Barramas, University, 11:57 pm.

Rafe hated himself. Genuinely, this should have been the motivation behind the many self-sabotaging acts he committed, along with everything he tended to preach far too often for it to be considered mere slips or simple carelessness. However, the last thing that crossed his mind the moment he unlocked his dorm room door and his eyes landed on the person who was, until then, the most unlikely to seek him out at that hour—at least in his perception, admittedly somewhat biased to assume such a thing—was anything close to self-reproach.

— Are you going to let me in or just keep judging me with that superior little look of yours, Cameron?

Her rounded chin lifted in challenge, large brown eyes narrowing in his direction, and the blond definitely ignored the sudden pressure in his chest when he noticed her reddish lips jut out in what was probably an involuntary pout—considering the girl’s irritatingly bratty mannerisms.

He almost laughed in disbelief; he might have, if the moment his gaze traveled over her body his mind hadn’t been struck by a mix of feelings that included everything except the indignation he should have shown in the face of such audacity—especially when she was clearly the more vulnerable one between them.

And fuck.

Bea was wearing a simple white tank top, thin to the point of being almost scandalous, short enough to expose her stomach and beautiful waist, her golden skin looking soft to the touch… and a damn—blessed—denim mini skirt. That was it. The fabric molded perfectly to her curves, and Cameron hadn’t even looked at her from behind. Her thick thighs were completely exposed, so full that their inner sides brushed easily against each other, as well as against the frayed threads of the skirt. The sensuality, however, came with the obvious discomfort she felt in the low nighttime temperature against her barely covered skin, which made Rafe’s thoughts blend fascination with concern.

— Does your brother know you’re dressed like that? — Rafe asked suddenly, his naturally deep voice a few tones rougher, the rasp in his timbre more pronounced. His thin lips pressed into a straight line, visibly tense and bothered, his subtly defined jaw shifting as he swallowed hard, the veins along his long neck standing out. Bea didn’t even suspect that his question might be anything more than his usual disdain toward her.

— Oh sure, Rafe. Because if my brother knew I ran all the way from downtown Barramas to your dorm practically half-naked—according to what he’d probably call it—at this hour, I’d definitely still be alive to answer you.

She shot back sharply, despite her naturally sweet tone. When it came to the older one, Kvint forgot any trace of subtlety. Her thick brows furrowed and she rolled her eyes slightly, which stirred irritation in him. He was about to slam the door in her face and return to his book—far more interesting than the situation he neither wanted nor felt obligated to be part of.

Bea was trouble. A problem. A complication that a senior medical student, intern at one of the largest university laboratories, with a more aligned and discreet appearance that quickly revealed his personality—a young man who saw no issue in acting exactly like the nerd he was, delivering long monologues about research, graphs, and diagnoses, as well as his personal tastes in science fiction films, video games, and books—definitely did not want to get involved with.

Well, at least that’s what he thought.

There was something about the younger girl—and certainly something within himself—that made him quickly wonder what could have brought Bea there, to him. With her striking brown eyes, sharp yet delicate and graceful features, defined curvy body, and a bratty, captivating personality too impossible to ignore. Because yes, the moment infatuation hit him, Rafe’s first instinct had been to flee and ignore her as much as possible—a form of self-protection mixed with subtle denial. But as the universe never failed to play tricks on him, in the most unbearable way possible, of course his attempt to escape had been unsuccessful.

So, surprising Kvint and himself alike, the blond’s next words were:

— Come in. You’re going to explain what happened right now if you don’t want your brother knocking on this door in the next five minutes.

Contrary to his usual withdrawn demeanor, Cameron tapped into the side of himself that unconsciously surfaced whenever he dealt with that irritating little thing—more imposing, though he couldn’t sustain it for long. His inherently correct nature when it came to bending rules, whether moral or societal, and his methodical personality, rarely prone to mistakes, were traits quickly noticed by anyone who interacted with him—and acted as brakes against any deviation from that line.

But for now, impatience consumed him completely as his long fingers wrapped firmly around Beatriz’s slim wrist—careful not to press too hard—and pulled her inside the single dorm room, ignoring her predictable protests.

— Hey, Cameron?! What the hell is your problem? Ow, my wrist!

Bea shouted, stumbling over her own steps because of her heeled boots. Her naturally soft voice slowed on the last phrase as a hint of exaggerated sweetness colored her tone, quickly confirming to Rafe—who didn’t even bother looking at her—that it was nothing more than drama.

— You have three minutes. Starting now.

