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your phone buzzes on your desk at 4:56 PM.

you're halfway through folding laundry when the vibration makes you freeze, a t-shirt dangling from your hands. you pick it up expecting a text from a friend, but your stomach drops the second you see rafe's name.

Pack a bag.

you stare at it. read it twice. three times. your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don't ask what for. you don't ask where or why or how long. you just know.

are you serious

three dots appear. disappear. appear again.

Very.

oh god. your heart is actually racing now.

you press your phone to your chest and let out a breathless laugh that's half excitement, half panic. you want this so badly your hands are shaking. but the thought of lying to your parents makes something twist in your stomach. you glance at the time. 4:59 PM. if you're going to do this, you have got to move fast. there's a really big chance that you can't pull this off. an even bigger chance that your mom shuts it down. but you're willing to try.

it takes you twenty minutes to come up with something believable. a trip to the mainland last minute with stella from your old sociology class. her friend bailed. you'd be back tomorrow evening. that's believable, right? you practice it four times in the mirror, watching your own face for tells. you look nervous and giddy. way too fucking giddy. you try again, aiming for casual, but casual isn't happening.

you pull your duffel bag out from under your bed and start packing, grabbing a change of clothes and the cute pajamas, the ones that don't look like you're trying too hard, your toothbrush and deodorant and phone charger. your hands hesitate over your underwear drawer, but you grab a matching set, just in case, and shove it to the bottom of the bag where your mom wouldn't see it if she happened to glance inside. god, that would be embarrassing.

downstairs, you can hear the tv on in the living room, your dad's low voice asking your mom something about dinner. you zip the bag shut and stand there for a second, staring at it. this is actually happening.

your mom is easier to convince than you expected. she's loading the dishwasher when you come downstairs, duffel bag slung over your shoulder. "hey, so stella from one of my old classes just texted. her friend bailed on this trip to the mainland and she asked if i wanted to go. i know it's last minute, but—"

your mom glances up, wiping her hands on a towel. "tonight?"

"yeah. she could come pick me up now. i'd be back tomorrow afternoon or so..."

she looks at you for a long moment, and your heart hammers against your ribs. please don't ask more questions. please don't look closer.

"stella... from college?"

"yeah."

"and you'll text me when you get there?"

"of course." immediately.

she smiles. "okay... have fun, sweetie. be safe. and text me when you get there, okay?"

the ease of it almost makes you feel worse. "i will. thanks, mom." you kiss her cheek and head for the door before she can ask any more questions, before the lie can show on your face and ruin everything.

by 5:30 PM, you're standing on the corner a block away from your house, duffel bag at your feet, phone clutched in your hand. the sun is starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. the neighborhood is quiet. a dog barks somewhere in the distance. you shift your weight from foot to foot, your leg bouncing slightly. you check your phone. 5:31. then 5:32. what if he doesn't show up? or what if he changed his mind? what if—

then you see it—his black truck, pulling up beneath the shade of the oaks, windows tinted dark. relief crashes through you so hard it almost knocks the air out of you. you'd recognize it anywhere. you grab your bag and hurry down the sidewalk, glancing over your shoulder once, twice, before yanking open the passenger door and climbing inside.

the cool air hits you immediately. the ac is cranked high, carrying the faint scent of his cologne mixed with his black ice scented car freshener. the leather seat is cool beneath your thighs. the door closes with a solid thunk.

rafe is leaning back in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other draped casually over the center console. he's wearing a linen button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and there's a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. he looks casual. so unfairly casual.

he doesn't pull away from the curb yet. instead he just looks at you. his eyes move down your face to your hands gripping the bag, then back up. his mouth curves into a smirk.

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice low. "sneakin' away like a little criminal."

heat floods your cheeks instantly. you drop your bag to the floorboards and fumble with your seatbelt, trying not to meet his eyes. your fingers feel clumsy, uncoordinated. he's watching you. "i'm not—"

"no?"

you freeze. he's still watching you, that smirk fully formed now.

"checkin' over your shoulder like that?" he says, tilting his head slightly. his eyes drop to your hands where they're fumbling with the seatbelt, then back to your face. "trembling."

"i am not trembling."

"yeah, you are."

you bite your lip, fighting a smile. he's impossible. "c'mere," he says, and his voice drops, and you don't hesitate. you lean across the console and kiss him, hard and desperate. the leather of the seat creaks slightly beneath you. you can taste the faint hint of coffee on his mouth. your fingers find his shoulders and for a second you forget why you were even nervous.

you lean in again, throwing your arms around his neck, peppering soft, quick kisses along his jaw. he smiles against your skin. you kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then back to his lips, and he's making a low sound in his throat, his hands coming up to cup your face.

"hi," he says against your mouth, teasing.

you pull back just far enough to look at him, your face flushed. "hi yourself," you murmur, and he grins before kissing you properly again, deeper this time.

when you finally pull back, you're both breathing harder. his hand smooths down your back, his thumb tracing small circles against your spine.

"been waitin' all day for that," he murmurs against your lips.

you pull back just enough to look at him, your face flushed. "yeah?"

"yeah." his eyes are dark. "you?"

"maybe," you say, trying to play it cool, but he sees right through you. he always does.

he starts to protest, but then his eyes are catching on your hair falling across your shoulder and his hand moves, tucking it back behind your ear. his fingers linger there for a second, warm against your skin.

"what?" you ask, breathless.

"mm, nothin'." he's still looking at you like he lost his train of thought, but then he blinks. "you smell good."

"rafe—"

"you do." he's laughing now—quiet, rough. 

you bury your face in the crook of his neck, embarrassed, and he wraps his arms around you properly, his hand smoothing up your back. you feel him smile against your hair.

"alright," he says after a moment, and his hand slides down to your waist, squeezes once. "sit back before your neighbors see something they shouldn't."

you obey reluctantly, buckling yourself in, and he's still watching you with that amused expression. he shifts the car into drive, one hand returning to the wheel while the other finds your thigh, his palm warm against your skin.

the neighborhood disappears behind you, and for the first time all day, you let yourself breathe.

the drive starts familiar, your neighborhood with its modest coastal cottages and beach box houses. rafe's hand stays on your thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns. god, his hands are huge. after a few minutes, he glances over at you.

"you're quiet," he says.

you bite your lip, staying silent for a moment. "i lied to my mom."

"figured. what'd you tell her?"

"just... a really elaborate lie. about going to the mainland with stella. she believed me immediately and i guess now i feel—" you exhale shakily. "kinda guilty?"

his hand squeezes your thigh gently. "want me to turn around?"

"no," you say quickly, maybe too quickly. the thought of turning around makes your chest clench. and he smiles, like he already knew that would be your answer.

"then stop worryin' about it."

"easy for you to say."

"sweetheart." his voice is patient. "you're twenty-three."

"yeah," you mutter. "but you're thirty nine."

he doesn't argue with that. he just keeps driving, his hand warm on your leg. you watch the scenery change outside the window, the neighborhoods becoming progressively nicer. after a moment you reach down and lace your fingers through his. he glances at you again, something soft crossing his face, and brings your joined hands up to brush a kiss against your knuckles.

"you nervous?"

"a little," you admit. your stomach's been in knots since you got in the truck.

"yeah?" he says, his mouth curving slightly. "good. means you're gonna hold onto me the whole drive."

you roll your eyes but you're smiling now, heat creeping up your neck. you look out the window and watch as the landscape begins to shift. the houses get bigger, set farther back from the street. gated communities with brick columns and wrought iron. the kind of places where you definitely don't belong.

"wait," you say, sitting up straighter. "this is where you live? like, this area?"

"further north," he says.

