always, pulling you into him, touching you like he couldn’t get enough.

But later, as you lay beside him in the dark, your body warm against his, sleep refused to come.

No matter how hard you tried to push it away, one thought kept circling in your mind.

The picture.

The Top’s respond.

The sinking feeling in your chest that something wasn’t right.

Your eyes remained open, staring at the darkened room while Rafe’s chest rose and fell steadily against your back. His arm was draped over your waist, his warmth surrounding you like a cage. He was deep asleep, breathing slow and steady, his body curled around yours.

Then, your gaze landed on his phone, sitting on the nightstand just within reach.

It was right there.

All you had to do was lean forward, just a little, and you could take it. Just a quick check—to see if the guys had said anything else about you. The thought gnawed at you, whispering in the back of your mind.

You didn’t want to do it. It wasn’t fair to Rafe. Checking his phone without permission—it was practically spying. But the urge was stronger than your conscience.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted, holding your breath as you reached for the device. Your fingers wrapped around it, heart hammering as you brought it back to you. You glanced at Rafe—he didn’t stir.

You unlocked it with ease.

Your stomach tightened as you scrolled to his messages with Topper. And then you saw it.

A link. Topper had sent him something.

Your pulse quickened as your thumb hovered over the message. You hesitated for only a second before tapping the link.

The page loaded. A porn page.

You saw a girl on the video, she was completely naked, struggling, three men surrounding her. Holding her down. Hands gripping her wrists and ankles, pressing against her skin, overpowering her with ease.

One of the man forcing her legs apart, teasing her entrance, while the other was using her mouth. Your fingers tightened around the phone, your pulse roaring in your ears. A sickening weight settled in your chest as dread curled around your ribs.

Why was Rafe watching something like this?

You quickly closed the video, not wanting to watch any longer. You knew Rafe had watched those kinds of videos before. He was a man, after all. It wasn’t something you ever thought too deeply about. Guys watched porn—it was normal.

But this?

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t some grainy video of a consenting couple. It was violent. It was animalistic.

You scrolled through the conversation further, your stomach turning with every new message. The more you saw, the heavier the weight in your chest became. Links. More videos—sickening videos, but you couldn’t bring yourself to click on them anymore. The horror from the first one was enough.

But it wasn’t just the videos. The pictures. Your pictures.

Each one was more intimate, more revealing than the last, as though they were part of some collection. Some twisted game. You saw yourself in various states of undress, shots you had sent to Rafe—only to Rafe—intended for his eyes alone. But now, Topper had them too. His replies made your blood run cold.

“Damn, man, she looks like she’s begging for it.”

“Did you get it wet?”

“You sure she knows how to keep it quiet?”

“How much did you make her beg for it?”

“I bet she was dripping by the time you got to her.”

“You’re a lucky bastard. She’s hot as hell.”

“Can’t believe you’ve got her this whipped. She’s all yours, huh?”

You knew Topper. He was always around—Rafe’s best friend. You had hung out with him countless times, never once suspecting that he saw you this way. It made your stomach twist with disgust.

You couldn’t look at the screen anymore. The messages, the words—each one felt like it was digging deeper under your skin. You slammed the phone down into the drawer, trying to push it all out of your mind. But before you could gather yourself, a voice cut through the silence behind you.

“It’s rude to go through someone’s phone without their permission, baby.”

Rafe’s voice was low, but there was no anger, no fury. Just a calm, unsettling tone.

“I wasn’t—”

You started, spinning around to face him, but your eyes dropped immediately, unable to hold his gaze. The tension in the air thickened, and your heart pounded faster with each passing second.

Rafe’s fingers gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His gaze was intense, searching your face, like he could read every thought racing through your mind.

“And it’s rude to lie,” he scolded you, his tone sharp, almost patronizing—like you were a child.

“I know, I was just… Why did you send those photos to Topper?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, the confusion and hurt laced in your voice.

