rafe cameron enthusiast

How you and Clark Kent came to be was a total mystery. The city knew Superman as your greatest obstacle. You knew him as the man who woke up early to make you pancakes every Sunday.

He was inherently good, his eyes sparkled with magic, and his mission on Earth was to save the world. Or at least, a warped version of his message from his parents. When he wasn’t working at Daily Planet, he found himself flying through Metropolis, saving it from its biggest threats. Lex Luthor, damage, fires, and keeping the streets safe. He also kept criminals, like you, at bay.

You were a classic crook, not much fancy equipment, but you could do anything with a will and a computer. Disarming alarm systems was your strength. No one could trace it back to you with your efficiency. Lex Luthor admired it, and you jumped at the chance for him to intern with you. You committed crimes while also being his shiny toy; you got all the plans, and he gave you the materials to do so. You wanted more for the world, not to be ruled, getting inside like this was your biggest accomplishment yet. 

Was Clark disappointed? Absolutely. Every time his super hearing picked up the familiar chime of an alarm tied to your jobs, he’d quickly pull his cape on with a sigh. He hoped—just hoped—that tonight would be the last scandal, the last lie, and you’d listen when he asked you to stop. He was always the one first on scene to stop you. He’d caught you plenty of times but never tossed you in jail. Instead, he’d fly you home, sit you on the couch with some team, and spend an hour trying to convince you that you didn’t have to keep doing this. He had a soft spot for you, considering you were his girlfriend.

You were high up in the Daily Planet, on level with Perry. You decided what got posted, what got fixed, and edited. It was a big job. It also allowed you to mediate where the public eye’s attention went, keeping it away from Luthor’s scandals. 

Clark hated what you were doing. He hated every break-in, every stolen file, every lie you told that put you on the brink of getting caught. But he never hated you. He saw the ambition and kindness tucked underneath it all, and no matter how many heists or plans you made, he believed you could choose differently—not for him, but for yourself. Your help could make Luthor rise and spread evil. But he knew your intentions weren’t evil, not even a little. Lex pointed you toward his competitors and happily tore through their firewalls. Breaking them down and destroying their covers inch by inch by stealing their data and getting mass amounts of money to keep it under wraps. And on the side, you were able to bring home evidence and proof for Superman and the Justice League that justified them. Painted them as good guys. 

Though on the side, you had a terrible habit of helping yourself to expensive souvenirs along the way.

You were only human.

Clark came home from work in his suit, which meant he had finished Daily Planet work. He had been so busy lately, not coming home until late at night from the chaos of Metropolis. You missed him a lot—especially his dick. He hadn’t fucked you right in two weeks now, just some touching that was cut off by your desperate need for sleep. You didn’t have super stamina and needed sleep, unlike him.

Tonight, you sprawled out on the couch in a pretty set you bought for him. Dark green lace that accentuated the curves of your body, made your breasts look more desirable, if at all possible. On your neck sat a pretty necklace from a museum. You planned to return it, but why not have a little fun with it while it was in your possession? His breath caught at the sight in front of him. You looked good enough to eat.

“Hello to you too,” Clark said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, setting his briefcase down. His curls were a little messed up; he must’ve just finished some Superman duties. His hair always got like that after flying, the wind molding it against his wishes. “Hi, baby…” You drawled out, the lust in your tone hard to ignore. It sounded like you were going to eat him instead. “Where’d you get that necklace?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, getting his shoes off, and taking off his suit jacket. That left his muscles to be observed and gazed at. “Just borrowing it from down the road,” you said, sitting up. Your hair cascaded down your back, and your eyes were pinned on him. 

Clark swallowed hard, slowly stepping into the living room. “Down the road? You stole it?” It was a rhetorical question; he knew the answer already. He shook his head, his hand moving out to touch the material of your lingerie. “I’m gonna give it back, promise. I just wanted to look good for you tonight, it’s been two weeks, you know,” You said, eating up how he looked down at you. He made anyone look small next to him, his towering frame was charming, and you were oh-so happy to have it all to yourself. 

You batted your eyes at him, watching him shrug. “Maybe you don’t deserve it, you haven’t been a very good girl. And this necklace is very expensive to just be ‘borrowing’,” he taunted, his fingers traced it curiously,y and you giggled a little. “You need it too, I saw you trying to hide your morning wood today,” you said, your hands casually travelling down to his hands, loosening his belt. He pushed your hands off, making you pout. “Oh, no, you don’t. Not until you decide you’ll be good. You’ll give up all the scandals,” Clark said, kneeling and grabbing your hips. 

You gave him a suspicious look, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, Superman. That won’t work on me.” Before you knew it, he was dragging you by the hips, bringing your hips to the edge of the couch. “Really? Do you need some more convincing?” he asked, his voice deep, condescending. You rarely saw him like this, he was needy and on the bottom seventy percent of the time. Of course, you liked it that way. “Yes, Clark. I do.” Your whiny tone made him smirk. This was going to be fun. He had no plans on being nice tonight. Clark hadn’t used sex before to sway you, but he was trying it now.

He was tugging your laced panties down as he kissed down your legs, the soft skin of your calves, your thighs, then right in the stretch marks between your legs. You were soaked, and he had smelt it when he walked in and tried to ignore it as best he could. Your aroused scent was so prominent compared to your other pheromones, making it hard to focus sometimes, especially when you got like that in the office. Clark was presented with your puffy pussy, like it had been played with already. He looked up at you, suspicious, before looking back down. “I couldn’t wait…” You admitted quietly. He scowled, shaking his head.