"of course you do," you murmur, and he laughs—low and genuine. that's where almost all of the wealthy people live. the absolute northernmost area of the island.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"nothing. just..." you gesture vaguely at the massive houses passing by. "very you. very well off person who has everything figured out."

"very me," he repeats, smirking. "that an insult?"

"no. i just mean—" you're fumbling now. heat is creeping up your neck. "you probably have like a… a fountain, or something don't you?"

he doesn't answer, which is answer enough. you groan and cover your face with your free hand.

"oh my god. you do."

"came with the house," he says, and there's that edge again, like he was waiting for you to notice.

"rafe. nobody's house just comes with a fountain."

"mine did."

you're laughing now, and his hand tightens on yours. the streetlights get fewer and farther between. the trees grow taller, older, spanish moss dripping from the branches. you watch it all pass through the tinted window, hyperaware of the way his thumb is tracing circles against your palm.

"how much further?" you ask after a while.

"ten minutes."

your stomach flips. ten minutes until you're actually at his house. ten minutes until this stops being theoretical. you nod and look back out the window, biting the inside of your cheek. the road narrows. suddenly there are no more houses at all—just dense forest on either side.

"rafe?"

"yeah?"

"is it... big? your house?"

he glances at you, something unreadable in his expression. "figured you'd see for yourself."

"that's not an answer."

"you'll see in a minute."

"that's not reassuring," you mutter, and he laughs again, his hand leaving yours only to slide higher up your thigh. your breath catches slightly.

"you think too much," he says.

"no i don't."

"yeah, you do." he glances at you. "can hear it from here."

you huff, but you're smiling. "well, excuse me for being a little nervous about seeing where you live for the first time. seems like it deserves a reasonable amount of overthinking."

"why?"

"because—" you falter, searching for the words. your heart is actually pounding now. "because i've never been to your house before. because i don't know what to expect. because—"

"hey." his voice is lower now, and his hand squeezes your thigh. "s'just a house."

"yeah... with a fountain."

"i told you, it came with—"

"i know what you said," you interrupt, grinning despite yourself. "i'm just saying... it doesn't sound like just a house. it sounds like a place where people like me don't really... fit."

he's quiet for a moment. then the trees break, and you see it: the ocean, dark and endless, the last of the sunset turning the water to gold.

"oh," you breathe.

rafe's hand tightens on your thigh. "almost there."

you can't look away from the water. you've always known he had money. you'd have to be blind not to notice the car, the watch, the way he never looks at a price tag. but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.

he turns onto a private drive, oyster shells crunching under the tires. the forest opens up into something softer. sea grass and palmetto palms and flowering bushes you don't know the names of. it feels impossible to believe that there's a spot in a place like this for a girl like you.

"you alright over there?" he asks quietly, his eyes still on the road but his hand finding your thigh again.

you nod, not trusting your voice. your throat feels tight.

and then you see it. his house rising up ahead, low and modern with clean lines and huge windows that catch the last of the light. white siding, dark wood, a wraparound porch. there's a fountain in the circular drive.

you sit there, staring. this is his house. he actually lives here.

"told you," he says. "came with the house."

you let out a breathless laugh, but you're already unbuckling your seatbelt, already climbing out. the air smells like salt and jasmine and moss. the ocean is louder here.

rafe's already beside you, taking your duffel bag from your hand. "c'mon, baby."

he unlocks the front door and you follow him inside, and your breath catches. the space opens up in front of you: vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, furniture that looks expensive but lived-in. warm wood floors beneath your feet. the kitchen is all marble and stainless steel, and the entire back wall is glass.

but that's not what makes you stop in your tracks.

it's the sneakers by the door. one tipped over on its side. the heel scuffed. the coffee mug on the side table—there's still liquid inside it. cold by now, probably. the book left open on the arm of the couch, pages down. the spine is creased, well-loved. a hoodie draped over the back of a kitchen chair, slate grey. mail stacked on the console table. a ceramic bowl filled with keys. coins scattered among them. a receipt folded in half.

"oh wow," you whisper.

rafe's leaning against the doorframe, watching you. "what?"

"i don't know... you actually live here."

"well, yeah."

"no, i mean—" you gesture at the mug, the book, the shoes. "like you woke up here this morning. you drank coffee. you left a book on the couch. you're just... you exist here."

"yeah, baby." he's grinning now. "i live here."

you turn in a slow circle, taking it in. the throw blanket on the couch, worn smooth in places. the record player in the corner with a stack of vinyl beside it. you can see the edges of the album covers, the colors faded from sunlight. the way the light hits the kitchen island. there's a pen on the counter, uncapped. a grocery list stuck to the fridge with a magnet. the handwriting is unmistakably his—sharp, efficient, organized. there's a small framed photo on the mantle.

it's a much younger him and an older woman. she has his eyes.

"your mom?" you ask, not turning around.

"yeah," he says from behind you. "that's her."

you nod. you're standing in a photo of his life, looking at a photo of his mother, and something about it makes your chest feel tight. you don't know why exactly.

you wander into the kitchen, running your fingers along the cool granite. you open a cabinet without thinking and find glasses that are neatly stacked. you close it quickly, then you open another one. plates. another. bowls. you find a drawer filled with what looks like chaos: takeout menus, rubber bands, batteries, a phone charger with a frayed cord, business cards held together with a rubber band.

"this is a disaster," you say, gesturing at the chaos.

"yeah, well." he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "that's where the random shit lives."

he has a junk drawer. like a normal person. and somehow that makes him feel more real.

you keep exploring, walking over to the refrigerator. there are photos held up with magnets. you pull open the fridge. it's surprisingly well-stocked. fresh vegetables, eggs, butter, a few bottles of expensive wine. there's a bottle of your favorite creamer on the second shelf.

"...is this mine?" you ask quietly, reaching for it.

he glances over from where he's started pulling things from the pantry. "hm?"

"the creamer."

"yeah."

your hand goes still. he bought this. he went to the store and bought the specific creamer you like and put it in his fridge knowing—knowing—that you'd eventually open this door and see it.

you don't say anything else. just put it back and close the fridge. your hands feel a little shaky. he just keeps moving, setting things on the counter. olive oil. garlic. a package of fresh pasta. basil in a small pot on the windowsill. he planned this. he really planned this.

"you're gonna cook?" you ask, wandering back over to the island, trying to sound casual.

"thought i'd make dinner." he's already pulling out a cutting board. "that alright with you?"

"yeah, i just—" you climb onto one of the barstools. "i didn't know you cooked."

"i don't really," he says, starting to chop garlic. "at least not all the time."

"so what, do you doordash?" you ask.

he stops chopping and looks at you, one eyebrow raised. "doordash?"

"i don't know." you shrug, smiling sheepishly. "i just thought you maybe had people bring you food or something."

"what am i, ninety?" he says flatly, going back to the garlic.

"you're almost forty."

he stops. looks at you again, his expression something between offended and amused. "that's rude."

you smile, and can't help but giggle. "i've been waiting to use that."

he shakes his head and goes back to chopping, but there's a small smile on his face. "old man," you mutter, and he flicks a piece of garlic at you without even looking.

you laugh again, ducking, and he pours you a glass of wine without asking. he slides it across the counter and you take a sip. it's cold and crisp. you watch him work, the knife against the board, the way he moves through the space like he's done this a thousand times. his forearms tanned and flexing. you take another sip of wine. stop staring.

the smell of garlic hits you suddenly, sharp and pungent, and your mouth waters. he's stirring something, and the pan hisses when he adds more ingredients. the smell becoming richer.

"so you cook couple times a week then?" you ask, genuinely curious now.

"yeah," he says, not looking up from what he's doing. "relaxes me."

you put that away for later. you take another sip of wine and notice him glance at you, then back at the stove.

"how long have you lived here?" you ask.

"couple years."