He sat in his armchair in the corner of the room, adjusting the hoodie stamped with the logo of the men’s medical fraternity and straightening his round prescription glasses on the bridge of his nose, looking at her over the lenses as if to make it clear he wasn’t open to objections.

(…)

— And yes, he was an idiot! It’s like I have a magnet for them! But this one was worse, because at least I usually end up with idiots who are good in bed, which clearly wasn’t the case, since that clown barely knew how to kiss! Can you believe that?

With little modesty, as usual, she delivered what sounded like the rant of the week to her brother’s best friend, indignant in a way that didn’t even bother reinforcing their rivalry by being anything less than honest. It wasn’t her style. And by now, she had accepted that she was in the bastard’s hands. He was looking at her with something beyond his familiar superiority; his flushed cheeks under the yellow lighting caught her attention.

— You know, I’d love to get one of them fresh out of the box, teach him how to kiss and actually please a girl, because besides thinking with their dick, they only think about their own dick!

She huffed, too frustrated to notice the deeper blush burning across his skin. Swallowing hard, he looked down at his hands, trying to focus on anything other than her words and the way she looked so beautiful just talking.

— I doubt you’d understand. After all, you’re a man. You’ve probably had more orgasms in your life than you’ve eaten vegetables.

That struck something internal in him. His shoulders tensed; his fingers pressed nervously together. His throat felt dry and his pulse quickened because… well, Cameron couldn’t question or agree with Beatriz. He had no criteria when it came to romantic experiences like kissing—let alone sexual ones. Yes, he knew that at twenty-one, and in his position in society as a man, it sounded almost absurd, impossible, or any other synonym of disbelief. He felt embarrassed—but not enough to rush into something he had always believed should be shared with the right person. He had desires, but he also wanted it to be good, pleasurable, meaningful.

— Actually, no. I—I don’t know if I can answer that.

He kept it short, still not meeting her eyes, mentally cursing himself for stuttering and genuinely wondering if he would really reveal that infamous information to Kvint… And the question was: why? He shouldn’t. It would be his riskiest and least intelligent choice. After all, that girl was trouble in every sense—and would definitely turn it into a bigger one once she knew.

— Why? Don’t tell me that—

— I’ve never even kissed anyone, Beatriz. Go ahead and make your jokes. But at least I haven’t had the misfortune of getting involved with someone who can’t do the bare minimum.

He cut her off abruptly, defensive words spilling out before he finally lifted his face—only to be met with something he never expected to see in her expression.

Fascination.

Her gaze held no judgment, a subtle smile curving her pretty lips, as though she had just received the best news of the day.

— Like, never kissed with tongue, or never kissed anyone at all?

She stepped closer to the armchair, her naturally restless aura blending with… anticipation? Rafe’s pulse raced. He breathed through parted lips as the sweet scent of vanilla and the warmth radiating from her body reached him—intoxicating and disorienting all at once.

— I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve never been with anyone like that.

And something clicked inside Bea. The nervousness, the unusual sensations, the palpable tension—all of it made sense when satisfaction hit her full force. Her desire, fulfilled in the most unexpected way possible. And of course, it had to be Rafe there—annoyingly proactive, openly superior, so proper even in the perfectly styled blond strands of his hair and those sweaters far too big for his imposing frame and withdrawn posture. But beyond the teasing directed only at her, Bea knew he was more than that. Cameron was attentive, loyal, loving, undeniably concerned for those he cared about. His long-standing friendship with her older brother proved it. And she stubbornly tried to ignore the discomfort that came with him not acting the same way toward her. She didn’t understand the bitterness in her mouth—after all, she couldn’t possibly care less about that know-it-all’s apathy… right?

— And would you like to try?

She asked quickly, unconcerned with sounding curious. She was not one to suppress her impulses—she lost too much compared to what she could gain.

Then it hit her: his apathy toward her could interfere with her proposal—one she considered impossible to refuse. Her heart raced when his blue eyes narrowed, confusion twisting his angular features. He was surprised by her tone, which clearly hinted at something he hadn’t fully processed—at least not regarding his friend’s sister. That small, wild force of nature. The nightmare of anyone seeking peace.

His nightmare.

— Eventually, yes? I don’t like treating it like a big deal. I want it to be good, and I think forcing it would ruin everything. I don’t usually function well under pressure—

— I can make it good.

Sudden and completely unaware of the effect she triggered, she said it, looking at him through her long lashes with that far-too-calm little smile. Only then did the blond notice she was leaning over him, her long brown hair falling into his lap, her scent flooding his senses.