Rafe’s expression didn’t change. He seemed unfazed, as though the answer should have been obvious.

“Well, he’s my best friend,” he said, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t send you photos of his girlfriend,” you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The hurt was too raw, the betrayal too fresh.

Rafe’s smirk grew wider, his gaze never leaving yours. “Are you dumb, baby? She’s kind of my sister,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery.

The weight of his words hit you, and you immediately realized how foolish the question must have sounded. But it didn’t make it any less painful. You felt small, humiliated, as if your feelings didn’t even matter.

“Listen,” Rafe continued, his voice suddenly softer, almost condescending, “you shouldn’t overthink it. Just take it as a compliment.

He looked at you intensely, his gaze unwavering, as if trying to read every thought running through your mind. You felt a mixture of hurt and confusion swirling inside you, but somehow, his presence still had a calming effect on you. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to pull you back in, even when you were falling apart.

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep, hmm?” he said gently, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “You’re probably very tired.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of everything still hanging between you. But something in his eyes, the familiar warmth of his touch, made you want to let go of the tension that had built up. You had trusted him for so long, and despite everything, a part of you still wanted to believe in him.

You let out a shaky breath, then allowed yourself to sink into his embrace as he cuddled you close. His arms wrapped around you, holding you as if nothing had changed. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the slow rhythm of his breathing.

You closed your eyes, the weight of exhaustion settling over you. You tried to push aside the doubts that still clung to you, letting yourself fall into the comfort of his embrace.

──────────────────────

Days went by, and neither of you brought that up again. You thought, maybe, Rafe was right—that you were just overreacting. Maybe you were being too sensitive. It was hard to hold onto anger when he wrapped you in his warmth, acting like nothing had changed.

You were still furious with Topper, though. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He had no right to talk about you the way he did, to treat you like some object for his amusement. And that left you with a gnawing feeling in your gut every time his name was mentioned.

When Rafe asked you to meet with Topper today, you hesitated. You didn’t want to face him, not after everything that had happened. But Rafe insisted, his usual charm making it hard to say no.

You didn’t want to, but you didn’t want to disappoint him either. So, you agreed, though the unease in your stomach never quite faded. You tried to push it aside as you got ready, but in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting with Topper today wouldn’t be as simple as Rafe made it seem.

The atmosphere in the house felt heavy as the three of you sat together. You deliberately chose not to speak to Topper, your gaze avoiding his at all costs. When you first walked in, you muttered a quick “hi,” barely glancing at him, and then quickly turned your attention elsewhere. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to acknowledge his presence in the same space.

Topper, however, didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he was just pretending not to—his attention mostly focused on Rafe. The two of them fell into their usual banter, laughing and joking about whatever the topic of the moment was, while you stayed silent, your eyes glued to the floor or the walls, anything but him.

You were sitting on the couch, watching the two of them play, the sounds of the game filling the quiet space. Topper, as usual, was being his playful self, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin.

“Do you want to play too?” he asked, holding out the console in your direction.

You looked at him, then at the console, your gaze lingering for a moment. You could feel the tension building again, the frustration bubbling just under the surface. The idea of playing a game with Topper, after everything, didn’t sit well with you.

“No,” you said, your voice cold, as you turned your gaze back to the screen. You ignored his outstretched hand, not even bothering to look at him. “Not with you.”

You muttered the last part quietly, but it was loud enough for both of them to hear. The air in the room grew still, and you could feel the weight of the moment hanging over you. Topper’s grin faltered, and Rafe, who had been focused on the game, immediately paused, his expression hardening.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Rafe said, standing up suddenly. The tone in his voice was firm, like he was trying to manage the situation. “Give us a moment,” he added, looking at Topper.

Before you could say anything, Rafe was already pulling you off the couch, gently but firmly dragging you to the other room. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a soft click.

He turned to face you, his eyes narrowing as he took in your expression. “You’re really bratty today,” he said, his voice a mix of amusement and mild irritation.

