He hooks a finger beneath the sleeve of his golf polo and rolls it a little higher on his bicep, adjusting the fabric before dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. The UV index has to be somewhere around ten and he feels every bit of it.

“The only reason I’m out here is because she said it’d be good for me.”

Topper snorts and Kelce’s chip barely makes it out of the sandpit.

“And you’ve been thinkin’ about leaving since hole one,” Topper chuckles, shaking his head.

“Hole one? That’s insulting,” Rafe breathes.

“Sorry, hole four—”

“Parking lot,” Rafe cuts him off. “I was thinkin’ that since the parking lot, Top.”

But even that’s a lie. He was thinking that the moment that he watched you wave to him over your shoulder before you stepped outside—that little string bikini peeking out of the top of your shorts, tormenting him beyond belief.

Ever since then he’s been crossing holes off in his head like an advent calendar from his own personal hell.

“He’s not even listening,” Kelce teases.

Rafe looks over at him, blinking slowly a few times with his lips pursed and his hands resting on his hips.

“‘Course I’m not.”

“Unbelievable,” Topper sighs. “I was just telling Kelce we could do another eighteen holes—”

Rafe can’t even contain his disgust—wincing, brows pinched tight, nostrils flared with a side eye dripping with judgment.

“We’re not inviting you, Cameron. Calm the fuck down,” he blurts.

Ding! Rafe’s hand moves, diving for his pocket like someone challenged him to a goddamn duel.

Kelce drops the head of his putter against the grass, shaking his head judgmentally. Rafe rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone without a shred of shame.

“You’ve got a problem,” Topper says.

“A legitimate fucking problem,” Kelce adds.

“I can’t help that neither of you like your wives,” Rafe mutters and both of their mouths hang open in disgust. “Whatever,” he says, sounding so genuinely unbothered. ‘Cause he is.

Then he looks down at the screen and suddenly nothing else matters.

You’re stretched out across one of the lounge chairs beside the pool with a book propped open. The afternoon sun reflects off your skin. The book covers half your face, but that isn’t helping him concentrate because the rest of you is impossible to miss—the soft swells of your breasts pressed against the pool chair, the curve of your ass, just a taste of your thighs. Your feet are crossed, the little anklet he bought you glittering in the North Carolina sun.

“Look at him,” Topper says, nudging Kelce with his elbow.

“Not a single thought in that head,” Kelce adds as he steps forward and rests his putter behind the ball, taking his time while he studies the break.

The green goes quiet for a second while everybody waits for him to hit it. Before he can even pull the putter back, Rafe steps directly into his line and sinks his putt without hesitation.

Topper starts barking out a laugh and Kelce stares at him in complete disbelief as his ball rolls toward the hole. “You are such a prick,” Kelce says.

“We’re done.”

“We are absolutely not done.”

“This feels done,” Rafe answers, bending down to grab his ball, starting toward the flag before the argument is even over, Kelce’s ball still rolling toward the cup.

“You’re unbelievable, Cameron—”

Rafe cuts off Kelce’s critique, kicking the ball, sending it careening away. “It was gonna hook left anyway,” Rafe says over his shoulder, digging his keys out of his pocket, heading toward the parking lot as the two bitch behind him. “You two suck at golf, by the way,” Rafe calls back.

“Fuck you, Rafe,” Kelce laughs weakly, walking toward his ball.

“Short game’s terrible.”

“Rafe!” Topper calls but he flicks him off in response.

“Don’t even get me started on you, Top. You read greens like an eighty-year-old man with cataracts, fucking useless.”

“Jesus Christ,” Topper gasps.

Rafe doesn’t even bother organizing his clubs when he reaches the parking lot. He yanks them out of the cart, tosses the entire bag into the trunk with absolutely no regard for the thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment inside.

He jogs around the side of the car, yanks the driver’s door open, and practically falls into the seat before firing the engine to life.

Gravel spits behind him as he throws the car into reverse, backing out of the spot in one smooth movement before shifting into drive.

The second he hits the main road, he grabs his phone and calls. His thumbs drum against the steering wheel as the summer wind whips through the car, his pulse hammering, still racing from that power walk to his car.

“Hey, baby,” your voice fills his car and he softens in his seat, hands wrapping a little tighter around the wheel as he smiles.

“Hey pretty,” he hums.

His voice is softer now, gravelly from talking all day and sweeter than it has any right to be considering the way he’d been speaking to Topper and Kelce five minutes ago.

If you’d been standing on that green listening to him threaten both of them, you’d absolutely have something to say about it. He already knows exactly what you’d tell him too. Be nice. Stop being grumpy. They’re your friends. The problem is that he doesn’t care about any of that right now.

“Where are you?” You ask curiously, and he can hear in your voice that you know he dipped out of there sooner than he should have.

“Just left.”

“You just left?” You giggle.

“Mhmm...” Your voice comes through the speakers and instantly makes him feel better than the entire golf outing did.

Traffic slows for a red light and the drumming starts again as he waits for it to change.

“You weren’t gonna get a drink or something?” You ask. “Relax?”

“Absolutely not.”

The answer comes so fast that you start laughing again. The corner of his mouth twitches as he shifts in his seat. “They were stayin’ to practice puttin’, baby.”

“Really?” You ask, not convinced in the slightest.