"do you like it?"

"yeah." he doesn't elaborate.

you wander away from the counter, drawn to the bookshelf in the living room. you run your fingers along the spines. cookbooks, mostly, but also novels you recognize, a few nonfiction titles about business, some memoirs. there's a small ceramic bowl on the shelf, filled with shells and smooth stones. you pick up one of the shells, turning it over in your hands. it's worn soft at the edges. 

"you collect shells?" you call out.

"hm?" he appears in the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand. "nah. just stuff i find."

you put it back and keep browsing. you find a photo album wedged between two books and pull it out, but you don't open it because that feels too invasive. there's a record player in the corner with a stack of vinyl beside it. you read the titles, trying to piece together who he is. old soul records sitting next to indie rock sitting next to classical. it doesn't match what you expected.

"you comin' back over here or you gonna take inventory of my whole house?" he calls out.

"just getting to know the place," you call back. you head back to the kitchen anyway, perching on the barstool again.

he's stirred the sauce, added something else. the kitchen smells incredible. your stomach rumbles, and he glances at you, his mouth curving slightly.

"almost ready," he says. "grab some plates from that cabinet." he nods toward one on the far side of the kitchen.

you hop down and pull out two plates, setting them on the counter beside him. he plates the pasta with ease, and without thinking, you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek. "thank you, rafe." you murmur.

he looks momentarily stunned, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly before he catches your chin with his free hand and tilts your face toward his. he kisses you properly, soft and warm before handing over the plate.

steam rises from it. you take a bite before you even sit back down, and make a small sound of approval without meaning to.

"not bad for a guy who survives on doordash, huh." he says, settling onto the stool next to you.

you laugh, nudging him with your elbow. "i didn't say you survive on doordash. i just—"

"you absolutely implied it."

"okay, fine. i thought you did. clearly i was wrong." you take another bite. "this is actually really good."

he takes a bite of his pasta, watching you. "you taste wine with this?" he asks, nodding at your glass.

"not yet," you take another sip of the wine. the flavors pair perfectly. "oh. wow."

"hm," he says, like that was the obvious choice all along, and goes back to eating.

you eat in comfortable silence for a while. it's easy, and you find yourself leaning slightly into his space, your knee brushing his under the counter. he doesn't move away. if anything, he shifts closer. his hand finds your lower back at one point, stays there for a moment while he reaches for his wine glass with the other, then moves away. he feeds you a bite of his pasta with his fork, watching you carefully as you taste it. your face flushes.

"this is really good," you say after a few minutes, your voice slightly smaller than before.

"you already said that."

"i know. but it is. like, genuinely."

he glances at you, then back at his plate. you watch him for a second, then go back to your own food. there's something intimate about eating together like this, sitting close in his kitchen, the ocean visible through the massive windows behind you.

when you're finished eating, you start to stand, reaching for his plate, but he catches your wrist gently.

"leave it," he says.

"rafe, i can—"

"sweetheart, just leave it."

you hesitate, then sit back down. he stands, rounding the island to rinse his hands in the sink. he leaves the plates where they are, just washes his hands and turns back to you.

"you wanna go for a walk?" he asks.

you look surprised. "now?"

"why not?"

you glance at the plates, then back at him. "the sun's almost gone."

"i know." he's already moving toward the glass doors that lead to the deck. "come on."

you follow him, and he doesn't wait for you to grab shoes. you slip off the barstool and just follow him outside. the air hits you immediately, cooler than this afternoon. salt-laced and clean. the sky is still holding onto the last traces of daylight, deep blue fading to violet at the horizon. the ocean sounds different. louder.

"oh my god," you breathe, stopping to look around. "this is—rafe, this is insane."

"you think so?" he says, and there's that slight curve to his mouth. he's watching you, not the view.

"you just— walk out here whenever you want?"

"pretty much."

you shake your head, laughing. the privilege of it is almost absurd. "you're so lucky. the beach back home is always packed with tourists."

"you can come here whenever you want," he says, and when you glance at him, he's already looking at you like he's imagining you here, coming back, making this a habit. "you know that, right?"

"really?" you ask, your voice softer now.

"yeah, baby. any time."

you walk a little further, the water getting closer. the sand is soft and still warm from the day, giving slightly under your weight. it's quiet out here. just you and him and the sound of the ocean.

"wait," you say suddenly, stopping. "do you swim out here?"

he huffs a laugh. "mm, sometimes."

"at night?"

"yeah."

"that's terrifying."

"nah." he tugs you closer, his arm sliding around your waist. "it's peaceful. we should sometime."

"it's dark," you counter, but you're grinning now, leaning into him. "what if there's like a shark or something?"

"wouldn't stand a chance against me."

you burst out laughing, shoving at his chest. "you're ridiculous."

"i'm serious." he's grinning too now, catching your hand before you can pull away completely. "what— you think i'm lettin' a shark get you?"

"oh my god, stop—"

but he's already pulling you in, kissing you mid-laugh. his hand cups the back of your neck, and you melt into it immediately. his other hand finds the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. he tastes like salt and wine. when he pulls back you're both smiling, both a little breathless.

he kisses you again, softer this time. "hi," he murmurs, teasing.

you pull back just enough to look at him, feeling heat creep up your neck. "hi," you say sheepishly, and he grins before leaning in to kiss you again—quick pecks along your jaw, your temple, the corner of your mouth.

you're still catching your breath when he pulls back to look at you. his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, slow enough to make your stomach flip.

"jesus..." he murmurs, almost to himself. "look at you." the way he says it makes your cheeks heat up.

"c'mere."

"i'm already here."

"not close enough."

heat floods your face and you kiss him again, because what else are you supposed to do when he looks at you like that? he smiles into it immediately, both hands gripping your waist as you melt against him. when you finally pull back, he's still looking at you with that same expression.

"what am i gonna do with you, huh?" he murmurs.

you pull back and look out at the water. the last of the sunlight is turning everything gold. the wind picks up, and you shiver slightly. your bare feet are cold against the sand.

rafe doesn't say anything. he just pulls off his zip up and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest. it's warm from his body, and it swallows you—the sleeves falling past your wrists, the hem hitting mid-thigh. you wrap it around yourself and breathe in. 

"alright," he says, taking your hand. "let's go back in before you freeze."

you follow him back up the beach, your fingers laced with his. when you reach the deck you notice your shoes still sitting there by the door. right next to his, like they belong there.

the warmth of the house wraps around you when you step back inside. the dishes are still on the counter. he's already moving past that, gesturing toward the couch. "c'mere, baby."

he picks up the remote and scrolls through something on the tv. a movie flickers to life on the screen, but you're not really watching. you're watching him. the way he moves. the way he tosses the remote onto the coffee table like he's done it a thousand times. he settles beside you on the couch, and you don't hesitate. you shift closer immediately, tucking yourself against his side. his arm comes around you properly, his hand settling at your waist, his fingers splaying wide against your ribs. the cotton of his shirt is soft beneath your palm. you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. it's faster than you expect.

"better?" he asks.

"much," you say.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head, then to your temple, then to the corner of your mouth. you turn slightly and catch his lips properly, and he makes a soft sound before pulling back. his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the soft skin there, and he's kissing you again before you can take a full breath.

this kiss is different. slower. he takes his time, pressing his lips to yours once, twice, then deeper—his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you open for him. when he licks into your mouth, your stomach clenches and heat pools low between your thighs. you make a small sound against his mouth and he groans, pulling you closer.

his hand tightens on your neck—not rough, but firm. his other hand finds your waist and he's pulling you toward him, and you're moving without thinking, your knee sliding up onto the couch cushion.

suddenly you're half in his lap, your hands gripping his shoulders. he pulls you the rest of the way, adjusting you so you're straddling him properly. the kiss turns messy. his tongue slides against yours and he tastes like the wine from dinner, like salt air, like want. you press yourself against him and feel the hard line of his cock between your thighs where you need him most

his hands grip your hips and he pulls you tighter against him, harder. his fingers dig into the soft flesh there, and you whimper into his mouth, clenching around absolutely nothing.