“Terrible,” he grumbled, diving in. He was making out with your clit by now, the wet noises of him sucking and squeezing sensations out of you. He watched your hole squeeze around nothing, and he laughed. “You need me there, too?” Clark asked, and watched you nod desperately. “I do… Please!” you begged, his touch so nice. His fingers dug deeper into the fat of your hips, sucking harder on your bundle of nerves instead of your needy hole. Your legs started to tremble, and your whines were near pornographic as you pleaded for him to do more. He dipped 2 fingers in, the slick collecting on his fingers. 

He felt the gummy walls, absorbing his fingers greedily like a lifeline. He made a small groan, the smell making his head cloudy. Clark felt you clench and heard the moans increase in need, he knew this meant you were close. He pulled his fingers and tongue away, you whined at the loss of contact. “Oh, Clark. I was so close,” you whispered, your eyes hazy and distant. “Mm, too bad. You shouldn’t have played with yourself, or taken this necklace, or worked for Lexcorp…” he mumbled, unbuttoning his shirt. You looked up at him, eyes sad and sweet. “That’s not gonna work on my honey, you’re okay,” he cooed, tossing his shirt, revealing his hard, muscled stomach and his big biceps. A small whine at how pretty he was escaped your mouth. 

Even in the moment of raw need, you couldn’t help but admire him. Your boyfriend, who saved the world, was everyone’s mad at tomorrow, but he was all yours otherwise. You got his muscles all to yourself, his sweet talking, his affection, and all of his inches to yourself. “So handsome…” You said, your hands going out to touch. He gave a small smile, looking down, and his shoulders rolling as a low chuckle left his lips. Suddenly, Superman didn’t seem so sweet and innocent. “We’re only getting started, and you’re drooling,” he mumbles, wiping the corner of your mouth, ridding it of the spit that had bubbled up there. “I need you, that’s why.” That plea didn’t work, Clark just shook his head. Using his strength to lay you back down. 

The unzipping of his zipper fills the room. In one quick tug, he had both his pants and boxers down. Your breath hitches at the sight in front of you. It was still a shock every time to see his pretty cock spring out, hanging in front of you. He was the most alien in his length, you hadn’t seen anything like it—thick and longer than imaginable, it hit every spot at once and stretched you no matter how many times you took it. He was hard now, his tip starting to leak, and you could tell he was struggling to hold back. “Yeah? You can’t even stand looking at it?” he asked, teasing, climbing over you. 

You gasped when he leaned forward, grabbing your hands and using one hand to hold them together, keeping them pinned above your head. He looked at the lacy bra still covering you, his hands went to the middle, and he tugged. The fabric ripped in half, allowing your breasts to spill out. “Clark!” you yelled, squirming under him. “Maybe I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, ripping the straps with no effort and throwing it somewhere into the apartment, completely shredded into ribbons. Without warning, he used his free hand to guide his cock into your pussy, slowly pushing in, making your back arch. “Oh, baby… quit squeezing me, 's so tight,” his farm boy drawl spilling out as sweat gathers on his brow and his breath grows heavy and desperate. You wiggle your hips, hoping to get him deeper inside you. This earned a smack on the hip, nothing too harsh, but attention-grabbing. “Be good,” he scolded, pushing in to the hilt in one thrust. 

Clark let out a groan that made your skin ignite. It was so animalistic and unlike him, and you had never been more turned on. “Clark, please, I’ll be good! I promise! Don’t stop moving,” you begged, gasps leaving your lips as he pumped his hips. Just as you reach your climax he stops moving, dipping down to press kisses between the valley of your breast. “Tell me that you’re gonna quit working with Lex, come work with the Justice League instead.” his voice was raspy and desperate. You shook your head, “No… I like what I do, you know that.” 

He pulled out, leaving you clenching around nothing, and a whine of disappointment slipped from your lips. “I’m sorry!” you yell. Clark doesn’t let up, he starts to kiss each tit, taking one nipple into his mouth and the other into his large hand, grabbing and kneading harshly. You can feel him leaking against your leg. Only then does he push back inside you again. Pounding in, pushing down on your stomach to see the bulge of his massive bulge in your stomach. Now that he had let go of your hands, they dug into the skin of his back, scratching down his tough Kryptonian skin and not even leaving a mark. 

Clark brought you to your climax 3 more times, pulling out each time, sucking on your pussy or your breasts in between, before going back, hoping you’ll listen. He was punishing you at excruciating rates that you didn’t know he had in him. You had marks on your hips from his strong hold, and your body was sore from the pressure of him, but the deep hole in your gut with the need to come overpowered all those feelings. Your eyes were half-lidded, and tears ran down your cheeks, half-coherent words spilled from your mouth, and his favorite—your puffy pussy was dripping and clenching around nothing, begging for attention, to release. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time, baby. Quit all the scandals and work with me, and you can come all over my dick just like you’ve been waiting for. If not, you won’t get to for two more weeks. So what is it?” Clark asked, his length resting in your belly; you could see it pulsing. You knew if you said no, he’d bully into your tight warmth and pull out to come on your stomach before you get a chance to. You couldn’t go two more weeks without an orgasm from him. You sobbed now, needing this more than you’ve ever needed anything. “I promise! Kal-El, please!” you whimpered. He looked at you, surprised, never having heard something that desperate and pathetic in his life. He twitched more on your stomach at how needy it was. 

Shortly, he grabbed you by the hips, flipping you onto your knees. “Okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of it,” he reassured, pushing into you slowly. Clark heard your breath sputtering from your crying and need. The stretch felt so good, and he needed it. Soon, the only sound in the room was the sound of your skin slapping against each other. The loud squelching of your tight pussy was driving him crazy. Now that he had bullied you into submission, he was all sweet-talking. “You’re taking me so good, baby. I‘m sorry I was so mean to you… You like me taking you from behind like this?” You only gave incoherent responses and squeaks of pleasure. 