“Yeah. Their—uhhh… Their short games suck.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“They’re fuckin’ terrible, baby. That was a long-ass day,” he grumbles and you giggle. He leans back against the headrest as he lets the moment breathe for a minute. “Kids been easy on you today?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Just laying by the pool,” you say.

“Sounds rough.”

“Fuckin’ terrible, baby,” you echo his words back to him and he smiles. “They’re actually at Wheezie’s.”

The car accelerates, completely subconscious on his part, but you hear it loud and clear. Rafe’s eyes flick briefly toward the speedometer while a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

“Rafe Cameron, slow down.”

The grin only gets worse, sinking a little lower in the driver’s seat, as one hand falls to the shift stick.

“I’m goin’ slow, baby.”

“You are not,” you answer. “You accelerated the second I said the kids weren’t home.”

“Did I?” You can practically hear the grin in his voice now as he weaves through traffic. “So.”

You start laughing, knowing exactly where he’s going to go with this. “Winnie’s in Charleston with Jackson.”

“Got it. And Max?” He asks eagerly.

“He left like an hour ago.”

“On the boat?” He asks, knowing that’s an all-day affair.

“Mhmm…”

Rafe’s laugh rumbles through the phone. “Interesting,” he says.

“Interesting?” You laugh and sigh sweetly.

“Sounds like I get you to myself all day?”

“Sounds like it.”

By the time he turns into the neighborhood, he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The gates open and he barely slows down as he pulls through them, already spotting flashes of blue water between the houses.

“You’re almost here, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he hums. “See you outside, baby.”

The second he turns into the driveway, the car barely has time to rest before he’s throwing it into park, killing the engine.

The garage door rumbles overhead and he doesn’t wait, ducking underneath it before it can open all the way. His shirt’s halfway over his head before he even reaches the mudroom. By the time he steps inside, he’s carrying the polo in one hand, snagging his swim trunks from the laundry room with the other.

He stumbles slightly, kicking off his golf shoes without ever breaking stride. Future Rafe can deal with that problem. Present Rafe has more important things to do.

His golf shorts are already undone by the time he reaches the hallway. He steps out of them, steps into the swim trunks, and keeps walking without stopping once to grab his hat, tugging it on before he flicks it to the back.

Now he’s finally home and the only thing he cares about is the backyard door sitting at the end of the room. He reaches it a few seconds later and quickly slows down, dragging the glass door open.

And that last bit of tension breezes out of him, because there you are.

You’re curled up in a chair with a book open in your hands, completely unaware that he’s standing there.

He admires you for a moment—one leg crossed over the other while sunlight dances across the pool behind you. He soaks in the scene he’d spent eighteen holes waiting to get home to.

Then a sharp whistle rips through his lips.

Your head lifts at the sound.

The book lowers into your lap and a smile breaks across your face so fast it makes something in his chest tighten.

You start to uncross your legs, already leaning forward like you’re about to stand, but he points at you.

“Nah, baby,” he says. “Stay right there. I’m comin’.”

You laugh under your breath and fall back against the chair.

The cushions dip beneath his weight as he climbs on top of you. One hand braces against the armrest while the other finds your thigh, his broad palm sliding higher as he guides you closer.

“Miss me?” He asks. Rafe’s smile tugs a little wider when you whisper yes, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your thigh.

He slides a hand along your side, guiding you onto his lap as one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest while the other lifts to cup your cheek.

“Goddamn, I missed you. Don’t make me do that shit again,” he mutters, shaking his head once before leaning back enough to look at you properly. “M’not home enough for that.”

“Okay, baby,” you laugh.

“I mean it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t try to charm me after that, pretty. That was hell.” He leans in first this time, forehead brushing yours for a second before his lips find yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

Your hand presses against his chest, nails scratching lightly down sun-warmed skin. He pushes the cup of your bikini to the side, wrapping his lips around your skin while his other hand drifts between your thighs.

“Out here?” You ask with a laugh.

“We’re all alone, baby. Why not?” His lips brush yours again before trailing along your jaw. “We can go inside too—”

“Right here,” you whisper.

“That’s what I thought,” he hums. “Who’s my girl, huh?”

You smile, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. “I’m your girl.”

“Mhmm.” His thumb drifts along your collarbones to your shoulders, nudging one strap down before the other. “You’re my fuckin’ girl.” The words come out rough enough to pull a smile from you.

You reach up and untie the small bow holding your swimsuit top together. The fabric slips loose between you.

Rafe’s eyes drop as you toss it away. “Jesus Christ, baby.” A low groan slips out of him as he tips his forehead against yours for a second, hands lifting to squeeze your tits in his big palms as his mouth finds yours again.

You glance down briefly, catching his swim trunks sitting low on his hips from where you’d been tugging at them, bunched slightly against his muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight across them.

“Take these off,” you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before he slides down in his seat, tugging down his shorts with him, his heavy cock smacking against his toned stomach with a snap, his eyes locked on your body.

His hands squeeze your hips, digging in as he drags your clothed pussy on top of him, head pressing back into the chair. The sun beats down on your skin. A thin line of sweat catching his chain before it rolls in a lazy train down his chest.

“They said I got a problem,” he mumbles through a smirk, his jaw tightening as you keep moving against him, the heat of your body bleeding through the fabric of your swimsuit, finally snapping whatever patience he had left.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You see any problems here?” He asks breathlessly as he reaches for the bows at your hip, tugging them free, yanking away the rest of the fabric in a hurry as his hands close around you again.