"yeah?" he asks, and his voice is rough. "you like that?"

you nod, but it's not enough. you pull back just slightly, still straddling him, still breathing hard. your eyes meet his and for a second neither of you moves. you can feel the slight dampness between your legs, the way your panties are starting clinging to you. god, you're already wet for him and he hasn't even hardly touched you.

"please," you whisper, and your voice comes out small and broken and completely helpless. "i need you."

he watches you for a moment, and you can see him fighting it. fighting himself. and you're trembling slightly, still twitching against him, your hips moving in these tiny involuntary circles because you can't help it. you need friction. you need him.

"fuck, baby—" he pulls you back down, kissing you harder now, messier. like he's trying to devour you.

"need more," you whine against his mouth, the words coming out breathless and desperate. he groans into your neck, kissing along the line of your throat, his hands shaking slightly.

his free hand slides down your back, past your waist, and grips your ass, pulling you harder against him. you can feel exactly how much he wants you. the strain of his jeans, the hard heat of him pressing right where you need it most.

"please—" you say it against his mouth, just that one word, and he groans like you've actually hurt him.

for a moment it feels like it could go either way. like he could just keep going, like he could bend you over the back of this couch and—

but then he stops.

it's sudden enough that it takes your breath away. his hands still. his kiss gentles, though he keeps his mouth on yours for just a second longer. then he pulls back, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his breathing is ragged.

"hey—" he says quietly. "look at me."

you're already looking at him, but he reaches up anyway and cups your face with both hands, his thumbs settling on your cheeks. he tilts your chin up slightly, forcing your eyes to stay locked on his. up close like this, you can see exactly how much restraint this is costing him. his pupils are blown, his breathing heavy, a flush creeping up his neck.

"gotta be good for me, alright?" he says, and his voice is rough. rough in a way that makes your stomach clench. "can you do that? be patient for me?"

be patient? wait? you're not sure you can sit here and not combust. you nod, but your eyes are already tracking down to his mouth. to the way his lips are swollen from kissing you, the slight shine on his mouth. you want to lean in and taste him again so badly your whole body aches with it. your hips shift slightly, just an inch, testing—

"look at me," he repeats, not unkindly, and you snap your gaze back to his immediately, but it takes actual effort. like your body doesn't want to listen to anything but the pull toward him.

"good girl," he murmurs, and the praise hits you somewhere deep. his thumbs trace your cheekbones, gentle now, tender. "we're gonna do this right. but not tonight, yeah? tonight you're just gonna sit with me."

you nod again because you can't speak. because you're trembling slightly, something hot buzzing just beneath your skin. and he's holding your face like you're something precious and the contradiction of it—the softness and the absolute control—is making you dizzy. some part of you is thinking how long you can actually wait before you lose your mind.

he kisses your forehead, then releases your face. his hand finds your waist instead and settle there.

"c'mon," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. then your temple. then the corner of your mouth. his breathing is still heavy. "sit with me."

but when you shift to move beside him on the couch, he pulls you back into his lap instead. his arms wrap around you from behind, anchoring you against his chest. you can feel him beneath you, still hard, but he's resting his chin on your shoulder like this is enough. like just holding you like this is enough for right now.

the movie plays on. you're not watching it. you're not even pretending to watch it. you're hyperaware of every point of contact between your bodies. his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder, his hands occasionally drifting lower before he catches himself. his breathing is steady now, but you can feel his heartbeat. fast, still affected by what just happened between you.

after a while, he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. "you okay?" he murmurs.

"yeah,"

"good." another kiss, this time to the sensitive spot behind your ear. you feel it shoot straight down your spine. his hand tightens on your waist. he doesn’t make it easy.

you sit like that for a while, existing in this space between wanting and waiting. his breathing eventually steadies, but his hands don't stop moving, tracing patterns on your ribs, your waist, your back.

eventually, you shift position slightly, turning so you can rest your head in his lap. his hand immediately finds your hair, fingers threading through it gently, stroking from your crown down to the ends. you have no idea what's happening on screen anymore.

"mm, you're gettin' sleepy," he says after a while, his fingers still moving through your hair.

"'m not," you murmur, but your eyes are already closing.

"no? cuz it looks like it."

"but i'm awake," you protest, but your words are soft, slurring slightly.

his fingers keep moving through your hair, up and down, up and down, a small, knowing smiling playing on his lips.

"c'mon, baby," he says softly. "let's get you to bed."

you want to argue, but you're too tired. so you just nod, and he helps you sit up, his hand steadying you. your legs are a little unsteady. the darkness wraps around you. your bare feet are cold against the hardwood floor. but his hand is warm against the small of your back.

the bedroom is at the end of the hall. when he pushes the door open, you stop in the doorway for a second. clean lines, dark wood furniture, a massive bed with crisp white sheets. there's a watch box on the dresser, a book on the nightstand, a pair of his shoes by the closet door. it smells like him.

"bathroom's through there," he says, nodding toward a door on the far wall. his hand is still on your back.

you nod and cross the room. the bathroom door is slightly ajar, and when you push it open, the light flickers on automatically. it's beautiful. all white marble and clean glass. you step inside, your bare feet cold against the tile, and that's when you see it.

a toothbrush. sitting on the counter beside the sink. in your favorite color.

you freeze. your hand hovers over the counter. it's just a toothbrush. just plastic. but he bought this. he put it here. your eyes move to the folded fabric beside it. silk pajamas, soft and expensive. your size. you reach out and touch them, the material slipping through your fingers like water.

there are bottles lined up near the shower. you pick one up, turning it over in your hands. light and floral. the scent hits you immediately—something that reminds you of the perfume you wear on special occasions.

your hands are shaking slightly when you set it back down.

you hear him before you see him. his presence fills the doorway. when you turn, he's leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching you.

your throat tightens.

he pushes off the doorframe and crosses to you slowly. his arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you back against his chest. you can feel the warmth of him. his chin rests on the top of your head.

"the toothbrush," you say. your voice sounds small. "the pajamas. the shampoo."

"yeah," he says simply.

"how long ago did you buy those?"

he's quiet for a second. "while," he says finally. "been thinkin' about you stayin' over for a bit."

you turn around in his arms to face him. his eyes are soft, patient.

"so you've been planning this," you say.

"yeah." he doesn't sound apologetic.

you've never had anyone be this thoughtful. this intentional. your ex-boyfriends never remembered how you took your coffee. never planned for you. never looked at you like you were something precious. something they wanted to keep.

"you okay with that?"

"yeah," you whisper. "yeah, i'm okay with that."

he kisses your hair once, soft and tender before letting you go. "go get ready," he murmurs. "i'll be in bed."

you nod and he leaves, and you're alone again with the toothbrush and the pajamas and the shampoo that smells like you.

you change into the silk pajamas (they fit perfectly, of course they do), and brush your teeth with the toothbrush he bought. when you catch your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright.

when you step back into the bedroom, he's already under the covers, propped up on one elbow. the lamp on his nightstand casts everything in warm gold. he's shirtless, the sheets pooled around his waist. for a second you just stand there.

his eyes follow you as you cross the room like he's taking his time appreciating the sight of you in pajamas he bought for you. in his room. in his house

"c'mere," he says, and you slip under the sheets beside him.

for a moment, you're not sure where to put yourself. your hands hover awkwardly.

then he huffs out a quiet laugh and his arm reaches across the space between you. he pulls you against his chest without hesitation, his hand splaying wide across your back. your bare skin meets his warmth, and you suck in a breath.