His grinding was relentless, his hand snaking under your stomach and down between your legs. Your release came crashing over you with no control. “I’m com—“ your eyes rolled back, and he pumped in and out, rubbing your clit and fucking you through your orgasm. “Such a good girl, yeah, you took it so good.” You whined and collapsed, your face landing into the cushions. Clark was close to. “Where do you want it?” he asked, lifting you, so you weren't muffled. “My stomach…” You croaked out weakly.

When he pulled out, you rolled over, your bare body on display for him. You watched him jerk himself off until eventually spilling his load all over your stomach, some even reaching your breasts. He always made sure you came first, even if you’ve been bad. “Thank you… Oh, thank you so much,” he rasped out, collapsing on top of you after all the denials and holding himself back. 

“Was I too rough?” he asked, and you shook your head no, though his denying around five orgasms had been pretty fucked up. And he got his way in the end. Clark traced the necklace on your neck, slowly unclipping it and setting it on the coffee table. He scooped you up, your legs too shaky to do anything. He set you on the bathroom counter, where you slumped back against the wall, watching him start the bath, making it perfect for you. Then grab a rag and wipe down your stomach from his leftover release. “You’re never this quiet. Maybe I should edge you more often,” he said, grinning ear to ear, before scooping you up and setting you in the bath, where he climbed in behind you.

You scowled at him, leaning back into his chest. “Rude, Kal-El. Very rude.” He laughed, rubbing your hair with his hands. “Sorry, sorry…”

The rest of the night was spent on you; he pampered you and then cuddled you, massaging your aching legs that he had caused you. It didn’t take long to fall asleep, that had been the most intense moment of your life. 

You did give up Lexcorp, helping the Justice League from the side, now that you knew Lex’s technology better than anyone. Green Lantern and Mr. Terrific were arguing over a good name for you, and still hadn’t found one that stuck yet.

“feel a little bit better?” rafe cooed, his lips ghosting along the tip of your nose. shuddering, your legs twitched at a certain stroke of his fingers, the stinging stretch now turning into a dull ache as rafe continued filling you to the hilt. you hummed softly, your vision growing fuzzy as rafe left wet kisses in the curve of your neck, his teeth skimming your flesh ever so slightly. “promise’ m’gonna get you stretched out realll good, baby. you’ll be my pretty little cock hungry slut in no time.” you whined at the lewdness of his words, your walls squeezing tight around him as you felt the coil in your tummy growing taut.

“rafe..” you breathed out, your chest rising and falling sporadically. “you feel like you’re gonna cum, princess?” he rubbed your sensitive nub even faster, a choked sob emitting from your throat as you took hold of his shoulders, the last inch of his length forcing itself into you just as you felt the blinding pleasure of your first orgasm wrack through your body. rafe cursed under his breath as you writhed and shook in his hold, your pussy clamping him in place with a tightness he’d never felt before. “oh, my fucking god—” rafe groaned, his free hand splaying out across your tummy before pushing down, your eyes screwing shut as rafe pulled out abruptly.

without warning, a warm stream gushed from between your legs, a suprised cry falling from your lips as both you and rafe looked down at the mess. “you’re so sensitive, holy shit,” rafe laughed, “i haven’t even fucked you yet, and you already squirted?” your cheeks heated in embarrassment as the man above you stared between your legs in awe. “don’t laugh—!” you were cut off by rafe’s fingers finding your clit again, his eyes turning dark before he took your wrists and pinned them to your chest. unable to resist, you nearly screamed when he slammed into you, his hips meeting your own as he bottomed out in one full thrust.

“give me another one, baby, i know you got it in you.” you took your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows knitting together as heat coursed through your limbs, rafe’s relentless pounding to your cunt rendering you the inability to think. “you look so pretty when you’re fucked out,” rafe spoke against your skin, “just’ makes me wanna fuck you stupid so i can see this face.” he thumbed your chin, forcing you to face him. “i knew you’d take my cock so good, babygirl, ‘think you can take my cum too?” you mewled, the sound of his skin meeting yours echoing out in the space of your room.

he laughed, nodding his head in faux agreement. “yeah, you want it?” you managed to gasp a ‘please!’ before rafe shushed you, his hand clasping over your mouth. “ah, fuckkk— i’m gonna give it to you, ‘gonna breed this pussy until you’re dripping and pregnant with my baby.” rafe didn’t think he could be anymore turned on than he already was, but seeing how willing you were to be filled with his seed made him thrust faster, both of you melting into one another as he held you in his large arms. the words coming out of rafe’s lips had you crying pathetically against his chest, any kind of discomfort you once felt now replaced with searing pleasure.

you were well off into your second orgasm when rafe’s hips began stuttering, his fingers hooking into the roots of your hair as he panted, his jaw falling slack while you attempted to weakly push at his chest. “c-can’t take anymore!” you shrieked, your cunt spasming harshly around his length. rafe ignored your cries, his hands forcing your thighs open as he twitched and emptied himself inside of you, your nails raking down his stomach at the overstimulation on your poor pussy. “of course you can take it, you were fucking made for this.” rafe said through gritted teeth, his abs constricting from the immense pressure relieving itself from his core.

rafe waited until you were knocked out dumb before pulling out, a hiss leaving your lips at the loss of contact. backing away, rafe laid down on his stomach to be head-level with your sopping wet cunt. you watched as he spread your folds open with his thumbs, not a single drop of cum in sight. “i think we might’ve made it stick, princess, i can’t see a thing.” you swallowed thickly at the revelation, your eyes blinking sleepily as rafe made his way back up your body, both of you settling in beside one another. “sorry you did all the work..” you pouted, resting your head on his bicep.