He blows out a breath like he’s finally gotten rid of the last thing standing between him and what he wants, his hand diving between your thighs.

His fingers press inside and he gasps, working you with his hand as you rest on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath, his muscles flexing with each push of his hand.

“Just jealous they don’t have a woman like you?” He hums as he pulls his hand away just long enough to drag you in.

Rafe’s lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pulls you down on him. You grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your wetness wrap around him tight.

“Fuck, me,” he mutters under his breath, dragging you closer, smiling against your lips before capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.

“Oh my god,” you whine.

“Pussy’s so perfect.”

His eyes lift to yours in a lust-ridden daze, muscles flexing as he works you over on his length. You bounce on his lap, wet slaps of sweat and slick filling with air around you mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep groans.

You grip the arm rests, circling your hips and he throws his head against the back of the chair to get a better look, his eyes drifting between your face and the bounce of your tits, falling to his lap where your pussy swallows him up each time you sink down.

His legs spread a little wider, feet resting on the ground, hips pitching to fuck up into your soaked hole. Your head throws back as you rise on your knees, letting him hit that perfect spot, the knot in your belly tightening, your body impossibly hot.

“Rafe,” you moan.

“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Been playin’ this shit over and over in my mind, pretty. Let me have it.”

You cry out as he pounds your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, as your pussy flutters around him. He looks up at you in a haze, lips parted, brows softening as your release wets his lap and thighs.

“Oh shit, that's my girl… That’s my baby,” he praises, making you gasp when he rolls you onto your back, not giving you a moment to breathe before he’s on you again.

He looks down at you with a smile, adjusting his hat, staring at the wet mess between your thighs. “Why the fuck would I ever wanna leave you, huh?” He asks as he pushes your legs against your chest, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders.

You whimper out a little breath as he taps his cock against your pussy, muscles jumping with each slap.

He pushes in slow, tilting closer to get as far as he can go, pressing a deep kiss to your trembling lips. “Gonna cum in your pussy,” he whispers, his voice breaking with pleasure. “M’so, so fuckin’ close.”

His face turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your ankle, right against the charm. His ab muscles clench as he rolls his lips, sweat sliding down his temple.

“I’m so deep,” he mumbles. You nod quickly, lip bitten between your teeth, hands gripping the arm rests tight.

“So fucking deep,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly. “Fuck me.”

He loses his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven as he snaps against your skin. His muscles quake, shoulders trembling, slamming into you in one heavy thrust.

His eyes pinch shut, head falling forward, cumming deep inside you with your name on his lips.

He lets your legs go but he doesn’t let you get far, snuggling into you again, kissing your forehead—then your nose and your lips.

“Goddamn,” he mumbles, lingering while your breathing slows together.

He sits down next to you, dragging you close, kissing you as he grabs your thigh, tugging it over the top of him—close not close enough.

“This,” he huffs out a deep breath through a smile, relaxing into the lounge chair. “This is what’s good for me.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, tilting your chin up for a kiss that he gladly steals. You rest your head on his shoulder, the warm summer breeze blowing against your skin, the soft music that you had playing while you were reading filling the space in between.

“You sent that picture to me on purpose,” he breathes.

A smile stretches on his lips when you don’t answer right away, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Holy shit, you did? Didn’t you?” He asks, tilting his neck to look you in the eyes and you shrug and smile.

“Thought it would get you home quicker.”

His hand comes down heavy on your thigh as he dips in, brushing his nose against yours, chuckling deeply against your lips before he kisses you.

“That’s my girl.”

He hooks a finger beneath the sleeve of his golf polo and rolls it a little higher on his bicep, adjusting the fabric before dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. The UV index has to be somewhere around ten and he feels every bit of it.

“The only reason I’m out here is because she said it’d be good for me.”

Topper snorts and Kelce’s chip barely makes it out of the sandpit.

“And you’ve been thinkin’ about leaving since hole one,” Topper chuckles, shaking his head.

“Hole one? That’s insulting,” Rafe breathes.

“Sorry, hole four—”

“Parking lot,” Rafe cuts him off. “I was thinkin’ that since the parking lot, Top.”

But even that’s a lie. He was thinking that the moment that he watched you wave to him over your shoulder before you stepped outside—that little string bikini peeking out of the top of your shorts, tormenting him beyond belief.

Ever since then he’s been crossing holes off in his head like an advent calendar from his own personal hell.

“He’s not even listening,” Kelce teases.

Rafe looks over at him, blinking slowly a few times with his lips pursed and his hands resting on his hips.

“‘Course I’m not.”

“Unbelievable,” Topper sighs. “I was just telling Kelce we could do another eighteen holes—”

Rafe can’t even contain his disgust—wincing, brows pinched tight, nostrils flared with a side eye dripping with judgment.

“We’re not inviting you, Cameron. Calm the fuck down,” he blurts.

Ding! Rafe’s hand moves, diving for his pocket like someone challenged him to a goddamn duel.

Kelce drops the head of his putter against the grass, shaking his head judgmentally. Rafe rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone without a shred of shame.

“You’ve got a problem,” Topper says.

“A legitimate fucking problem,” Kelce adds.

“I can’t help that neither of you like your wives,” Rafe mutters and both of their mouths hang open in disgust. “Whatever,” he says, sounding so genuinely unbothered. ‘Cause he is.