"there," he murmurs, and then he's kissing you—soft and slow and deep. once, twice. his hand slides up into your hair, tilting your face toward his. you make a small sound against his mouth, and he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against yours. deeper. like he's trying to commit the feeling of you to memory.

when he finally breaks the kiss, he's breathing harder. 

"goodnight, sweetheart." he whispers, and his voice is rough.

"goodnight, rafe." you murmur back, settling against him, your cheek pressed to his chest. your bare hand rests over his heart. you can feel it racing. his arm wraps around you properly now. you can feel his chin rest against the top of your head. his hand moves slowly up and down your back. he's still awake. still aware.

you're hyperaware of how little you're wearing. how close you are.

eventually, your breathing evens out, and you drift off like that—wrapped around him, his hand on your back, the sound of the ocean through the window.

you wake up slowly and for a second, you forget where you are. the ceiling isn’t quite right. the angle of the sun is wrong. then you remember. you're in his bed.

you turn your head, and he's right there. still asleep. his face is turned toward you on the pillow, one arm stretched out between you. his breathing is slow and even. his mouth is slightly parted, his jaw relaxed. his hair is messy, falling across his forehead. without his usual intensity, he looks younger. softer.

you've never seen him like this. the morning light catches on the stubble along his jaw, which is thicker this morning than it was last night. you want to reach out and touch him, but you're afraid to wake him.

slowly, carefully, you reach out anyway.

your fingers hover over his face for a second before you let them settle against his jaw. the stubble is rough under your fingertips, coarser than you expected. you trace the line of it, feather-light. his skin is warm. you move higher, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

your fingers move to his temple, then his hairline, smoothing back the strands that have fallen across his forehead. you let your hand rest there for a moment, your palm against the side of his face.

and then it hits you all at once.

you're in love with him.

your heart kicks into overdrive, your hand still on his face, and you can't breathe. you're completely, irrevocably in love with him. this man who bought you a toothbrush and silk pajamas weeks ago. who remembered how you take your coffee. who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered. who's been planning to have you here all along.

he stirs.

it's small at first—just a shift in his breathing. then his eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and he's looking right at you.

his mouth curves immediately.

"caught you," he says, his arm sliding around your waist. he pulls you closer.

heat floods your face. "no," you say anyway, but you're smiling despite yourself.

"no?" he repeats, his eyes sharper now. then he leans down and kisses you before you can deny it again. 

"mornin'," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours.

"good morning," you say back.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand still on your back, his eyes dark. "what's goin' on in that head of yours?"

you shake your head. "nothing."

his eyes narrow slightly. his thumb traces slow circles on your skin—bare skin. 

"mm."

he studies you for another moment, then leans down and kisses you again—deeper this time. slower. his other hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. you kiss him back, your fingers curling into his shoulder, and he makes a low sound. when you look at him, there's that slight curve to his mouth. but his eyes are darker than before.

"c'mere," he murmurs, and he's pulling you up to straddle his lap without breaking eye contact. his hands steady you at the hips, and then they move—sliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist beneath the thin silk. his thumbs brush the underside of your breasts and you suck in a breath.

"you're okay?" he asks.

"more than okay,".

he kisses you again, and you let yourself sink into it. your hands find his bare chest, his skin warm and solid beneath your palms. you can feel his heartbeat racing. his hand slides up your back, and suddenly the only thing between you is silk and the awareness of what's happening. the way your body fits against his. the way his hands know exactly where to touch you.

when you finally pull back, you're both breathing harder. "i want—" you start, and then you're not sure how to finish that sentence.

"i know," he says quietly. "but not yet. wanna do it right with you." you reply with a nod, even though what you want right now has nothing to do with right.

he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "c'mon," he murmurs. "let me take care of you. coffee?"

“yes please.”

he moves to get out of bed, and you follow the shift, adjusting slightly as he sits up, your legs still tangled with his. he disappears for a moment, and then you hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway, the quiet clink of ceramic against wood.

when he appears in the doorway again, he's holding a mug in one hand—the same blue one from yesterday—and a small plate balanced in the other. still shirtless. still rumpled. his hair still falling across his forehead.

he sets the mug carefully on the nightstand. the plate follows, and then he just stands there for a second, looking at you. his gaze feels intimate, like he's looking at something that belongs to him.

"you look good in my bed,"

your face heats, and you're smiling sheepishly. "rafe—"

he sits on the edge of the mattress, and you shift closer without thinking. his hand finds your hair automatically, smoothing it back from your face. he stops, his hand stilling in your hair. his eyes move over your face.

you glance over and watch as steam curls lazily from the rim of the mug. you can smell it from here—rich and warm and sweet, exactly how you like it.

"still can’t believe you remembered the creamer," you murmur.

"’course i did." it's not a question. his hand slides down to cup your jaw. "c'mon. sit up."

you push yourself up, the sheets pooling around your waist, and reach for the mug. it's warm in your hands. you take a sip, and it's perfect.

he doesn't ask if it's okay. he just watches you, his hand resting on your thigh beneath the sheets, his thumb moving in that slow rhythm. but his eyes don't leave your face.

you take another sip, and his mouth curves slightly.

"what?" you ask.

"nothin'." but he's still watching you.

you set the mug back on the nightstand and reach for the toast, breaking off a corner. you take a bite, and you wrinkle your nose slightly.

"oh, so that's how we're doing this," he says, and there's amusement in his voice. "you're gonna judge my old man breakfast?"

"i'm not judging," you say, but you're grinning. "i'm just observing. burnt toast and coffee. very... vintage of you."

he leans back slightly, his hand still on your thigh, and gives you a mock offended look. "vintage?"

"sorry, i meant to say geriatric."

"geriatric," he repeats, shaking his head. "you're callin' me geriatric while you're sitting in my bed eating the breakfast i made you?"

you bite your lip, trying not to smile. "when you put it like that—"

"so what does that make you?" he asks, leaning closer. his hand drifts higher on your thigh. "you're the one who likes old men, so what's that say about your taste?"

heat floods your cheeks. "my taste is clearly terrible."

"terrible, huh?" he's grinning now, that cocky smirk on his face. "you seemed to think my taste was pretty good last night on the couch."

"rafe—"

"what?" he says innocently. "i'm just sayin'."

you throw a pillow at him, and he catches it easily, laughing. but then he tosses it aside and leans over, kissing you softly. when he pulls back, he's still smiling.

"finish your breakfast, baby. before it gets cold," he says, his hand giving your thigh one last squeeze before he stands up and heads to the bathroom.

you watch him go, your heart still racing, and take another bite of the burnt toast.

he comes back a little while later, showered and almost dressed, and the morning light catches on the water droplets still clinging to his hair. you're still in bed, cradling the empty coffee mug, watching him move around the room.

"you alright?" he asks, pulling on a black tshirt.

"yeah," you say, and you mean it.

he bends down and kisses the top of your head, his hand lingering on your hair for a moment. "you have to be back soon?"

“i told my mom this afternoon.” the reminder of reality crashes down like cold water. you don't want to leave.

"mmm.” he says quietly, like he can read your mind, "you could text her. tell her you're stayin' another night."

your heart jumps for a moment, then another wave of reality hits you. "not sure that i’d be so lucky."

"worth a shot, yeah?" he sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "i want you here."

your throat tightens.

"i know," you whisper.

for a second, you let yourself imagine it. another morning. another cup of coffee. another night falling asleep with the windows open and the ocean just outside. he studies your face for a second before leaning in to kiss you again, slow this time. his thumb brushes your cheek when he pulls away.

"alright," he murmurs. "we'll worry about that later."

you nod. later can wait a little longer.