— If you want, of course… It has to feel good for you. I understand. I don’t know if you’d trust me with that.

She murmured softer, perhaps more to herself. But for the first time, Rafe reversed their dynamic. His disdain gave way to consent, granting her access to a vulnerable part of him. Looking into her sweet, eager eyes, it felt right.

— I do. I want to. It has to be good for both of us, isn’t that what you want?

He was slightly trembling, though the rasp in his voice prevailed. His mouth dried as he stared at hers, finally allowing himself what he had long suppressed—and not regretting it. The desire alone was already pleasurable.

Beatriz smiled in satisfaction and straightened slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear, her flushed face tilting as though admiring something. And she was. Her gaze traveled over Rafe’s tense figure—the broad chest rising quickly beneath the hoodie, his parted lips betraying his rapid breathing, blue eyes hazy behind his glasses, blinking slowly. His large hands gripped the padded arms of the chair, channeling impatience while remaining patient for what she was about to give him.

So affected by so little…

— Can I sit on your lap, Cameron?

She asked sweetly, as though she already knew he wouldn’t refuse. He nodded frantically. She bit her lip, satisfied at having her whim indulged.

Balancing on her toes, she leaned in, rounding her chin and offering him a calm look. She gently pushed her forehead against his, her slender arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, watching him close his eyes. She brushed the tip of her nose against his slowly, their warm breaths mingling. She noticed his inexperience—even in not knowing where to place his hands—quickly guiding them to her waist, pressing his trembling fingers there as she sighed, just as affected.

She didn’t prolong the teasing. She wanted it as much as he did, so she pressed a long, soft kiss to his lips, something inside her warming at the feel of them. Pulling away for milliseconds before kissing him again.

When she parted her lips, she felt the blue-eyed boy timidly follow her lead, and she couldn’t stop the smile that curved between their mouths. The tip of her experienced tongue slipped slowly into the temptation that was Rafe Cameron, and her heart skipped when she tasted him. He was delicious.

Their mouths had been joined only minutes, yet they already felt addicted. Now that he had finally experienced it, he would never settle for anything less than something angelic. And Beatriz felt angelic to him—even as she exuded chaos.

They both sighed in delight when she gently bit his lower lip.

Her tongue brushed his inexperienced one, and his skin seemed to catch fire. She felt how nervous he was. Wanting to intertwine their tongues, she moved the hand resting on his shoulders to his nape, deepening the kiss. He was completely surrendered, at her disposal—but she wanted it to be good for both of them.

Their lips explored, their tongues moving in sync. Bea tilted her head slightly for better access. The sound of their mingled breaths filled their ears, stirring something deep within. Her delicate fingers threaded through his gel-smoothed hair, tugging lightly—but Rafe misinterpreted it, and their lips parted for a fraction of a second as he let out a needy whimper.

— Bee… more.

That was enough for Kvint to lose the last shred of her sanity. She leaned fully over him, pressing her chest against his, her thighs against his, her barely covered body rubbing against the thin fabric of his tailored pants. She shivered at the palpable evidence of his arousal, kissing him with as much hunger as she could express. His pulse raced, his body trembling as soft moans and vulnerable sounds escaped him. By now, saliva mingled in the heated sensation, her fingers in his hair as she kissed him exactly the way she wanted—and he seemed completely immersed in it.

Immersed enough that when they finally needed air, they pulled apart, eyes closed for a few seconds. She cupped his cheeks, taking in the sight of a breathless Rafe—deliciously flushed down to his neck, glasses fogged and askew, lips swollen and slick with their shared saliva, his once-perfect hair falling over his slightly damp forehead. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the hands that had once hesitated at her waist were now sliding to her hips in a clear, unspoken message that she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

Her thumb brushed over his swollen lower lip, smiling hazily when his blue eyes opened, pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of blue visible. She wiped away the moisture there and, almost automatically, pressed her finger back against his mouth, feeling the soft suction. She bit her own lip at the sight of him savoring her touch so openly.

— Was it good for you?

She asked playfully, smiling when he nodded in his dazed, vulnerable state. Sighing, she leaned down to place a tender kiss on his crimson cheek.

— I’m glad, Cameron.

And yes, satisfied as she was, Bea definitely wasn’t pulling away again. There, without invisible walls, unspoken words, or desire masked as teasing—it was good for both of them.

It was what it was.

North Carolina, Outer Banks, 5:39 pm.

A deep sigh slipped past the girl’s full lips amid what felt like the thousandth time she had straightened herself against the upholstery. Though the piece of furniture certainly had its charm, it did nothing to live up to the comfort it promised, and her long-desired nap would not happen because of it… Or perhaps it was the restlessness that had now taken up near-constant residence inside her.