Then he looks down at the screen and suddenly nothing else matters.

You’re stretched out across one of the lounge chairs beside the pool with a book propped open. The afternoon sun reflects off your skin. The book covers half your face, but that isn’t helping him concentrate because the rest of you is impossible to miss—the soft swells of your breasts pressed against the pool chair, the curve of your ass, just a taste of your thighs. Your feet are crossed, the little anklet he bought you glittering in the North Carolina sun.

“Look at him,” Topper says, nudging Kelce with his elbow.

“Not a single thought in that head,” Kelce adds as he steps forward and rests his putter behind the ball, taking his time while he studies the break.

The green goes quiet for a second while everybody waits for him to hit it. Before he can even pull the putter back, Rafe steps directly into his line and sinks his putt without hesitation.

Topper starts barking out a laugh and Kelce stares at him in complete disbelief as his ball rolls toward the hole. “You are such a prick,” Kelce says.

“We’re done.”

“We are absolutely not done.”

“This feels done,” Rafe answers, bending down to grab his ball, starting toward the flag before the argument is even over, Kelce’s ball still rolling toward the cup.

“You’re unbelievable, Cameron—”

Rafe cuts off Kelce’s critique, kicking the ball, sending it careening away. “It was gonna hook left anyway,” Rafe says over his shoulder, digging his keys out of his pocket, heading toward the parking lot as the two bitch behind him. “You two suck at golf, by the way,” Rafe calls back.

“Fuck you, Rafe,” Kelce laughs weakly, walking toward his ball.

“Short game’s terrible.”

“Rafe!” Topper calls but he flicks him off in response.

“Don’t even get me started on you, Top. You read greens like an eighty-year-old man with cataracts, fucking useless.”

“Jesus Christ,” Topper gasps.

Rafe doesn’t even bother organizing his clubs when he reaches the parking lot. He yanks them out of the cart, tosses the entire bag into the trunk with absolutely no regard for the thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment inside.

He jogs around the side of the car, yanks the driver’s door open, and practically falls into the seat before firing the engine to life.

Gravel spits behind him as he throws the car into reverse, backing out of the spot in one smooth movement before shifting into drive.

The second he hits the main road, he grabs his phone and calls. His thumbs drum against the steering wheel as the summer wind whips through the car, his pulse hammering, still racing from that power walk to his car.

“Hey, baby,” your voice fills his car and he softens in his seat, hands wrapping a little tighter around the wheel as he smiles.

“Hey pretty,” he hums.

His voice is softer now, gravelly from talking all day and sweeter than it has any right to be considering the way he’d been speaking to Topper and Kelce five minutes ago.

If you’d been standing on that green listening to him threaten both of them, you’d absolutely have something to say about it. He already knows exactly what you’d tell him too. Be nice. Stop being grumpy. They’re your friends. The problem is that he doesn’t care about any of that right now.

“Where are you?” You ask curiously, and he can hear in your voice that you know he dipped out of there sooner than he should have.

“Just left.”

“You just left?” You giggle.

“Mhmm...” Your voice comes through the speakers and instantly makes him feel better than the entire golf outing did.

Traffic slows for a red light and the drumming starts again as he waits for it to change.

“You weren’t gonna get a drink or something?” You ask. “Relax?”

“Absolutely not.”

The answer comes so fast that you start laughing again. The corner of his mouth twitches as he shifts in his seat. “They were stayin’ to practice puttin’, baby.”

“Really?” You ask, not convinced in the slightest.

“Yeah. Their—uhhh… Their short games suck.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“They’re fuckin’ terrible, baby. That was a long-ass day,” he grumbles and you giggle. He leans back against the headrest as he lets the moment breathe for a minute. “Kids been easy on you today?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Just laying by the pool,” you say.

“Sounds rough.”

“Fuckin’ terrible, baby,” you echo his words back to him and he smiles. “They’re actually at Wheezie’s.”

The car accelerates, completely subconscious on his part, but you hear it loud and clear. Rafe’s eyes flick briefly toward the speedometer while a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

“Rafe Cameron, slow down.”

The grin only gets worse, sinking a little lower in the driver’s seat, as one hand falls to the shift stick.

“I’m goin’ slow, baby.”

“You are not,” you answer. “You accelerated the second I said the kids weren’t home.”

“Did I?” You can practically hear the grin in his voice now as he weaves through traffic. “So.”

You start laughing, knowing exactly where he’s going to go with this. “Winnie’s in Charleston with Jackson.”

“Got it. And Max?” He asks eagerly.

“He left like an hour ago.”

“On the boat?” He asks, knowing that’s an all-day affair.

“Mhmm…”

Rafe’s laugh rumbles through the phone. “Interesting,” he says.

“Interesting?” You laugh and sigh sweetly.

“Sounds like I get you to myself all day?”

“Sounds like it.”

By the time he turns into the neighborhood, he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The gates open and he barely slows down as he pulls through them, already spotting flashes of blue water between the houses.

“You’re almost here, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he hums. “See you outside, baby.”

The second he turns into the driveway, the car barely has time to rest before he’s throwing it into park, killing the engine.

The garage door rumbles overhead and he doesn’t wait, ducking underneath it before it can open all the way. His shirt’s halfway over his head before he even reaches the mudroom. By the time he steps inside, he’s carrying the polo in one hand, snagging his swim trunks from the laundry room with the other.