Which is fine. It’s so fine, actually, that her jaw aches from how casually fine she’s being about it.

They aren’t dating. They aren’t anything with a name, because Rafe Cameron treats labels like subpoenas and feelings like something you can outdrink if you start early enough. 

He shows up at her dorm after midnight and kisses her like he’s been starving in secret. He steals the hoodie off her chair and then leaves it in his room so she has to come get it. He texts you up? like that’s not the laziest, most bullshit mating call ever invented by a man with generational wealth and unresolved father issues.

So, really, if Matt from her psych lecture is standing close enough that his shoulder brushes hers every time someone squeezes past them, and if he keeps smiling at her like he’s pleasantly surprised to find her funny, and if she maybe smiles back a little longer than strictly necessary, that seems like a very reasonable use of her evening.

Matt is nice. Actually nice. He remembers her presentation topic from last week. He asks questions like he’s listening to the answers. He has a dimple on one side and no visible fraternity affiliation, which, after a semester of Rafe Cameron, feels actually refreshing.

“I didn’t think this was your scene,” Matt says, leaning in a little so she can hear him over the music.

She lifts her cup and glances around at the living room, where one of Rafe’s frat brothers is currently trying to tape another one to a support beam. “It’s not,” she says. “I’m here under mysterious circumstances.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Probably.”

He grins, and she lets herself like it. Lets the small, clean pleasure of being looked at by someone who doesn’t already know exactly what sound she makes when his hand is around her throat slide over her skin without guilt. 

Rafe’s still across the room. Rafe’s still laughing at something white-top says with his head tipped back, hat backwards, completely unbothered by the emotional consequences of his own cowardice. 

So she tilts her head and asks Matt about the midterm because flirting is most effective when disguised as academic concern.

He’s halfway through saying something about their professor being allergic to clear grading criteria when the music cuts. The whole house lurches around the silence. Someone boos. Someone else yells, “What the fuck?” 

Then, from somewhere near the DJ table, Rafe’s voice booms through the living room, rough and drunk and unmistakably pleased with its own authority. “If you’re not a brother or fucking a brother, get the fuck outta my house!”

For one perfect second, nobody moves, then the room erupts.

Groans, laughter, outrage, girls grabbing purses, boys making offended noises. Somebody throws a ping pong ball at Rafe’s head and misses by a mile. The music stays off, which makes the clearing-out feel even more ridiculous, like a fucking fire drill.

Matt blinks, then looks at her with an expression caught between amused and mildly alarmed. “Damn,” he says. “Guess I gotta go.”

Something hot and stupid turns low in her stomach, which is humiliating because she’s not supposed to reward this behaviour internally. 

“Yeah,” she says, still staring past him toward where Rafe’s now arguing with someone by the speakers. “Um. Guess so.”

Matt smiles, a little rueful. “See you in class?”

“Yeah. See you.”

He gives her one last look, maybe checking whether she wants him to linger, maybe simply decent enough not to push his luck in a house currently under frat martial law. Then he goes with the rest of them, swallowed by the stream of people heading for the front door.

She turns to find her friends, because she’s also, technically, not a brother, and because letting Rafe Cameron herd her like campus livestock feels like a dangerous precedent even if her body has already started doing several deeply undignified things about the sound of his voice.

She gets exactly two steps before an arm hooks around her waist from behind. Rafe hits her back warm and solid, all beer and cologne and that familiar expensive laundry smell clinging under the party sweat. His hand spreads over her stomach, broad and possessive, pulling her into him like he’s never in his life encountered the concept of public space. 

His mouth is already at her neck, damp and careless, pressing one kiss under her ear, then another lower, sloppy enough that she knows he’s been drinking but not sloppy enough that he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

“Where’re you goin’?” he murmurs.

Her eyes flutter for half a second before she catches herself and hates them both for it. “Home, Rafe. You kicked everyone out.”

“Not everyone.”

“You made a house-wide announcement.”

“Mhm.” His nose drags along the side of her neck, and she feels his smile there before she hears it. “Rules were pretty clear.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, refusing the smile trying to get loose. “I’m not a brother.”

“No,” he says, like she’s said something adorable and academically beneath him. His hand tightens at her waist. “You’re fuckin’ one.”

Heat goes up her throat so fast it nearly becomes anger out of self-defence. “Am I?”

He hums, low and pleased, mouth moving under her jaw now. “You’re fuckin’ me.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Yeah.” His other hand finds her hip, turning her a little, not enough to face him fully, just enough that his body can settle around hers with more intention. “Real convenient.”

She should elbow him. Probably. At minimum, she should remind him that boys who spend half the night flirting with girls in white tops don’t get to conduct population control based on who has recently seen them naked. 

Instead, she lets her head tip back the smallest amount against his shoulder, because her body is a traitor and because his fingers have slipped under the hem of her top, warm against bare skin.

“You’re insane,” she says.

Rafe kisses just below her ear, soft this time, almost careful by accident. “You can stay.”

“Oh,” she says, breath catching around the little smile she still won’t give him. “Can I?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How generous.”

His laugh is quiet against her throat. “Don’t be bratty.”

“You love when I’m bratty.”

His hand flexes on her stomach. For a second, under the thinning noise of people leaving and the sticky ruined floor and the house settling around them, he goes still in the exact way that means she’s landed too close to something true.

Then his mouth brushes her ear, voice lower now, rougher. “I do,” he says. 