He grabbed your chin, tilting your head to the side as his lips brushed against your neck. The slow kisses followed by gentle bites made you shiver, your heart pounding in your chest. It was both frustrating and intoxicating at the same time.

“Will you behave now?” he asked, his voice low, almost dangerous. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. There was something commanding in his gaze, something that made your stomach tighten.

“Or should I teach you a lesson?” he added, his hand slipping beneath your t-shirt, his touch deliberate, slow, and almost teasing.

His free hand trailed down to your leg, squeezing it slightly. “Hmm? Maybe I could fuck that attitude out of you,” he murmured as his fingers brushed against your soaked panties.

At the sensation of his touch, you slowly shook your head, your apology emerging as a barely audible whisper.

“Oh, you’re sorry, huh?” he scoffed. “You act like a bitch to my bro, and now you wanna say sorry?” He tsked, shaking his head. “We’ll need more than that.” He said, his voice low, as he unbuckled his belt, his pants falling with a soft rustle.

You knew he was pissed at you just by the look on his face, and you knew he had some unsettling ideas when he was in this mood. The tension in the air made it clear that things could spiral in any direction.

He pulled your underwear to the side as you mumbled nonsense, fear creeping into your voice.

“Maybe I should take you like that girl in the video,” he said mockingly. “Should I ask Topper for help?”

You were shaking, repeating “no,” panic clear in your eyes. Rafe only laughed at that.

He pulled his already stiff cock, the sight made you gasp. When he began to tease your entrance, his eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. You could feel the fear rising within you, every muscle in your body tensed, unsure of what would come next.

“Chill,” he said, smirking. “If not, it’s gonna hurt worse.” Without giving you a moment to relax, he shoved his full length inside you, making you moan, the force taking you by surprise.

You were used to his roughness, but today felt different—like he had completely lost control. He was angry, and it was clear in every thrust he made.

“Should I take a picture now, huh? And send it to Topp. It’s his bathroom, after all,” he said with a wicked grin. The sensation was too much, and you couldn’t form a response, your mind blank as everything around you blurred. You were crying by now, tears staining your whole face.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his cigarette before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his cigarette onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is something much more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish," he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured his voice thick with predatory intent "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. I hadn't expected a text from you so soon," his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. Are you willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then nine."

You straightened, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two, it might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“I always glove up, princess, and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw—”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms when having sex, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on a sudden edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. "How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured. "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than just kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Ah ah, you'll have to give me more than that," he whispered, his voice dripping with authority. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive. "You get a two-minute head start. After that, I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of old cedar and mothballs filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There," he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting intensity. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, a primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonized screams as your orgasm overtook you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashing over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing as you climaxed.

Rafe rode you with a feverish frenzy, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and labored, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

--------------

Rafe swore he could hear his heartbeat thumping over the sound of his engine roaring, tires screeching as he followed the mental path to your house.

No awareness of parked cars and no mind paid to the speed limit, the luxurious truck soared through the neighborhood it had no business being in.

…For more reasons than just the differing tax brackets. Of course, Rafe’s car was too nice to not warrant a second look or two from pogues on the Cut. But more than that, you were one of those pogues from the Cut, and pogue-on-kook macking is specifcally forbidden, especially in your friend group.

And especially when the kook in question was Rafe Cameron.

JJ, Kie, Pope, John B and Sarah would never be okay with you dating a kook… let alone, Sarah’s brother.

Still, Rafe didn’t like the way you let your friends dictate your love life, even though he knew just as well as the next person just how forbidden pogue and kook relationships were.

Not that you were technically in one. You weren’t, but the feelings and tension between the two of you led you to a situationship that was just a crossed line or two away from being a real relationship. Either way, the predicament the two of you were in was enough to have Rafe on edge when you started ignoring him randomly. Your texts became fewer and farther between, you hadn’t picked up not one of his calls the past few days.

He didn’t know what had gotten into you, but he surely planned to find out.