He stumbles slightly, kicking off his golf shoes without ever breaking stride. Future Rafe can deal with that problem. Present Rafe has more important things to do.

His golf shorts are already undone by the time he reaches the hallway. He steps out of them, steps into the swim trunks, and keeps walking without stopping once to grab his hat, tugging it on before he flicks it to the back.

Now he’s finally home and the only thing he cares about is the backyard door sitting at the end of the room. He reaches it a few seconds later and quickly slows down, dragging the glass door open.

And that last bit of tension breezes out of him, because there you are.

You’re curled up in a chair with a book open in your hands, completely unaware that he’s standing there.

He admires you for a moment—one leg crossed over the other while sunlight dances across the pool behind you. He soaks in the scene he’d spent eighteen holes waiting to get home to.

Then a sharp whistle rips through his lips.

Your head lifts at the sound.

The book lowers into your lap and a smile breaks across your face so fast it makes something in his chest tighten.

You start to uncross your legs, already leaning forward like you’re about to stand, but he points at you.

“Nah, baby,” he says. “Stay right there. I’m comin’.”

You laugh under your breath and fall back against the chair.

The cushions dip beneath his weight as he climbs on top of you. One hand braces against the armrest while the other finds your thigh, his broad palm sliding higher as he guides you closer.

“Miss me?” He asks. Rafe’s smile tugs a little wider when you whisper yes, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your thigh.

He slides a hand along your side, guiding you onto his lap as one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest while the other lifts to cup your cheek.

“Goddamn, I missed you. Don’t make me do that shit again,” he mutters, shaking his head once before leaning back enough to look at you properly. “M’not home enough for that.”

“Okay, baby,” you laugh.

“I mean it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t try to charm me after that, pretty. That was hell.” He leans in first this time, forehead brushing yours for a second before his lips find yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

Your hand presses against his chest, nails scratching lightly down sun-warmed skin. He pushes the cup of your bikini to the side, wrapping his lips around your skin while his other hand drifts between your thighs.

“Out here?” You ask with a laugh.

“We’re all alone, baby. Why not?” His lips brush yours again before trailing along your jaw. “We can go inside too—”

“Right here,” you whisper.

“That’s what I thought,” he hums. “Who’s my girl, huh?”

You smile, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. “I’m your girl.”

“Mhmm.” His thumb drifts along your collarbones to your shoulders, nudging one strap down before the other. “You’re my fuckin’ girl.” The words come out rough enough to pull a smile from you.

You reach up and untie the small bow holding your swimsuit top together. The fabric slips loose between you.

Rafe’s eyes drop as you toss it away. “Jesus Christ, baby.” A low groan slips out of him as he tips his forehead against yours for a second, hands lifting to squeeze your tits in his big palms as his mouth finds yours again.

You glance down briefly, catching his swim trunks sitting low on his hips from where you’d been tugging at them, bunched slightly against his muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight across them.

“Take these off,” you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before he slides down in his seat, tugging down his shorts with him, his heavy cock smacking against his toned stomach with a snap, his eyes locked on your body.

His hands squeeze your hips, digging in as he drags your clothed pussy on top of him, head pressing back into the chair. The sun beats down on your skin. A thin line of sweat catching his chain before it rolls in a lazy train down his chest.

“They said I got a problem,” he mumbles through a smirk, his jaw tightening as you keep moving against him, the heat of your body bleeding through the fabric of your swimsuit, finally snapping whatever patience he had left.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You see any problems here?” He asks breathlessly as he reaches for the bows at your hip, tugging them free, yanking away the rest of the fabric in a hurry as his hands close around you again.

He blows out a breath like he’s finally gotten rid of the last thing standing between him and what he wants, his hand diving between your thighs.

His fingers press inside and he gasps, working you with his hand as you rest on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath, his muscles flexing with each push of his hand.

“Just jealous they don’t have a woman like you?” He hums as he pulls his hand away just long enough to drag you in.

Rafe’s lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pulls you down on him. You grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your wetness wrap around him tight.

“Fuck, me,” he mutters under his breath, dragging you closer, smiling against your lips before capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.

“Oh my god,” you whine.

“Pussy’s so perfect.”

His eyes lift to yours in a lust-ridden daze, muscles flexing as he works you over on his length. You bounce on his lap, wet slaps of sweat and slick filling with air around you mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep groans.

You grip the arm rests, circling your hips and he throws his head against the back of the chair to get a better look, his eyes drifting between your face and the bounce of your tits, falling to his lap where your pussy swallows him up each time you sink down.

His legs spread a little wider, feet resting on the ground, hips pitching to fuck up into your soaked hole. Your head throws back as you rise on your knees, letting him hit that perfect spot, the knot in your belly tightening, your body impossibly hot.

“Rafe,” you moan.

“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Been playin’ this shit over and over in my mind, pretty. Let me have it.”

You cry out as he pounds your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, as your pussy flutters around him. He looks up at you in a haze, lips parted, brows softening as your release wets his lap and thighs.

“Oh shit, that's my girl… That’s my baby,” he praises, making you gasp when he rolls you onto your back, not giving you a moment to breathe before he’s on you again.

He looks down at you with a smile, adjusting his hat, staring at the wet mess between your thighs. “Why the fuck would I ever wanna leave you, huh?” He asks as he pushes your legs against your chest, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders.