It shouldn’t feel like winning. It absolutely does. She turns in his arms finally, slow enough to make him wait for it, and finds him looking down at her from under that stupid backwards hat, eyes a little glassy from beer and jealousy and whatever other self-inflicted problem lives inside him tonight. His mouth is curved like he’s amused, except the hand at her waist is too tight for casual.

“You kicked out the whole party because I was talking to a guy from class,” she says.

Rafe’s jaw shifts. “Party was over.”

“It was not.”

“It is now.”

She stares at him. He stares back, shameless and handsome and impossible, and the worst part is that he looks almost pleased to be caught.

“You’re not my boyfriend,” she says, because somebody should say it.

Something moves through his face, quick and ugly and gone before it can become useful. Then he leans in, brushing his mouth over the corner of hers. “Never said I was.”

“No,” she says, and her fingers curl lightly in the front of his shirt despite herself. “You really, really haven’t.”

His eyes drop to her hand, then back to her mouth. The house keeps emptying behind them. Somewhere near the stairs, a pledge yells that someone stole his vape. Rafe doesn’t look away from her.

“Stay anyway,” he says.

It comes out too low to be a command. Too rough to be nothing. And because she’s stupid, and twenty, and wearing lip gloss she knows he likes, and because Matt from psych never really stood a chance once Rafe’s mouth found her neck, she lets the smile happen at last.

“Fine,” she says. “But I’m sleeping in your bed. And borrowing your comfy sweats.”

His grin is immediate, bright and awful. “Yeah, baby,” he says, already walking her backward through the mess of his own party. “That was kind of the point.”

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“stealing my js, huh?” he chuckles, wordlessly pulling the blunt back between his own lips. one hand rests behind his head, biceps thickening, while the other dips under your oversized tee, fingers digging into your side to keep your ministrations steady. “y’r lucky you’re cute.” the dealer endearingly flicks your nose, crooked grin plastered on his face.

you whimper shakily as rafe’s cock nudges that snug, sensitive spot inside. “jus’ want something in my mouth—” you confess wobbly, hands already reaching over to snag the blunt from rafe’s lips. pride be damned, the weed taking its toll on you. the man beneath you swallows at your honesty. “yeah?” he taunts, middle and pointer finger hovering in front of your lips as a silent hint. “sweet girl just wants something in her mouth?”

without thinking, you close your lips around the two digits, teeth scraping over rafe’s family ring. the sharp sensation of your ribbed teeth on his skin overpowers him, the stutter of his thighs vibrating through your cunt. thick smoke billows around you, the bitter smell of the weed swirling in the air.

you whimper lightly at the sensitivity of your mind, the feeling of rafe filling you perfectly to the brim. “such a nasty girl, taking what i’m givin’ you.” he mutters, voice a tad bit slurry, but his eyes are twinkling in wonder. your big doe eyes flutter dramatically at him, tongue swirling around rafe’s thick knuckles.

both of you are lost in the clouds of pleasure. rafe’s sprawled on the bed like a fucking king, just watching you putting in all the work while he puffs out grey smoke once in a while. you’re gone, only chasing the pleasure that seems to be within reach now, whines and whimpers mingling together. you feel so stuffed, feeling the twitch of his cock in you every time you breathe in.

rafe grunts at your sloppy ministrations. “look at you sweetheart. nothing going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?” he practically grits out. your pussy clenches around him at his tone of voice, his fingers still heavy on your tongue. rafe takes another drag, blowing the smoke in your face like a miserable taunt.

“just— lemme see ya, baby. thaaaat’s it, fuck, just—” he continues to babble as you pick up your pace, low eyes zeroed in on the tacky white ring around his shaft. “gonna get’cha so used to me, moulded to my shape. swear you’re never gettin’ another dealer ever again.”

but of course, the heart wants what it wants, and you both found yourselves getting particularly attached to each other. but after that night, the realization hit you both at the same time—you liked each other. you needed each other. more than just occasional quickies. you needed something real, meaningful.

things had been awkward since. you hadn’t hooked up. hadn’t had any rushed makeout sessions in that one janitor's closet that oddly always smelled like mustard in the back of the club. nothing. just clipped greetings in passing, stiff nods, weird glances. 

scott didn’t know if he was inadvertently avoiding you, or if you were inadvertently avoiding him. neither did you. but you did know that you didn’t like this feeling. you’d missed him so much. but still, you never found the strength to just talk to him.

then came tonight, which truly couldn’t have gone worse for you.

while you were getting ready at home, you’d spilled your foundation all over the place, which got all over your clothes and your desk. it took obnoxiously long to clean everything up, find a change of clothes, and keep going with your makeup with only the little bit of foundation you’d managed to save. you were debating on calling out sick, but that meant calling scott. and you really didn’t want to talk to scott right now.

so, you’d shown up particularly late, rushing to the dressing room to quickly freshen up, and then head out to work the floor first since all the poles were taken. 

it was a particularly busy night, which usually would’ve gone well for someone who was so skilled at working the floor and draining pockets like yourself, but for some reason tonight was the night that every single girl came in. not a single one not working.

that made it hard for you to get anything done. just one stupid lap dance, one set on the pole, and then your shift was over, barely any tips made thanks to the oversaturation of girls. scott, of course, was watching the entire time. most of the time he spent in his office, he spent staring into the security cameras, and he just couldn’t help but stare at you. keeping you safe. ready to step in and kick some perv out if needed.

once your shift was over, you were quick to get changed, scrub your makeup off, and head home, but your ride—another stripper, mandy—was working overtime and wasn’t leaving for another two hours. coincidentally, scott was leaving at the same time as the other manager came in for his shift. 

you weighed out your options. 

one: wait another two hours for mandy to finish. it was already three in the morning, your phone was about to die, you forgot your charger at home, and you were hungry. not an option. 