𝑎/𝑛: EEEEKKKKKK i love them so fucking much i can’t. i love love. i want to be love.

i’m willing to bet at least a few of you were wondering where a lil special something was… and trust me, i get it LOL. but i really wanted to focus on the emotional aspect of their relationship and make sure their weekend together paid off emotionally, rather than risk having that swallowed up by smut. before i even started writing, i knew i wanted the heart of this chapter to be reader realizing she’s completely in love with him.

that being said… i am planning to write a yummy smutty bonus that’s basically an alternate ending to stay a while. 🤭 so stay tuned!!!

please let me know what you guys think via comments and reblogs! pls pls pls feel free to send asks and requests as well! i promise i don’t bite ♡

You didn’t know where you stood on the spectrum of sexuality and sensuality. You had never felt the touch of a man, yet you were no saint. You owned toys, you read erotica and watched porn when the mood struck. Most of all, you liked the part of yourself that refused to wait for a man to drop out of the sky before you could feel pleasure.

Your friends had plenty of experience with men and you were happy for them but you simply preferred to stay in control of your own.

For a long time that had been more than enough. You could take care of your own needs in under five minutes with the cheapest vibrator on the market or with your fingers in ten if you were worked up enough. Dildos had never done it for you, no matter the material, the shape, the length or the width, they left you feeling little and never brought you to orgasm. That fact had left you uneasy about the idea of sex with a man. You hoped that when it finally happened, penetration would feel good, you'd make sure of it, but a quiet fear lingered. Were you numb?

Still, you felt no rush to enter a relationship just to test the theory. You had watched enough friends tumble into messy entanglements and then ignore every piece of advice you gave them. 

Why would they listen to you, right? But after all, coaches never played…until tonight.

You sat around the crackling fire, thoughts drifting. You had come camping for a few nights to get some distance from your usual life and step down from your unpaid role as couple’s therapist to your friends. The first evening, Dean and Beau had set up camp near yours. They were university students like you, barely a year older, friendly and easy to talk to. 

You had fallen into hiking and kayaking together with surprising comfort and now the three of you sat around their fire, the night air cool against your skin while the flames threw warm light across your faces. Since this whole trip was an experiment and a chance to push your own limits…why stop at flirting?

“Are you two…?” Your question trailed off as you gestured between them. You sat in the middle, each of you in your own camp chair.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Best friends…Not that he isn’t a good-looking guy.” He motioned toward Beau. “Look at him.”

Your gaze slid to Beau. He smiled, a little shy and sweet, clearly less bold than Dean. Still, the firelight traced the strong line of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders.

“He’s right,” you said quietly.

Beau nodded, cheeks warming. “Uh, thank you.” He took a sip from his soda can. “Only one of us is Six Flags, though.” He grinned and Dean laughed.

You looked between them, lips curving despite yourself. “Six Flags? What does that mean?”

“He’s a ladies’ man,” Beau explained. “They come for the ride and then leave.”

“And I’m okay with that,” Dean added, raising a finger as if to make the statement sound more sincere.

You nodded slowly, eyes returning to Beau. You lifted your half-empty soda can in his direction. “And what kind of ride do you offer, handsome?”

Both of them turned their full attention to you, lips parting.

“Offer?” Beau repeated, voice low.

You hummed in confirmation, letting the moment stretch. The fire popped softly as crickets filled the silence between your words. “Just seeing if I could get two-for-one access tonight.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose as a slow, interested smirk tugged at his mouth. Beau’s gaze darkened as he set his can down on the ground beside his chair. The easy conversation from earlier fell away, replaced by something heavier and charged.

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, firelight dancing in his eyes. “That’s a bold ask, sweetheart.”

You held his stare, pulse quickening. “Think of it as an experiment…I figured the woods were a good place for it.”

Beau glanced at Dean and immediately caught the eager look on his face. Dean looked about two seconds away from saying yes on the spot. Before he could, Beau cleared his throat.

“Hey, man. Can we… talk for a minute?” He asked, the last part tilting up as he motioned away with his head.

Dean blinked, then shrugged as he stood. “Sure.” Before he took a step, he turned and flashed you a quick smile.

Beau stood next and walked a short distance away from the fire as Dean followed, far enough for a private conversation but still in your line of sight. You kept your eyes on them, heart beating faster. You did not know what you were thinking, but you wanted this to happen. You wanted the overwhelming feeling of several hands on your body at once. The idea of sex without commitments felt like the perfect answer to your questions tonight. You wanted to try the real thing and the mere thought of being greedy enough to take both of them was making you awfully wet.

Beau crossed his arms. “Did I understand her right? She actually wants both of us? Like…at the same time?”

Dean grinned, nodding eagerly with his hands on his hips. “Sounded pretty clear to me.”

“What if she asks us to kiss?” Beau pressed, voice low but urgent.

Dean turned his head and looked straight at you. Your eyes were locked on them, curious and steady. Beau followed his gaze, then dropped his eyes lower. Dean was already visibly hard, the outline clear against his pants. Spending the past few days with you had been fun, and you were undeniably pretty.

Beau smacked him right on the cock with the back of his hand.

Dean doubled over with a groan, hands flying to cover himself. “Fuck, dude! The fuck was that for?”

“Can you focus for a second?” Beau hissed, eyes returning to Dean’s folded-over posture.

Dean straightened up slowly, still wincing but laughing under his breath. “One of us clearly is. Come on, isn’t this what we came here for? You wanted spontaneity. This is as spontaneous as it gets out in the woods.”

Beau rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back toward you. “We take this to the grave, right? No matter what happens. And if it gets too weird, we can always take turns instead of… everything at once. It’ll be her choice. I’m big on communication.”

“So am I,” Dean said easily. “But I’m not worried about ‘weird’. I have no issue seeing your dick, man. I’m a hockey player. I shower in rooms full of them and I can tell you that eventually your eyes start to wander.” He reached over and gave Beau a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when’… and that time comes pretty soon.” He nodded, eyes tracing Beau’s worried face.

Beau looked down at himself. He was getting hard too, though it was not nearly as obvious as Dean’s situation. Still, a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he wondered if size would be an issue once things got started.

Dean caught the look instantly. “Comparison is the thief of joy, my friend.”

Beau let out a short laugh despite himself, the tension easing a little. Dean’s grin returned, cocky and sure.

“I can show you a nude right now so there’s no surprises,” Dean added, his grin spreading wider.

Beau groaned. “Size isn’t all there is. It’s how you use it.”

Dean chuckled, nodding. “That’s my boy.”

During the conversation they had not noticed you stand and walk closer. When their eyes finally left each other and found you, you were only a couple of steps away.

“Don’t worry, guys. I don’t think we’ll hit max capacity of my tent tonight.” You smiled as you walked toward your tent without looking back. Both of their gazes followed your steps, matching smiles spreading across their faces.

“I think I just came in my pants,” Dean sighed.

“I’ll go first then,” Beau said, patting Dean’s chest. “You should start getting used to coming second…or even third.” He started walking after you. A second later, Dean followed.

The air inside the tent was thick with the scent of nylon and the musk of three bodies humming with anticipation. You sat there, trembling slightly, heart hammering against your ribs. 

You hadn't told Beau or Dean that this was your first time, that the dildos you’d tried in private had left you feeling cold and empty, leaving you with a nagging, terrifying fear that you were somehow broken. You didn't know if you could actually feel pleasure but as you looked at them, the desperation to find out outweighed the fear.

The clothes had been discarded in a frantic heap, leaving you all in just your underwear. The space was cramped, which only added to the intensity, forcing your skin to brush against theirs at every turn.