You whimper out a little breath as he taps his cock against your pussy, muscles jumping with each slap.

He pushes in slow, tilting closer to get as far as he can go, pressing a deep kiss to your trembling lips. “Gonna cum in your pussy,” he whispers, his voice breaking with pleasure. “M’so, so fuckin’ close.”

His face turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your ankle, right against the charm. His ab muscles clench as he rolls his lips, sweat sliding down his temple.

“I’m so deep,” he mumbles. You nod quickly, lip bitten between your teeth, hands gripping the arm rests tight.

“So fucking deep,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly. “Fuck me.”

He loses his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven as he snaps against your skin. His muscles quake, shoulders trembling, slamming into you in one heavy thrust.

His eyes pinch shut, head falling forward, cumming deep inside you with your name on his lips.

He lets your legs go but he doesn’t let you get far, snuggling into you again, kissing your forehead—then your nose and your lips.

“Goddamn,” he mumbles, lingering while your breathing slows together.

He sits down next to you, dragging you close, kissing you as he grabs your thigh, tugging it over the top of him—close not close enough.

“This,” he huffs out a deep breath through a smile, relaxing into the lounge chair. “This is what’s good for me.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, tilting your chin up for a kiss that he gladly steals. You rest your head on his shoulder, the warm summer breeze blowing against your skin, the soft music that you had playing while you were reading filling the space in between.

“You sent that picture to me on purpose,” he breathes.

A smile stretches on his lips when you don’t answer right away, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Holy shit, you did? Didn’t you?” He asks, tilting his neck to look you in the eyes and you shrug and smile.

“Thought it would get you home quicker.”

His hand comes down heavy on your thigh as he dips in, brushing his nose against yours, chuckling deeply against your lips before he kisses you.

“That’s my girl.”

He hooks a finger beneath the sleeve of his golf polo and rolls it a little higher on his bicep, adjusting the fabric before dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. The UV index has to be somewhere around ten and he feels every bit of it.

“The only reason I’m out here is because she said it’d be good for me.”

Topper snorts and Kelce’s chip barely makes it out of the sandpit.

“And you’ve been thinkin’ about leaving since hole one,” Topper chuckles, shaking his head.

“Hole one? That’s insulting,” Rafe breathes.

“Sorry, hole four—”

“Parking lot,” Rafe cuts him off. “I was thinkin’ that since the parking lot, Top.”

But even that’s a lie. He was thinking that the moment that he watched you wave to him over your shoulder before you stepped outside—that little string bikini peeking out of the top of your shorts, tormenting him beyond belief.

Ever since then he’s been crossing holes off in his head like an advent calendar from his own personal hell.

“He’s not even listening,” Kelce teases.

Rafe looks over at him, blinking slowly a few times with his lips pursed and his hands resting on his hips.

“‘Course I’m not.”

“Unbelievable,” Topper sighs. “I was just telling Kelce we could do another eighteen holes—”

Rafe can’t even contain his disgust—wincing, brows pinched tight, nostrils flared with a side eye dripping with judgment.

“We’re not inviting you, Cameron. Calm the fuck down,” he blurts.

Ding! Rafe’s hand moves, diving for his pocket like someone challenged him to a goddamn duel.

Kelce drops the head of his putter against the grass, shaking his head judgmentally. Rafe rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone without a shred of shame.

“You’ve got a problem,” Topper says.

“A legitimate fucking problem,” Kelce adds.

“I can’t help that neither of you like your wives,” Rafe mutters and both of their mouths hang open in disgust. “Whatever,” he says, sounding so genuinely unbothered. ‘Cause he is.

Then he looks down at the screen and suddenly nothing else matters.

You’re stretched out across one of the lounge chairs beside the pool with a book propped open. The afternoon sun reflects off your skin. The book covers half your face, but that isn’t helping him concentrate because the rest of you is impossible to miss—the soft swells of your breasts pressed against the pool chair, the curve of your ass, just a taste of your thighs. Your feet are crossed, the little anklet he bought you glittering in the North Carolina sun.

“Look at him,” Topper says, nudging Kelce with his elbow.

“Not a single thought in that head,” Kelce adds as he steps forward and rests his putter behind the ball, taking his time while he studies the break.

The green goes quiet for a second while everybody waits for him to hit it. Before he can even pull the putter back, Rafe steps directly into his line and sinks his putt without hesitation.

Topper starts barking out a laugh and Kelce stares at him in complete disbelief as his ball rolls toward the hole. “You are such a prick,” Kelce says.

“We’re done.”

“We are absolutely not done.”

“This feels done,” Rafe answers, bending down to grab his ball, starting toward the flag before the argument is even over, Kelce’s ball still rolling toward the cup.

“You’re unbelievable, Cameron—”

Rafe cuts off Kelce’s critique, kicking the ball, sending it careening away. “It was gonna hook left anyway,” Rafe says over his shoulder, digging his keys out of his pocket, heading toward the parking lot as the two bitch behind him. “You two suck at golf, by the way,” Rafe calls back.

“Fuck you, Rafe,” Kelce laughs weakly, walking toward his ball.

“Short game’s terrible.”

“Rafe!” Topper calls but he flicks him off in response.

“Don’t even get me started on you, Top. You read greens like an eighty-year-old man with cataracts, fucking useless.”

“Jesus Christ,” Topper gasps.