Truthfully, you’d just been hosting your group of friends at your place for a few days, so you didn’t have as much time to sneak away to talk to Rafe, and you couldn’t spend too much time on your phone, as to not invoke any questions or suspicions from them.

And you were enjoying the time with your friends, it was nice having everyone in one spot, and you liked that that spot happened to be your house, this time.

You were getting ready to join your friends out on the beach, when something outside caught your attention.

Your ears picked up on an all-to-familiar rumbling of an engine, though you couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it, until you saw the for yourself. You blinked hard, eyes growing wide at the sight of a black truck ripping into the driveway.

Rafe’s truck.

In your driveway.

“No…no, no!” Your panic was vocalized in a half yell, half whisper as you pushed off of the window sill, body moving on auto-pilot, scurrying to the front door. You stole a glance behind you at the patio door, quickly accounting for 5 figures near the shore in the distance before turning back around.

You threw the front door open at the same time Rafe pushed his truck door open, the two of you storming towards each other, a tornado bound to form.

“What are you doing here?!” You scolded, shoving at his chest as soon as you got close enough.

He hardly stumbled back, hard eyes fixed on you in response to your question. You couldn’t stop straining to look over your shoulder, worried that your friends would pick the wrong time to wander off of the beach and back up to the house.

You wrapped a shaky hand around Rafe’s wrist, emcompassing it in a gentle grip that you used to tug him closer to you as you reminded him, “You know you’re not supposed to be here!”

Your own anger kept you from fully gauging Rafe’s anger. It radiated off of him as he glared down his nose at you, eyes narrowed and chest puffed out as he spat, “Why have you been ignoring me?”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Oh, I don’t know,” You started walking him backwards, back towards his truck. You knew he was letting you, as you wouldn’t have been able to push him back if he showed even the slightest resistance. You were no match for his strength, and you both knew it. “Maybe because we’re not supposed to see each other? Or-or did you forget?!”

“That’s never stopped you before,” he retorted, jaw ticking.

You stole a nervous glance back at the house, thankful that the coast was still clear. Something told you Rafe wouldn’t go without a fight, so you decided to try to usher him in the house. You hoped you’d be able to tuck him away upstairs without anyone noticing.

“I told you my friends are staying here!” You stepped over the threshold, pulling Rafe over it next. “You know, my friends? The ones you’ve beat up and fought with? That includes your sister, Rafe!”

“So?” The one syllable word lit a fuse in you that you struggled to simmer back down.

“So?!” You half yelled, half whispered. Again, you gazed through the sliding glass door, checking on your friends. Thankfully, they were still at the beach. “Everyone’s gonna see your car, and then what?!”

Rafe straightened his shoulders out, cleared his chest before stating, “Well maybe I…maybe I don’t care if they know.”

Your eyes grew wide at his admittance, then impossibly wider as he continued, “Maybe I should go down there right now and tell them all about us.” He was nodding his head like he wasn’t just making a suggestion.

Rafe attempted to step around you, towards the direction of your friends. You stopped him with a firm hand to his chest, the other flying to grab onto the sleeve of his shirt when that wasn’t enough.

“Wait! No, Rafe, please, just…” You struggled to come up with an alternative solution as Rafe’s patience ticked in the red zone.

But it was too late, anyway.

Because just as Rafe went to shake your arm off of him, the sound of the backdoor sliding open caught your attention, and you wished you could’ve somehow just disappeared when your friends started piling in.

The group was more shocked to see Rafe at your house than you had been.

“What the fuck-?” Kie started.

At the same time, JJ shouts, “What the fuck are you doing here? Get the fuck away from her!”

The voices had you both whipping your head around, lips parted as you stared at your friends in shock.

You’d been caught, red-handed.

You immediately dropped your hold on Rafe’s arm, as if releasing your grip changed the fact that they’d already found the two of you together.