Beau, always the sweeter of the two, had laid back first. He looked up at you with soft, wanting eyes as you climbed over him. You straddled his hips, settling your weight down so your core pressed firmly against the hard line of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxers and your own underwear. When you started grinding against him, you gasped, eyes widening slightly. He was warm and pulsing beneath you, the thick ridge of his erection rubbing right against your clit with every roll of your hips. 

You began to rock yourself on him, moving in a slow, experimental rhythm. The friction of his clothed cock sliding against you sent sparks through your nerves, a sensation so vivid it almost made you cry out.

Dean was right behind you, kneeling and straddling Beau’s thighs to get closer. He was a wall of heat against your back, his confidence radiating off him in waves. His large hands reached around, sliding up to capture your clothed breasts. He squeezed and massaged them firmly, his fingers kneading your flesh while he leaned in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. He nipped at your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.

Your hands rested on Beau’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms as you moved while his hands locked onto your hips, fingers digging in to help guide them, pushing you down harder onto him with every roll. 

Whenever Dean got close enough, pressing his front to your back eagerly, you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing firmly against your ass, a promise of what was coming.

The feeling of being sandwiched between two men, the weight of them and the heat of their breath created an overwhelming sensation. You weren't close to coming yet but the tension was already building, in a new coil of heat tightening in your lower belly that you had never experienced before.

Dean’s hands moved, fingers hooking into the strap of your bra. With a swift, confident motion, he flicked the clasp and peeled the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the dim light of the tent.

Beau let out a low groan at the sight of your breasts spilling free, hips bucking upward instinctively. He looked up at your chest, eyes glazed with lust and breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Fuck," Beau choked out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful...It’s gonna make me cum."

He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer as you ground down against him. He held back, fighting the urge to come in his underwear while the two of you moved in a desperate, sweaty rhythm.

Dean stayed pressed behind you, mouth hot on your neck and shoulder, kissing and biting softly as his hand slipped around your waist and slid slowly beneath the waistband of your panties. 

His fingers found your slick folds and immediately began drawing slow but firm circles over your clit, the sudden direct touch making you moan loudly into the space. 

Meanwhile, his other hand stayed cupped around your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple in time with the movement of his fingers, forcing pleasure to surge through you from both angles. 

Your hips lifted on instinct. Breathing hard, you reached down between your bodies, slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his thick, heated length. You pulled him free, stroking him once from base to tip as his breath hitched sharply.

You then hooked a finger into the side of your soaked panties and tugged them roughly aside, exposing your dripping pussy completely to him. 

Dean chuckled low against your neck. "Taking initiative, I love that…Beau here likes spontaneity."

Holding Beau’s cock steady, you lined him up at your entrance and slowly sank down onto him. 

The stretch was immediate and intense. A broken moan and gasp escaped your lips as his warm, bare cock pushed inside you, filling you inch by inch. It truly was nothing like your toys, he felt alive, hot and so much fuller than you had imagined. You kept sinking until you were fully seated in his lap, walls fluttering and clenching around him then releasing in ways no toy had ever made them do. "Holy fuck," you breathed.

"Nothing holy about this," Beau answered, voice rough. "Get to riding."

You laughed shakily as Dean’s laugh vibrated against your skin. "And here she thought you were the sweeter one."

"Please," Beau added, smiling up at you and the word made your lips part around another curse.

Dean’s hand left your breast and slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you forward firmly until your chest was flush against Beau’s, nipples brushing his warm skin with every breath. The new angle pushed you deeper onto Beau’s cock, drawing a shared moan from both of you.

Behind you, Dean rolled his hips, grinding the hard, clothed length of his cock between your ass cheeks. The thick ridge of his erection, still trapped in his boxers, dragged slowly, applying steady pressure against your most sensitive area. He matched every roll and lift of your hips as you rode Beau, thrusting in perfect sync so that every time you sank down onto Beau’s cock, Dean’s pressed firmly against your ass.

His fingers never stopped their steady circles over your swollen clit, slick and fast now, pushing you higher with every stroke. The sensation of being filled by Beau while Dean ground against you from behind left you trembling between them, caught in a rhythm that grew steadily more desperate.

"Tell her again," Dean said, grinning. "I’m pretty sure her pussy will thank you for your manners."

Beau’s hands settled on your waist, guiding your drags up and down his length. "Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow so you can feel every inch."

You kept moving and each time you rose, Dean’s dry thrusts pushed you forward again, the fabric of his boxers catching and dragging against sensitive, wet skin. The tent felt smaller with every breath and shift of bodies while your knees slid over your sleeping bag as you found a rhythm, Beau’s cock stretching you as Dean’s fingers kept your clit puffy and throbbing.

Beau’s grip tightened as he grabbed handfuls of ass. "Fuck, you feel so good…so tight around me."

"She’s dripping down your cock already. Keep talking to her, Beau…she likes it." Dean grinned.

Beau’s voice stayed soft even as his hips failed to lift to meet you halfway. "You’re doing so well…taking me so deep. That’s it, let Dean play with that pretty clit while you fuck yourself on me."

Dean’s fingers pressed firmer, faster and your moans broke into something higher. The combined sensation from Beau filling you and Dean’s cock grinding against your ass while his fingers worked your clit, made your thighs shake. You rocked harder, chasing the feeling you’d never found with silicone.

"That’s right," Dean murmured. "Use us. Show us how you want it."

Beau’s hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "You can go faster if you need to, it’s all yours to take."

You did. The wet sounds of your pussy taking him fully grew louder inside the small tent. Dean’s dry thrusts grew more insistent, the head of his cock catching on the thin fabric of your panties with every roll of his hips as your clit pulsed under his fingers, every circle sending sparks up your spine.

Beau’s breathing turned ragged, eyes fluttering shut. "You’re squeezing me so tight…Fuck, don’t stop."

Dean’s hand pressed firmly on the delicious curve of your spine…Fuck, he wanted to lick along it. "She won’t…not until she comes all over your cock. Right, beautiful?"

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your hips stuttered for a moment, then resumed their frantic rhythm, chasing the edge that had always stayed just out of reach with your toys. 

Beau’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you rode him and Dean’s fingers never faltered on your clit, circling with relentless pressure. The three of you moved together in the cramped tent, bodies sliding against each other, hot breaths mingling in the thick air while the quiet night outside faded completely.

Beau pulled you into a deep, searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he met every desperate roll of your hips, which you were greedy for. You rode him harder, walls clamping down tightly around his thick shaft with every downward plunge. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the small space as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core, centered beneath Dean’s skilled fingers.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, violent and overwhelming. Your back arched sharply, pressing your chest harder against Beau’s as your hardened nipples dragged across his heated skin. The kiss broke with a wet gasp as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat. 

Your pussy spasmed hard around Beau’s cock, milking him in powerful, rhythmic pulses while pleasure tore through every nerve in your body.

You were so drenched that your juices coated his length and dripped down onto his balls, the slickness becoming too much. With one final, shaking shudder, Beau’s cock slipped out of you with a loud and obscene wet pop. You slumped forward against his chest, gasping for air, your empty pussy visibly twitching and pulsing in the open air between your spread cheeks.

Dean, who had been watching the entire spectacle with dark, predatory hunger, let out a low hiss. Seeing your walls contract and flutter had pushed him past the point of restraint. He snatched his hand away from your clit, the sudden loss making you whimper in protest and in one fluid motion, he shoved the front of his boxers down, freeing his thick, rigid cock. 

He leaned forward, lined the swollen head against your soaked entrance and began pushing in.

You let out a loud, shocked moan against Beau’s lips, your eyes widening at the sudden heavy intrusion. Beau had been long and smooth, gliding easily along your walls, Dean was thicker and the wait had made him even harder. He was ridged and pressed firmly against every sensitive spot as he moved. He stretched you to your absolute limit, forcing your walls to open around his girth as he sank deeper.