two: pay for an uber. in this busy part of town to get where you lived, it would’ve been a hefty price, one you really didn’t want to pay. but if you really had to, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

three: walk. nope. too dangerous. you lived miles out. you couldn’t walk all that, alone, in slides, at this time.

four: just ask scott for a ride. he’d do it in a heartbeat, get you some food, let you use his charger, not make you pay him anything, and maybe you’d end the night with some dick.

well, that’s how it would usually go. now, there were feelings involved—gross. feelings you didn’t want to confront. feelings scott didn’t want to confront. then again, though, you were an adult. scott was an adult. surely, he wouldn’t act like a stuttering, awkward teenage boy if you asked him for a ride after you gave him a blowjob so good it made him want to marry you despite insisting you keep things casual…right?

your feet moved before your mind even registered it, bringing you right to his office. knocking on the door, scott immediately looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat at the sight of you.

“hey,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants as he turned in his chair to face you. “i’m just uh.. finishing up real quick, i’m on my way out so.. whatever you want, make it quick.”

you bit back a scoff at that. make it quick. it was almost funny, how hard he was trying to make it seem like he didn’t care, and how hard he was failing. you wanted to make a snarky comment, call his bluff, tease him, but you didn’t. distance and all that. you just got right to the point.

“i need a ride home. mandy’s not getting out for another two hours and i can’t wait.”

scott hesitated. never in the countless times that you asked him for a ride has he ever hesitated. 

“scott.”

“no, yeah, i heard you.”

“so?”

“uh… sure, yeah, no problem. here, go heat it up for me,” he sighed, reaching into his pocket and handing you the keys to his truck, not making eye contact with you.

you didn’t say anything else, just headed out to that pristine white truck that scott drove, parked out back.

he didn’t take long to come out and settle into the driver's seat. he didn’t say a word as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, driving the familiar route to your place. 

there was a tense silence in the truck for a good ten minutes, before scott spoke up. “you hungry?”

“no.”

as soon as you said it, your traitorous stomach grumbled. scott didn’t want to argue further, making his decision.

“i’m getting you something to eat.”

“i can feed myself, scott.”

“it’s four in the morning. the last time you tried cooking for yourself at this time, you fell asleep with the stove on and nearby burned your entire apartment building down. let me get you something on the way.”

you left it at that, not protesting further. the entire time, neither of you found it in you to look at each other, not even for a second of eye contact. 

he pulled into the drive-thru of the same 24-hour burger place he knew you loved so much, ordering your usual burger with a large fry and a milkshake of your choosing. he knew how much your work tired you out, it was the least he could do.

you ate in silence as he parked in the empty parking lot, only murmuring out a “thanks” when he handed it to you. scott tried to act like he was busy and not at all focused on you, scrolling through messages he’d already opened, pretending to text back, even scrolling through his weather app as if it were the most entertaining piece of media he could find.

the tension just got to a point where you couldn’t stand it anymore. through bites of your burger, you spoke up. “we should probably talk about it.” 

“about what?” scott said, clearing his throat.

“scott.”

a beat.

“what is there to talk about?” scott eventually sighed.

“are you fucking serious?”

“what?”

“you’ve been weird ever since that night! you haven’t called, you haven’t texted, haven’t offered me any rides home. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague!” you huff, setting your burger down and turning in the seat to face him properly.

“me? i’ve been weird? you’ve been the one avoiding me.”

“no, i haven’t!”

“yes, you have.”

“you’re such a fucking child, scott, jesus fucking christ.”

you sit in silence for a moment, turning back to stare out of the window and not at him.

“did i do something?” you finally whisper.

“what?”

“that night. did i do something wrong? we had sex and then you got all… weird. it was after that that you started avoiding me. did i like… use teeth or something? am i that bad at sucking dick that you cut me off?” you tried to make it sound humorous, lighten the mood, but scott didn’t laugh.

his fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his jaw clacked incessantly with the chewing of his gum. tense. awkward. annoying.

“no. you didn’t do anything wrong. you could never do anything wrong,” scott finally whispered, glancing at you though his peripheral. 

“then what was it?”

scott swallowed thickly. he was never a man to confront his feelings straight up. he was the type to just push, push, push them all the way down until they eventually dissipated. but he couldn’t do that anymore. not with you. he thought for a moment, not out of hesitance, just trying to find the right words.

“i don’t know, i just… i felt something that night. all this time, i told myself that i’m not a relationship kind of guy. i do stupid things like this, pushing someone that makes me feel good away. why? i don’t even know myself. maybe protection. protecting my feelings, protecting you from myself… i don’t know what exactly. i know that this entire time, i’ve been telling you that what we have is casual, no feelings… but you just do something to me, i can’t control it.”

scott stared straight ahead as he spoke. he couldn’t look at you. not yet. you just stared at your lap, soaking it all in, letting him get it all out. 

“i look at you, and i feel all buzzy inside. i can’t stop it as my brain begins to wander. i start thinking about you outside of just work, just hookups in my truck. envisioning a life with you. seeing something real with you. i guess it all just… crushed down on me that night. it scared me. not being able to detach myself emotionally. it was so overwhelming, but i guess that’s what love is, isn’t it? an overwhelming, unstoppable feeling.”

“are you saying you love me?” you softly chuckle, finally giving him a small smile as you look up at him. “take me out to dinner first, at least.”

that got a chuckle out of scott. a genuine chuckle that made his chest rumble and the tips of his ears go pink.

“maybe i am. the early stages of it, at least. i didn’t know what to do with that feeling. distance was just the easiest thing. but hey, you’re not exactly innocent either. you also went cold.”