It had been just over three weeks since she had moved to Outer Banks, and since then she had not allowed herself to relax instead of feeling like a damned intruder in the daily life of those who lived there. The reception had been polite and perhaps even welcoming. Her aunt had one of the many bedrooms renovated to match what she knew of her niece’s personality, which brings us to Ward, with a kindness as performative as the image upheld by the family, assuring her she could stay as long as she wished and that everything would be fine. It hadn’t taken much observation for Violet to quickly understand how everything there worked.

Sarah was kind, attentive, and open, never hesitating to include her as much as possible in her busy routine with her friends on the other side of the island—just as receptive as the girl herself. Hayes would definitely repeat some of the outings and occasions she shared with the group; the cheap beer and weed reminded her of her old reality in a fraternity marked by events that were as questionable as they were fun. And if that was the closest she would ever get to those scenarios again, Violet would cling to it.

On the other hand, contradicting the slight fondness she felt for one of the house’s residents, it was only natural not to connect immediately with the others, even if curiosity outweighed her hesitation. Which brings us to the one who had sounded like an enigma to her since she first laid eyes on him weeks ago, with his impassive expression, dominant posture, and something she couldn’t quite identify—yet knew had a strong influence on the personality of those around him.

Rafe Cameron, Rose’s stepson and Ward’s eldest son. His clear focus on balancing his seemingly wild outings with friends who were almost always roaming the hallways, and spending the other half of his time with his father, was the most noticeable trait in Violet’s eyes. She did not deny harboring a certain curiosity about the blond; part of it was due to the fact that the young man was undeniably attractive. Silently, she wished to know what lay beyond the firm glances and the few polite words directed at her.

“Shit…”

Violet’s senses immediately sharpened when the husky timbre echoed through the hall. The agitation in his voice, along with the dragging sound coming from the surfboard, were the first things she noticed. She quickly stood up, ignoring the subtle dizziness that hit her when her eyes landed on the slightly hunched figure in the entryway. Not understanding his muttered complaints, she found herself walking toward him.

Rafe. The blond strands usually held in place with gel were wet and darker now, speckled with sand, falling over his forehead. His toned torso was exposed, and his shorts were as soaked as the rest of him—so different from the usual image of pressed polos and khaki shorts. However, she didn’t give herself the chance to appreciate what she considered a beautiful sight. Her attention was quickly drawn to his knee, which, like the rest of his body, was dripping water—but there was something else. Blood.

A lot of blood, in fact—enough to drip onto the untouched carpet. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. The board trembling in his strong arms while he pressed his fingers against the cut was stained not only with the liquid but with the marks of his fingerprints.

“Rafe? Do you need help?”

As if snapped into the moment, blue eyes lifted to her, slightly breathless. She realized he had only just noticed her presence, nearly startled. His lips, as flushed as his cheeks, were parted. Hayes might have laughed at the clear surprise directed at her if her concern hadn’t been greater.

“Uh, it’s nothing serious. I just didn’t pay attention to the maneuver…” He lowered his gaze again, shoulders and posture no longer as curved, as if pulling himself together. The discomfort from the injury did not break through the firmness he tried to maintain in his gestures or words. Rafe was definitely not used to what seemed to be the beginning of a caring gesture.

“It is serious. I hope it won’t need stitches, but if you’re not careful it could open up more on the stairs.” She replied in a tone that might have sounded almost bratty to him. He looked at her again, eyebrows subtly furrowing as her concerned yet commanding expression stared back. Her small nose scrunched as she alternated her attention between the wound and the blond. “Come on. I’ll help you clean it.”

“Violet—” He blinked, stunned, and before he could form any protest, she took the board from his trembling arm, leaned it against the wall, and quickly slipped one of her slender arms under his shoulders, steadying his torso. His breath hitched at the closeness. He mentally cursed, hoping not to show the shock that her touch caused. His reactions resembled those of a sixteen-year-old virgin. “Look, you don’t have to, it’s fi—ugh, damn it…” He tried to object, but it was useless. The sharp sting from the cut interrupted him.

“Let’s go. I have a first-aid kit in my room.” She completely ignored him, her delicate hands pressed against his damp skin, eyes focused on the stairs as she guided him—truly uninterested in anything other than tending to the incident.

