Sarah’s voice makes Y/N step out of her closet, holding a pair of shorts to pull over her bikini bottoms.

“What do you mean? We just…you know, hang out,” she swallows, nervous all of a sudden.

“Hang out? With Rafe? He’s so weird, I’ve never understood why you even bother with him, especially when you could be spending time with your favorite sister instead,” the blonde girl teases with a playful raise of her brows.

“Oh, you mean Wheezie?”

Sarah’s face falls. “Ugh, you’re so annoying, never mind.”

“I mean, you’re the one who’s always running around with John B and his friends, I barely see you around the house anymore.” Y/N tries to reason while trying to locate her towel in the messy room. 

“Okay fine, you’re not wrong, but seriously, what’re you doing today? We should do something together?” 

“Well, uh, we were actually thinking about going to the beach with Rafe.” 

“Of course you were,” Sarah gives her another look. It makes her hesitate before she grabs the pale yellow beach towel and stuffs it in her bag, looking up at her sister with a roll of her eyes. An attempt to play it off. 

“Are his friends coming?” Sarah continues, face scrunching up in disgust. She’s never liked those snobby assholes, and she’s fairly certain that the only reason Y/N tolerates them is because of Rafe. In fact, Y/N tolerates a lot of things because of their brother. For some reason, the man’s got her wrapped around his finger, and Sarah’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

“No, s’gonna be just the two of us,” Y/N answers while gathering her hair up and away from her face.

“See? That’s exactly what I mean. What do the two of you even do on a beach?” Sarah’s tone is almost accusatory, as if the idea of anyone wanting to spend time alone with Rafe seems completely unfathomable. 

“Well, um, what do you do with John B on a beach?”

“John B’s my boyfriend?” Sarah’s brows crease. 

“Right, sorry, bad example, uh…I just meant that—we just, you know…swim ‘n eat ice cream and stuff,” her cheeks burn, trying her best to tiptoe around the subject because she already feels guilty enough even looking at her brother the wrong way around others. She doesn’t need Sarah of all people interrogating her about it. 

“Rafe doesn’t even like those things,” she argues nonetheless, unconvinced. 

“Yes, he does.” 

“I’ve literally never seen him eat ice cream before.” 

“Cause you never hang out with him,” she tries to reason, feeling oddly defensive all of a sudden. God forbid she wants to spend the entire Saturday afternoon with her brother; soaking up the sun with warm sand under her feet and a cold can cooling her fingertips. Her defensiveness has certainly nothing to do with the dirty feeling in the bottom of her belly whenever she does anything with Rafe, even if most days what they do is completely innocent—at least on her end. 

And all these questions about Rafe are forcing her brain to push uncomfortable memories to the surface, memories she’s stuffed into a box with a lock—memories of the times he’s crossed the line of what siblings should and shouldn’t do together. Memories of his taste in her mouth. 

“Whatever, m’bored, do you guys mind if I join?”

And what is she supposed to say?

No, she’d rather spend time with their brother alone because with other people around she feels borderline sick with the regret that coats every single detail she’s mulled over in her head more times than she can count? Because for some reason, she’s still drawn to him, still wants to spend time with him as if he’s not a terrible, selfish person who’s somehow managed to taint her with this grimy, soiled secret that she’s now as much a part of as him? 

Yeah, that wouldn’t go too well, now would it?

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

“Did we seriously have to bring her?” Rafe complains after five minutes of silence, seemingly incapable of holding in his dissatisfaction for any longer than that. 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Sarah scoffs from the backseat of his truck. 

“Yeah, I do,” a self-satisfied smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth when he stops at a red light. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I wanted to spend time with Y/N, not you,” she rolls her eyes, clearly regretting this already. 

“Hey, s’not my fault she likes me more,” he argues, eyes flitting over to the rearview mirror to lock eyes with the blonde. 

“No she doesn’t.” 

“No? Then why does she—“

“I like both of you equally, okay?” Y/N chimes in from the passenger seat, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. She briefly wonders why she thought it’d be a good idea to have the both of them stuck in a confined space together. 

Then, Rafe’s leaning over to whisper something in her ear, so quiet Sarah can’t quite catch it. It makes her tilt her head in curiosity nonetheless, especially when Y/N tells him to shut up before playfully pushing him away, seemingly embarrassed. However, neither of them seem to be able to contain their airy giggles afterwards, which confuses her to no end because she’s never seen Rafe laugh like that.  