Rafe doesn’t even bother organizing his clubs when he reaches the parking lot. He yanks them out of the cart, tosses the entire bag into the trunk with absolutely no regard for the thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment inside.

He jogs around the side of the car, yanks the driver’s door open, and practically falls into the seat before firing the engine to life.

Gravel spits behind him as he throws the car into reverse, backing out of the spot in one smooth movement before shifting into drive.

The second he hits the main road, he grabs his phone and calls. His thumbs drum against the steering wheel as the summer wind whips through the car, his pulse hammering, still racing from that power walk to his car.

“Hey, baby,” your voice fills his car and he softens in his seat, hands wrapping a little tighter around the wheel as he smiles.

“Hey pretty,” he hums.

His voice is softer now, gravelly from talking all day and sweeter than it has any right to be considering the way he’d been speaking to Topper and Kelce five minutes ago.

If you’d been standing on that green listening to him threaten both of them, you’d absolutely have something to say about it. He already knows exactly what you’d tell him too. Be nice. Stop being grumpy. They’re your friends. The problem is that he doesn’t care about any of that right now.

“Where are you?” You ask curiously, and he can hear in your voice that you know he dipped out of there sooner than he should have.

“Just left.”

“You just left?” You giggle.

“Mhmm...” Your voice comes through the speakers and instantly makes him feel better than the entire golf outing did.

Traffic slows for a red light and the drumming starts again as he waits for it to change.

“You weren’t gonna get a drink or something?” You ask. “Relax?”

“Absolutely not.”

The answer comes so fast that you start laughing again. The corner of his mouth twitches as he shifts in his seat. “They were stayin’ to practice puttin’, baby.”

“Really?” You ask, not convinced in the slightest.

“Yeah. Their—uhhh… Their short games suck.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“They’re fuckin’ terrible, baby. That was a long-ass day,” he grumbles and you giggle. He leans back against the headrest as he lets the moment breathe for a minute. “Kids been easy on you today?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Just laying by the pool,” you say.

“Sounds rough.”

“Fuckin’ terrible, baby,” you echo his words back to him and he smiles. “They’re actually at Wheezie’s.”

The car accelerates, completely subconscious on his part, but you hear it loud and clear. Rafe’s eyes flick briefly toward the speedometer while a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

“Rafe Cameron, slow down.”

The grin only gets worse, sinking a little lower in the driver’s seat, as one hand falls to the shift stick.

“I’m goin’ slow, baby.”

“You are not,” you answer. “You accelerated the second I said the kids weren’t home.”

“Did I?” You can practically hear the grin in his voice now as he weaves through traffic. “So.”

You start laughing, knowing exactly where he’s going to go with this. “Winnie’s in Charleston with Jackson.”

“Got it. And Max?” He asks eagerly.

“He left like an hour ago.”

“On the boat?” He asks, knowing that’s an all-day affair.

“Mhmm…”

Rafe’s laugh rumbles through the phone. “Interesting,” he says.

“Interesting?” You laugh and sigh sweetly.

“Sounds like I get you to myself all day?”

“Sounds like it.”

By the time he turns into the neighborhood, he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The gates open and he barely slows down as he pulls through them, already spotting flashes of blue water between the houses.

“You’re almost here, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he hums. “See you outside, baby.”

The second he turns into the driveway, the car barely has time to rest before he’s throwing it into park, killing the engine.

The garage door rumbles overhead and he doesn’t wait, ducking underneath it before it can open all the way. His shirt’s halfway over his head before he even reaches the mudroom. By the time he steps inside, he’s carrying the polo in one hand, snagging his swim trunks from the laundry room with the other.

He stumbles slightly, kicking off his golf shoes without ever breaking stride. Future Rafe can deal with that problem. Present Rafe has more important things to do.

His golf shorts are already undone by the time he reaches the hallway. He steps out of them, steps into the swim trunks, and keeps walking without stopping once to grab his hat, tugging it on before he flicks it to the back.

Now he’s finally home and the only thing he cares about is the backyard door sitting at the end of the room. He reaches it a few seconds later and quickly slows down, dragging the glass door open.

And that last bit of tension breezes out of him, because there you are.

You’re curled up in a chair with a book open in your hands, completely unaware that he’s standing there.

He admires you for a moment—one leg crossed over the other while sunlight dances across the pool behind you. He soaks in the scene he’d spent eighteen holes waiting to get home to.

Then a sharp whistle rips through his lips.

Your head lifts at the sound.

The book lowers into your lap and a smile breaks across your face so fast it makes something in his chest tighten.

You start to uncross your legs, already leaning forward like you’re about to stand, but he points at you.

“Nah, baby,” he says. “Stay right there. I’m comin’.”

You laugh under your breath and fall back against the chair.

The cushions dip beneath his weight as he climbs on top of you. One hand braces against the armrest while the other finds your thigh, his broad palm sliding higher as he guides you closer.

“Miss me?” He asks. Rafe’s smile tugs a little wider when you whisper yes, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your thigh.

He slides a hand along your side, guiding you onto his lap as one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest while the other lifts to cup your cheek.

“Goddamn, I missed you. Don’t make me do that shit again,” he mutters, shaking his head once before leaning back enough to look at you properly. “M’not home enough for that.”

“Okay, baby,” you laugh.