“well, you can’t exactly blame me. you wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. i didn’t want to chase you if you weren’t willing. i didn’t want to waste my time.”

“i’m ready, though,” scott whispered, finally glancing over at you. “now. i want to be there for you. i want to be with you. i mean… if you want that, of course. do you? want that, i mean?”

scott swallowed thickly, hating how vulnerable and pathetic he sounded. the last thing he wanted was to pour his heart and soul out to you, just for you to say something along the lines of “thanks, but i only see you as a friend.”

your silence didn’t help the situation. but eventually, you spoke up.

“hr is gonna lose their shit…”

“is that a yes?” he sounded embarrassingly hopeful. but you found it cute.

you blushed at the idea. dating was hard for a stripper. a lot of jealousy, possessiveness, slut-shaming had made you sort of turn away from the idea of dating all together, which is what landed you in this so-called “casual” relationship with scott.

by now, your burger and fries sat cold, your milkshake all melted, but you paid it no mind. if anything, scott would just go buy you more. the gentleman he was.

and even if he weren’t technically your superior at work, he didn’t judge you for your work. he never pushed you to quit. never made any comments on your character. never got jealous, not really. he didn’t feel any competition with the middle aged, balding, beer belly regular named charles that had a wife and three kids at home who could only tip singles and had a fondness for you.

he trusted you. 

“this is gonna cause a lot of problems at work, scotty…”

“no one needs to know…”

“people are totally gonna notice. i think mandy and kitty already caught on to us fucking,” you chuckle softly, looking up at him with a small smile.

“well, if hr finds out, busts my ass, and fires me for it, it’d be worth it. there are plenty of other seasonal jobs. i don’t care. i just want you. if you’ll have me—”

you barely let him finish his sentence before cutting him off with a kiss. scott was quick to reciprocate, his hands closing around your waist and pulling you close to him. 

“i’ll take that as a yes, then?” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then down your jaw. never have you ever seen scott so soft. he was always rough with his kisses. all teeth and tongue. hands groping and tugging. but not now. not anymore.

“yes,” you breathed out, tilting his head up with your hand under his chin and pressing your lips to his again. you were both tempted to crawl into the backseat like you always did, but you wanted something special. something different. you weren’t just a casual hookup anymore, after all, he couldn’t treat you like one.

so, scott was quick to drive back to your place. he acted all chivalrous, throwing out your trash for you, holding doors open, helping you out of the truck, carrying your bag in one hand and holding your hand in the other. you could barely contain yourselves once you got alone, immediately dragging him to the bedroom. he’d only been in your apartment a handful of times, never thought much of it. but now, he took it all in—well, as much as he could as you rushed to take him to bed.

it was all so you. you had three bedrooms—one designated for yourself, another room totally designated for your cat which you treated like your daughter, and another room you had renovated with mirrors lining the wall and a pole installed to practice in. it was also so clean. it smelled like vanilla and a hint of pumpkin, your scent, the scent he admired so much, the scent he was even starting to dream about.

“come on, don’t get all distracted on me,” you chuckle as you notice scott's eyes wandering your room. you shut the door behind you, locking it—your cat had somehow found out how to open doors, you didn’t want to traumatize her—before turning back to scott. his focus was back on you entirely, his arms wrapping around your back and hoisting you up into the air as your lips smashed against his. he was gentle as he set you down on the bed. he was even gentler as he undressed you, kissing every inch of skin as he pulled your clothes down. it did a good job in getting you all worked up, because by the time he got to pulling your panties off, you were soaking wet.

“so pretty,” scott murmured, not even realizing it, as he leaned down and settled between your legs. he kissed around your thighs, warming you up, before sealing his lips around your clit. he moaned against your pussy, having missed the taste so much over these past three weeks. your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging and guiding his head. 

“yeah, scotty, like that,” you moaned out, clamping a hand over your mouth. the last thing you needed was a noise complaint from your neighbors at 4 in the morning. scott worked diligently on your pussy, having two fingers thrusting in and out of you so he could focus his mouth on your clit. he felt your thighs start to tighten and tremble around his head, and he pulled back before you could cum.

“you asshole, not fair,” you whine with a chuckle. “patience, baby,” scott whispered, a small smile on his face as he quickly undressed. he was rock hard by now, not bothering with a condom as he settled between your legs once again. your fingers wrapped around his shoulders, anchoring yourself as scott slowly pushed inside you, one hand on your stomach, the other on your waist. before you could moan too loud, he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours and swallowing your noises. he pushed in slowly, working you open and giving you a moment to adjust as he filled you up. your legs were tight around his back, keeping him as close as possible to you.

“come on, i can take it,” you whispered against his lips with a wide, genuine smile. that was all scott needed to hear. his forearms braced on either side of your head, his forehead pressed to yours and his eyes not leaving you for a single moment as he started to thrust in and out, nice and slow. he let out little grunts and puffs of air against your lips, using all his will and might to restrain himself from just fucking the shit out of you. but tonight wasn’t that kind of night. 

“you feel amazing, baby, so perfect, all for me,” he grunted, pressing his lips to your cheek as he picked up the pace a little bit.