“What’s so funny?” Sarah questions while attempting to analyze their interaction with furrowed brows. 

“Nothing.” Rafe clears his throat, quickly dismissing her while Y/N pretends she didn’t hear her while rifling through her beach bag. 

“Well, it was clearly something if—”

“Oh shit, I forgot my sunglasses,” Y/N’s voice interrupts her. 

“S’fine, take mine,” Rafe’s gaze flits over her face before taking off the Ray-Bans perched on his nose, making Sarah huff because at this point, she thinks they’re trying to make her feel like a third wheel on purpose. 

Y/N takes them with a grateful smile and a soft thanks, and he’s about to rest his palm on the expanse of her thigh before he remembers Sarah in the backseat, opting to grip the steering wheel with both hands instead. 

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

Despite the tension coated in annoyance, the three of them manage to spend a few hours soaking up the balmy summer day and the lukewarm water without a single fight. The sun bathes them in its golden warmth and their ocean-soaked limbs are sprawled out on their beach towels without a care in the world–until Rafe’s friends show up. And not much later, Sarah’s friends. 

Then it’s all loud laughter and excited screams. Splashes of bodies hitting the water and empty beer bottles littering the sand. Their little bubble of peace thoroughly destroyed. 

The music’s too loud and the alcohol fizzing in Y/N’s veins makes her trip over her own feet as she flounders around with her thoughts messy. Maybe partaking in a drunken never have I ever wasn’t her brightest idea. And apparently somewhere along the way she’s lost sight of both of her siblings.

“Don’t be such a bitch.” 

She recognizes the voice a few feet away. Rafe. And as she stumbles closer to him, she finds him standing in front of Sarah. Her brows furrow.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that,” she nearly trips and falls face first into the sand, if not for Rafe’s hold on her waist. He smells of sunscreen. The one he only agreed to wear once she’d promised to put it on him. 

“She started it,” he scoffs, eyes bloodshot and wide while he glares at Sarah.

“Started what?” Y/N turns to face her sister, who seems equally irritated. 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Sarah huffs. 

“Okay,” she’s far too wasted to do anything more, so she drops it, opting to pull Sarah into her arms instead, squeezing her tightly.

“I missed you so much,” she mumbles into the soft strands of her hair. 

“It’s been like ten minutes,” she laughs, hugging her closer nonetheless. 

“Ten minutes too long,” she argues, unwilling to let go. 

“Okay, I love you too, but you’re really drunk and I think we should go home,” Sarah runs her fingers through her hair and the action is so comforting she’d agree to anything that came out of her mouth. 

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

“But there’s no space for me to sit,” a faint pout dusts over her lips as she looks around the crammed space of Topper’s car and then to her brother, comfortably sprawled out on the backseat. They would’ve taken Rafe’s truck but he’d somehow managed to lose his keys at the party, and he’s far too wasted to focus on the road anyway. 

“S’fine, you can sit right here,” he says, big hands pawing at her hips, tugging her down onto his lap without so much as a warning. 

“Ray,” she squeaks out when the warm palm of his hand slips under her shirt next—splaying over the expanse of her stomach as if they’re the only people here. 

“What?” he mumbles against the skin of her neck. “Scared they’re gonna find out about the shit you let me do to you?” 

“Rafe, you’re drunk.” 

“And you’re soft,” he groans, wet mouth grazing her collarbone with every word. 

She attempts to stand on her feet once more but the car is already moving under them, keeping her glued to her spot while Rafe adjusts his position. And then she feels it. The hard ridge in his pants. 

She lets out a shaky breath. 

“Rafe, m’serious…stop,” she whispers the last word, grabbing for his wrist when his mindless fingertips begin toying with the damp fabric of her bikini top. It makes her tense, quickly looking around the crowded space of the car. However, by some miracle everyone else seems to be either too wasted or too into their loud conversations to pay any mind to what Rafe is doing. 

“It was supposed to be just you ‘n me today,” his voice is muffled against the skin of her neck. 

“Huh?” 

“Was looking forward to it and you jus’ had to bring Sarah and ruin it,” his tone is accusatory, frustrated. He sounds almost upset. 