(…)

A surprisingly comfortable silence settled during the cleaning process. Violet’s gentle fingers controlled the flow of water as she rinsed the cut, satisfied when the remnants of blood swirled down the bathtub drain. She sat on the edge of the tub, as did Rafe, though only the leg with the injured knee was braced against the pale marble.

She lifted her face to look at him and noticed his hands slightly trembling and his breathing uneven. Instead of staring longer than necessary at his gleaming skin—contrasting interestingly with the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows and the tan of his water-dappled arms and exposed torso—she focused on retrieving the necessary materials from the small case. It was, admittedly, a difficult task.

Yet the touch and the sensations that might follow had not been addressed. Not yet. The moment the antiseptic-soaked gauze made contact with the wound, ignoring any limits he had tried to impose regarding the girl, a long, pained groan escaped him as he bent forward over her, reacting to the relentless sting. His forehead pressed against her shoulder, exposed by the comfortable tank top, wet strands brushing there. Rafe was breathless, long fingers gripping the edge of the tub in an attempt to contain himself before Hayes.

“Shh… I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.” She murmured, calm and sweet—remarkably serene for someone whose insides had twisted with the closeness. Cameron’s breath brushed against her skin, as warm as his proximity. His hoarse murmurs shouldn’t have affected her so much, even knowing they were due to the pain.

She stretched tape over the neatly placed bandage, securing it so it would be comfortable for resting and moving, albeit more limitedly. Her breath and pulse had quickened during the process. Rafe made no effort to pull away; though his hands remained braced against the marble, he was still leaning against her, eyes closed as he tried to regulate his reactions. The shock and pain left him vulnerable enough to do nothing but seek comfort in the scent of vanilla and the softness that summed up his closeness to Violet.

It was frightening. Yet he found himself craving more of it—the steady idea of having someone who could access a more fragile part of him without the damned shame born from fear of being seen as weak. He wasn’t weak, but having the privilege of lowering his guard without judgment sounded positive, especially when accompanied by such warmth—sensations he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever—and comfort in its many forms.

“Alright, all done! Try to rest a bit. It’s still pretty open, but by tomorrow it’ll look better.” Violet continued attentively, her words slipping softly from her lips, audible only because of their closeness. Swallowing, she sighed when she finally felt him pull away—slightly, and not enough to stop affecting her. Her cheeks burned under his fixed blue gaze. She didn’t fail to notice his heavy eyelids and parted lips. She tapped her fingers, trying to contain the sudden urge to brush the blond strands stuck to his forehead. Damn her caregiving instinct.

“Thank you.” The depth of his tone contrasted with the familiar hoarseness. Hayes didn’t know him well enough to pinpoint it, but there was something more in that brief gratitude; Cameron’s voice carried it. Her mind flickered as she watched his pupils consume her crystal irises. When she noticed his gaze drop, she unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips. If there had been any doubt about the tension between them, that action was more than enough to confirm its truth—and its mutuality. “I’ll get rid of this sand. Rose must already be furious about the carpet.” He blinked, almost confused by his own words, brows slightly furrowed as if restraining himself and forcing action. Trembling arms braced as he tried to stand

Hayes blinked too, eyes widening when he suppressed a groan. Annoyed by his agitation, she quickly stood, her hands returning to his torso—one gripping his bicep to hold him in place.

“Careful. Come on, I’ll help you.” She spoke louder, not as sweet as before; his retreat and sudden energy could jeopardize the fresh bandage. The girl definitely worried more than necessary given their level of closeness. Yet the surprise in his eyes, the brief lack of reaction as if unaccustomed to such care, served as confirmation that she was doing what felt right. Good. And not solely out of kindness—there was more to it. She wouldn’t name it, but she wouldn’t deny it either.

Meanwhile, Rafe’s mind searched for a way to keep his restraints in place under her effect—composed. His father’s words about keeping his chaos away from what seemed like calm, perfection, and alignment personified echoed like a mere warning at the possibility of diving deeper into this… and also floated through his thoughts: experiencing what he never had. He agreed with his father—he was not polished or careless as he had pretended to be with Violet. He was stormy, so much so that it showed even when contained. Cameron didn’t think it fair to invade her peace with that. But there was one more detail… As aware as he was of his burden, he was also very selfish—especially when it came to what stirred his longing.

He was certain of it when she gave him a satisfied, attentive smile, pressing lightly against his skin as if to ensure he was fine before turning her back on him and walking away—far too calm for someone so clearly affected, just like him. Rafe could only wish to be something he wasn’t for anyone else—in the best sense—if it meant having more of whatever that was, ignoring the likely fact that he might not deserve such stability.

After all, he was still selfish.