“I mean it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t try to charm me after that, pretty. That was hell.” He leans in first this time, forehead brushing yours for a second before his lips find yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

Your hand presses against his chest, nails scratching lightly down sun-warmed skin. He pushes the cup of your bikini to the side, wrapping his lips around your skin while his other hand drifts between your thighs.

“Out here?” You ask with a laugh.

“We’re all alone, baby. Why not?” His lips brush yours again before trailing along your jaw. “We can go inside too—”

“Right here,” you whisper.

“That’s what I thought,” he hums. “Who’s my girl, huh?”

You smile, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. “I’m your girl.”

“Mhmm.” His thumb drifts along your collarbones to your shoulders, nudging one strap down before the other. “You’re my fuckin’ girl.” The words come out rough enough to pull a smile from you.

You reach up and untie the small bow holding your swimsuit top together. The fabric slips loose between you.

Rafe’s eyes drop as you toss it away. “Jesus Christ, baby.” A low groan slips out of him as he tips his forehead against yours for a second, hands lifting to squeeze your tits in his big palms as his mouth finds yours again.

You glance down briefly, catching his swim trunks sitting low on his hips from where you’d been tugging at them, bunched slightly against his muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight across them.

“Take these off,” you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before he slides down in his seat, tugging down his shorts with him, his heavy cock smacking against his toned stomach with a snap, his eyes locked on your body.

His hands squeeze your hips, digging in as he drags your clothed pussy on top of him, head pressing back into the chair. The sun beats down on your skin. A thin line of sweat catching his chain before it rolls in a lazy train down his chest.

“They said I got a problem,” he mumbles through a smirk, his jaw tightening as you keep moving against him, the heat of your body bleeding through the fabric of your swimsuit, finally snapping whatever patience he had left.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You see any problems here?” He asks breathlessly as he reaches for the bows at your hip, tugging them free, yanking away the rest of the fabric in a hurry as his hands close around you again.

He blows out a breath like he’s finally gotten rid of the last thing standing between him and what he wants, his hand diving between your thighs.

His fingers press inside and he gasps, working you with his hand as you rest on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath, his muscles flexing with each push of his hand.

“Just jealous they don’t have a woman like you?” He hums as he pulls his hand away just long enough to drag you in.

Rafe’s lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pulls you down on him. You grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your wetness wrap around him tight.

“Fuck, me,” he mutters under his breath, dragging you closer, smiling against your lips before capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.

“Oh my god,” you whine.

“Pussy’s so perfect.”

His eyes lift to yours in a lust-ridden daze, muscles flexing as he works you over on his length. You bounce on his lap, wet slaps of sweat and slick filling with air around you mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep groans.

You grip the arm rests, circling your hips and he throws his head against the back of the chair to get a better look, his eyes drifting between your face and the bounce of your tits, falling to his lap where your pussy swallows him up each time you sink down.

His legs spread a little wider, feet resting on the ground, hips pitching to fuck up into your soaked hole. Your head throws back as you rise on your knees, letting him hit that perfect spot, the knot in your belly tightening, your body impossibly hot.

“Rafe,” you moan.

“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Been playin’ this shit over and over in my mind, pretty. Let me have it.”

You cry out as he pounds your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, as your pussy flutters around him. He looks up at you in a haze, lips parted, brows softening as your release wets his lap and thighs.

“Oh shit, that's my girl… That’s my baby,” he praises, making you gasp when he rolls you onto your back, not giving you a moment to breathe before he’s on you again.

He looks down at you with a smile, adjusting his hat, staring at the wet mess between your thighs. “Why the fuck would I ever wanna leave you, huh?” He asks as he pushes your legs against your chest, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders.

You whimper out a little breath as he taps his cock against your pussy, muscles jumping with each slap.

He pushes in slow, tilting closer to get as far as he can go, pressing a deep kiss to your trembling lips. “Gonna cum in your pussy,” he whispers, his voice breaking with pleasure. “M’so, so fuckin’ close.”

His face turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your ankle, right against the charm. His ab muscles clench as he rolls his lips, sweat sliding down his temple.

“I’m so deep,” he mumbles. You nod quickly, lip bitten between your teeth, hands gripping the arm rests tight.

“So fucking deep,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly. “Fuck me.”

He loses his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven as he snaps against your skin. His muscles quake, shoulders trembling, slamming into you in one heavy thrust.

His eyes pinch shut, head falling forward, cumming deep inside you with your name on his lips.

He lets your legs go but he doesn’t let you get far, snuggling into you again, kissing your forehead—then your nose and your lips.

“Goddamn,” he mumbles, lingering while your breathing slows together.

He sits down next to you, dragging you close, kissing you as he grabs your thigh, tugging it over the top of him—close not close enough.

“This,” he huffs out a deep breath through a smile, relaxing into the lounge chair. “This is what’s good for me.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, tilting your chin up for a kiss that he gladly steals. You rest your head on his shoulder, the warm summer breeze blowing against your skin, the soft music that you had playing while you were reading filling the space in between.

“You sent that picture to me on purpose,” he breathes.

A smile stretches on his lips when you don’t answer right away, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Holy shit, you did? Didn’t you?” He asks, tilting his neck to look you in the eyes and you shrug and smile.

“Thought it would get you home quicker.”

His hand comes down heavy on your thigh as he dips in, brushing his nose against yours, chuckling deeply against your lips before he kisses you.

“That’s my girl.”