Her inhale is wobbly when she feels the flat of his tongue on the side of her neck, leaving a wet trail that he follows with his lips.  

“M’sorry,” her soft whisper is breathy, and she doesn’t even realize she’s tilted her head towards him before her hazy gaze zeroes in on his eyes when he licks her neck again. And it feels so good she thinks she might melt. No. It feels wrong. 

“You taste like salt water,” the corners of his mouth tug up and in her drunken state, brain all fuzzy and gooey, she can’t help but smile back; her hesitation evaporating like cotton candy into water. 

“Yeah?” 

He hums against her shoulder, the low noise getting swallowed up by the chatter around them. 

Momentarily, she wonders where Sarah disappeared to, but then she sees her on the passenger seat, making out with John B. She’s moaning against his mouth with her eyes closed, hands in his hair and chest pressed up against him. And momentarily, she’s caught in a trance, stuck staring at her sister grinding on her boyfriend; movements clumsy from the alcohol and hair knotted from the water. 

Huh. She wonders what it would feel like to make out with Rafe—wonders what it would feel like to make out with Rafe while Sarah watches. 

Fuck. What’s wrong with her?

Her mind is buzzing, whirring with disgusting thoughts she can’t seem to shake off, and the ache between her thighs only seems to be growing, at this point it’s almost unbearable. She doesn’t even realize she’s been rubbing herself against Rafe—inadvertently mimicking Sarah’s movements—until his fingers are digging into her hips in a warning, halting her movements. 

“Gonna cum in my pants if you keep doin’ that,” he murmurs.

But without the friction there’s only the uncomfortable throbbing and she lets out a whine because she wants it to stop. 

“Shit, you that horny?” 

She nods against his shoulder, somewhere along the way having leaned back and rested her heavy head against him. She’s so out of it she doesn’t seem to notice when he fumbles with the button of her shorts; eyes fluttering shut because it’s the only way the harsh pounding in her brain feels better.

It’s why she doesn’t register that his hand is in her bikini bottoms before she feels it—his middle and forefinger rubbing her, the wetness there making them slide against the spot that throbs.

Somewhere in the very back of her mind alarm bells go off, but his big fingers and the pressure that keeps building with every passing second makes it impossible to concentrate on anything else. 

Her hips begin to move up and down against his hand while mindlessly chasing the release she can already feel building after all the time she’s already spent humping him through their clothes. 

“You know how easy it’d be to stuff you full of my dick right now?” Rafe grunts, her movements making her butt rub against him. 

And that’s all it takes. Her entire body tenses as he tugs, tugs, tugs until she snaps, limbs weightless as she trembles against his chest, skin vibrating and everything disappearing around her. For a moment, there’s nothing but overwhelming pleasure, nothing but overpowering electricity. 

And then she hears a gravelly moan behind her and clumsy hands drag her closer, pulling her down firmer against his dick before he stills, shaking underneath her weight and whimpering against her shoulder, biting down on the skin there without even realizing he’s doing it.  

And then suddenly, her mind clears, all the grime and dirt clogging it flushing out and leaving behind something else. Something that feels an awful lot like guilt. Shame. Embarrassment.

The fuzzy haze she was lost in mere moments ago vanishes into thin air and just like that, she can think clearly again.

And there’s no need for words, no need to open their mouths to talk about something neither of them want to when his hand finds the back of her head—softly tugging at her roots to make her look up at him. And for a moment, he simply stares into her blurry eyes with something akin to concern, which never fails to confuse her because it’s rare Rafe feels that way towards anyone but himself. 

However, she doesn’t question it too much when his thumbs swipe over the delicate skin under her eyes, catching the salty beads before stroking the now wet pads over her cheeks. And she can’t help but lean into his touch, a faint hum leaving her throat when his fingers trail lower; thumbing over her lips absentmindedly before grazing over the bottom one. 

“Ray…” her complaint is muted when he lets the pad of his thumb push past the seam of her mouth and rest on her tongue. It feels wet and warm and it makes him smile.

“What?” he questions with a low drawl, eyes fixed on the view of his digit disappearing past her lips. And when she doesn’t showcase any further resistance, he begins to rub lazy circles over the flat of her tongue, dragging another whine from the back of her throat because she’s not a dumb baby and she does not need to suck on her brother’s thumb like a fucking pacifier in order to feel better.