“Y/N,” Kiara’s eyes didn’t leave Rafe as she carefully addressed you. “Are you okay? Why is Rafe here…?”

As if right on cue, Sarah and the rest of the group entered at the mention of her brother.

“Rafe? What the fuck are you doing here?!”

You finally looked back at the man in question, who’s expression was angry enough to kill at this point.

His lip was curled inwards, jaw ticking as he started to pace in his spot, clearly considering an outlet for the rage that was currently set to boil over at any moment.

The pogues didn’t miss the way you attempted to sneak an arm behind the kook, circling your palm over his upper back in a manner you hoped would be soothing.

“I-I…” Your words died in your throat, because what could you say? I’m dating your worst enemy? I’m into the guy that tried to kill you, Sarah? I’m dating the guy that beat you to a pulp on more than one occasion, JJ?

Your inability to string together a logical explaination was all the answer your friends needed before arms started crossing, and tempers started flying.

“Wait a minute…” You dreaded Sarah finishing the rest of her thought, but she continued anyway, “are you guys…together?” It sounded almost painful to ask.

Again, the two of you stood silent.

“Oh my god…” Kie let out a sarcastic laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Her attitude had tears brimming behind your lashes. “Guys, please just…I can-I can explain,”

“We don’t want your explaination, Y/N.” Apparantly, Kie was the spokesperson for the group, as the rest of your friends, namely Sarah, seemed too shocked, too betrayed or hurt to say anything. They just stared. Well, the ones who could still stand to look at you, at this point.

You were fixing your mouth to defend yourself again, but when your lips parted, a louder, more assertive and aggressive voice filled the air.

“You know what?” Your eyes shot up to Rafe, who rolled his shoulders back, cocking his neck to either side before he continued.

“We are together,” He confirmed, shooting a death glare specifically his sister’s direction. “And she doesn’t need to explain herself to you-you fucking pogues!”

JJ fixed his eyes on you, hurt evident from your lack of defense on your friends’ behalf. “So you just let him talk about us however he wants now, Y/N? Is that what it is?” Just like Rafe, JJ’s hurt usually shifted into anger, too.

“Yeah, that is what it is, Maybank.” Rafe spat. “And if any of you have a fucking problem with that, then you can get the fuck outta here.”

“N-no, Rafe, wait,” you placed a hand on his chest, the physical gesture halting his verbal assault.

“Guys, I…I’m sorry. I-we’ll just go,”

“No, no,” Kie snatched her bag from the nearby couch and threw it over her shoulder. “We’ll go. You guys stay.”

Without another word, Kie stormed out of the door, and the rest of the group followed suit.

You watched through tears as your friends all gathered their belongings, heading towards the front door. The looks they each offered you on the way out ranged from disappointment, to crossness, to hurt or sadness.

Sarah’s words hurt the most. “I can’t believe you…” she’d managed to choke out before crossing the threshold to outside. She was the last one out, and she let the door slam shut behind her.

When your sorrowful eyes fell to Rafe, he didn’t look the least bit sorry. He didn’t look regretful, or upset in the slightest. The look on his face was more of a satisfied one, and it had your blood boiling.

You turned to him, eyes watery and voice shaky as you sarcastically asked, “There! Are you happy now?”

You shoved at his chest, though he hardly stumbled back as you stormed back out the front door, Rafe hot on your heels.

“Hey, you should be thanking me,” he started, hands gesturing to his chest as he continued the outlandish statement, “now you don’t have to sneak around behind your friends’ backs.” He shrugged.

“No,” You were quick to correct him, “now I don’t even have any friends’ to sneak around!”

Rafe remained silent. For once, he wasn’t sure what to say. He was sure you’d get over it in due time, as would your friends.

“Just…just go home, Rafe.”

“Y/N, wait-!”

You cut him off, no longer interested in what he had to say. You turned your back to him, ignoring his pleads and calls behind you as you stomped back into your house, slamming the door before he had a chance to wedge his foot in the opening.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2