Beau reached down with both hands and gripped your ass cheeks. He spread them wide, fully exposing your dripping pussy to Dean’s relentless push, the new position leaving you completely open between them.

Dean gave a few slow, careful thrusts at first, testing how your body responded while it was still vibrating from your orgasm. The waves hadn’t faded, instead, they continued pulsing around his cock with every shallow stroke, drawing a deep groan from his chest.

You whined, a high and needy sound escaping your throat. Dean rested his forehead against the back of your neck for a moment, breathing hard, before he straightened up again on his knees.

“Fucking glorious, right? So warm,” Beau murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through your spine. “She’s still cumming from your cock, dude.” He paused, his voice softening even as it stayed dominant. “I’m not hurting you, am I, sweetheart?”

You shook your head gently, breath coming in short, jagged gasps. A powerful wave of relief washed over you. You weren’t broken or numb, you could feel everything, every ridge, vein and throb of their cocks inside you. The sheer intensity proved you were more than capable of this kind of pleasure.

Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist and hauled you upright, pulling you off Beau’s chest and holding you tight against him in a firm bear hug, your back flush to his front. Your skin burned where it pressed against his.

“Do me a favor and wrap that pretty hand around Beau’s cock,” he whispered hotly against your ear.

He began to thrust in earnest, each powerful stroke driving deep and pushing fresh wetness out around his thick shaft. You melted back into him, head falling against his shoulder as a full-body shudder ran through you.

“Come on, be a good girl,” Dean murmured, voice rough with passion.

He looked down at Beau’s cock lying hard and twitching against his stomach, shiny and dripping with your juices. The swollen head glistened under the low light while a thin string of your slick stretched from your pussy to Beau’s skin every time Dean pulled back and slammed in again.

Your hand reached down on instinct, fingers wrapping around Beau’s slick, hot length, feeling it pulse strongly in your palm. You stroked him slowly at first, spreading the wetness up and down his shaft while Dean fucked you steadily from behind, the three of you locked together in the cramped tent.

You guided the broad head of Beau’s cock firmly against your swollen clit and the drenched opening of your pussy. Every time Dean slammed his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you, the force pressed your pelvis down onto Beau’s shaft. The friction was electric, a constant, slippery grind that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves. You whimpered, head tossing back against Dean’s shoulder anew as pre-cum and your own slick lubricated the filthy contact.

Beau’s chest tensed beneath you, his muscles rippling as he fought for control. “Ugh, fuck,” he moaned, the sound vibrating through your thighs. You let out a breathless chuckle between your moans, fingers digging into his skin to keep his cock pressed tight against your throbbing clit.

“You guys…do this often?” you gasped, voice trembling as Dean’s thrusts grew more urgent, hitting your cervix with blunt, satisfying thuds.

“We can, if you call us,” Beau answered instantly.

Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your back. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he gripped your waist tighter and pulled you back harder onto his cock.

The pace changed, becoming a relentless, kinky assault on your senses. Dean began to rotate his hips, grinding his cock deep inside you while you continued sliding against Beau’s tip. The wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the tent, mixed with the heavy, intoxicating scent of sex and musk. You were drowning in it as pleasure built into a towering wave that stripped away your ability to speak. You could no longer form words, all that left your lips were high, needy moans and broken whimpers.

As you lost the ability to talk, the men took over. Their voices became low and praising as they talked about you like a prize, describing exactly how your tight walls squeezed Dean and how your clit pulsed against Beau.

“Look at her,” Dean groaned, his breath hot on your neck. “So fucking wet for us. I can feel her twitching around me, trying to suck me dry.”

“She’s perfect,” Beau rasped, his eyes locked on your blissed-out face.

Suddenly, Beau sat up, his movement fluid and hungry. He lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one of your stiff nipples, sucking hard while his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak. At the same time, his hand reached up to massage your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with a firm grip. The combination of Dean’s deep pounding from behind, the constant friction on your clit and Beau’s hungry mouth on your breasts pushed you right to the edge.

Your back arched sharply, toes curling. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, your internal muscles clamping down violently around Dean.

“Hold it,” they both commanded in unison.

The sudden order snapped you out of your haze for a split second. They didn’t stop moving, if anything, Dean slowed to a torturous, shallow grind, teasing the entrance of your womb, while Beau kept his cock pressed firmly against your clit. They went right back to their seductive murmurs against your skin, praising how your body trembled and how desperately you were leaking for them. They kept you hovering right on the precipice, denying your release and stretching the tension until your entire body hummed like a live wire, trapped in agonizing, wet ecstasy.

The friction continued, a relentless, slippery torture. The sheer amount of lubrication, a hot cocktail of your soaking wetness and their pre-cum, made every movement smooth and loud. 

As you ground desperately against Beau, the slickness became so intense that his cock suddenly slid from your clit and glided effortlessly toward your entrance.

You gasped, eyes widening in shock as you felt the broad, blunt head of his cock press firmly against your opening, right beside where Dean’s thick shaft was sliding in and out. He didn’t push inside but the overwhelming pressure of two cocks fighting for the same tight space was too much and the dam broke. 

You screamed, body convulsing in a violent, crashing orgasm. Your walls clamped down hard on Dean in rhythmic, desperate pulses, milking him with every spasm. You whined and moaned, voice breaking as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking and breathless.

The intensity of your climax triggered both men. Beau, feeling the frantic pulsing of your pussy against his sensitive head, let out a raspy moan into your nipple. His body stiffened as he erupted, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across your drenched pussy and mixing with the mess already coating your inner thighs.

At the same moment, the crushing grip of your orgasm pulled Dean over the edge. He let out a low, animalistic growl and buried himself as deep as possible, filling your womb with heavy, pulsing loads of cum. He kept thrusting slowly and heavily, pumping every last drop deep inside you while your body continued to shake between them.

Eventually, Dean slowed and pulled out with a wet, suctioning sound. The sudden emptiness left you feeling sensitive and open. 

You collapsed forward onto Beau’s chest as he lay back down, breathing hard against the crook of his neck. 

Your skin was warm and glistening with sweat and seed…And just as you started to relax, Beau reached down and delivered a sharp, loud smack to your ass.

You whined, the sting sending a fresh spark through your exhausted nerves while Dean groaned, voice thick with lingering lust as he stared at the sight of you. 

“How’s it looking?” Beau asked, glancing at Dean, who seemed completely mesmerized by your lower body.

Dean leaned in, eyes tracking the way their mixed cum and your wetness dripped from your swollen and still pulsing folds. “Like an overfilled twinkie,” he muttered.

The absurd comment shattered the tension and all three of you dissolved into tired, breathless laughter. You propped yourself up slightly, lifting just enough to capture Beau’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as you tasted the salt and heat of everything you had just done.

“You might not be Six Flags,” you whispered against his lips, a playful glint in your eyes, “but they should make you employee of the month.”

Beau grinned triumphantly and surged up to reclaim your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass firmly, kneading the flesh.

“Hey…how come I got no kiss?” Dean’s voice drifted from behind you, mock-offended.

You didn’t bother to look back, too focused on Beau’s tongue sliding against yours but you had to pull back. “You came inside me,” you murmured breathlessly. “Don’t be greedy.”

You sank back into the kiss, feeling Beau’s chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Few more minutes and I’ll come on it too,” Dean whispered, voice low and promising as you felt Beau grin against your lips.

You had never seen men as the answer to much of anything, least of all your pleasure. So maybe the next thing you would acquire wouldn’t be a boyfriend, but a nice, realistic, warming and throbbing dildo to add to your collection… and perhaps a couple of phone numbers to call on those nights when your toys needed charging.