“uh-huh, and you feel perfect for me, so big, filling me all the way up, hitting all the right spots–” you moan, your fingers trailing down to his biceps, your long, sharp stiletto nails digging into his skin.

scott trailed one hand down in between your legs, hitting your clit dead-on and rubbing nice, tight circles on it. his lips found yours once again, the both of you swallowing each other whole, groaning and moaning against each other. his dick was so thick, curved just right, rubbing against all the right spots in you, making you see stars. 

you were so tight around him, too, squeezing and pulsing around him in time with his thrusts. your bodies meshed perfectly together, truly as if you were made solely for each other. soon enough, you both came at the same time. you gushed around scott, getting the mess all over your thighs, his stomach, and the sheets below you, and he spilled deeply inside of you. you couldn’t even speak, just whine and moan against his lips, holding onto him like he would disappear if you let go.

the entire time, he softly spoke you through it—”i’m here,” “that’s it, let it all out, beautiful.” scott gradually slowed down until he fully stopped, waiting until he got the greenlight from you to pull out. once he did, he moved in a blur around your apartment—finding towels, cleaning you up, getting water, quickly changing your sheets and tossing the wet ones into the washer, before he settled in with you.

for a while, neither of you spoke. you just laid together, his chest to your back as you laid on your side, tucked against him. he assumed you fell asleep, his mind beginning to wander, but you broke him out of it as you spoke up. 

“i guess this means we’re boyfriend-girlfriend now.”

“i guess so…” scott turned his head to the side, his nose nudging your jaw as he placed his lips to your neck from behind. “let me take you out. all official and stuff. a nice dinner or something.”

“oh, how romantic,” you softly chuckle, turning your head and pecking his lips with yours. 

“you make me romantic,” he murmurs against your lips. 

“...i would like that,” you finally respond, smiling against his lips. “a nice dinner. tomorrow… or i guess, tonight,” you chuckle, glancing past scott and squinting at the analog clock on your bedside table, the red numbers screaming “4:57” at you.

“tonight, then. i’ll take you out tonight. you just get your rest now, yeah?” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to your lips before relaxing behind you. his nose was buried in your hair, breathing you in.

he felt something inside him settle. something he didn’t know was missing in his life, found in you. scott miller. changed from a fuckboy, able to fuck a girl and move onto the next, to a sappy, sentimental boyfriend. he wouldn’t have it any other way.

since then, it was a casual hookup thing. nothing too serious. at least, that’s what he’d tell you. but inside, the little leech had attached itself to his heart and not his dick anymore. he found himself craving exclusivity, affection, anything and everything that would shift your relationship from a simple fuck twice a week to actual boyfriend-girlfriend. but he would never tell you that. he wanted to keep his cool guy, not a single fuck to give facade up for as long as he could.

for now, he was satisfied with your… partnership. 

one night, he found himself hunched over his desk office at the club. it was late, 4am, with some straggling partiers and perverts left in the bar, only a few girls left up doing dances. 

scott’s eyes were glued to the computer screen, sluggishly making the schedule for next week. he was also going purposefully slow, because he knew you’d already finished your shift and you were getting ready to leave, and he wanted to still be there when you left.

and sure enough, he heard those telltale knocks at the door before he saw your head peeking through. you were ready to go—makeup off, dressed into a baggy t-shirt, a big hoodie, baggy sweats, slides, just ready for the night to be over. “hey, scotty. i need a favor,” you say in an artificially sweet coo.

“nope.”

“oh, come on, i haven’t even said what it is!”

“i learned my lesson from last time, your favors always end in disaster.”

“just listen!” you exasperatedly exclaim. “i need you to put me on schedule for wednesday. night shift, morning shift, i don’t care, i just need an extra shift.”

his brows immediately furrowed at that. scott knew your schedule like the back of his hand. you always had wednesday off, you’d told him you needed the day to rest and reset. plus, there was always this one creep that rolled in on wednesdays that always tried some pervy shit with you that you wanted to avoid at all costs.

“you always take wednesday off,” scott tentatively reminds.

“i know… but i need money, scotty, so might as well pick up an extra shift. that doesn’t hurt anybody,” you shrug.

“you need money for what?” scott, a bit defensively, asks. he hated the idea of you needing to work and dance for that creep just to make ends meet, and if he could help it, you wouldn’t need to.

“jesus, scott, what’s with the interrogation? we live in a capitalist world! you sorta need money to live!” you, partly sarcastically, exclaim, dramatically waving your hands around.

“you know that’s not what i meant,” scott huffs. “what’s got you money tight?”

“what, are you my accountant all of a sudden?”

“baby… come on,” scott sighs, his voice lowering into the soft and sultry tone that only you got to hear.

“whatever, my cat’s been sick and her medication is being paid for out of pocket and it’s totally wiping me out, and now i’m short on cash for rent. no big deal, i’ll be fine by next month, i just need a little extra for now.”

“how much?”

“what?”

“how much do you need for rent?” scott asks, his hand already snaking to his back pocket to reach for his wallet.

“scott.”

“babe.”

“scott, i'm not taking that. i’m a big girl, i can handle working an extra night with a sorta creepy customer who tips big,” you shrug.

“how. much?” 

you sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration before answering: “600 dollars.”

scott didn’t even react. he didn’t huff, he didn’t groan, he didn’t complain. he simply opened his wallet, pulled out 6 crisp hundred dollar bills, and slapped them onto your palm. “you know i don’t like seeing you with that client. big tipper or not. as manager… my priority is the safety of my girls,” he softly said, peeking out from behind your back to make sure no one was around before wrapping one big hand around your hip and tugging you closer.

“oh? that so?” you chuckle, your own hands coming up to comb over his hair. 

“you know i always take care of my girls,” he whispers, ducking his head to press his lips against your forearm.

“girls, plural? i thought what we had was special,” you softly, sarcastically, chuckle, nudging his head up with your knuckle under his chin.

he didn’t bother responding to that. despite the jest, you both knew what you had was different. even without having conversations about potential exclusivity, you already were. ever since you started seeing each other, even if it was a fuck or two a week, you both stopped fucking other people. you didn’t even do lap dances anymore, strictly pole work. you didn’t even consciously register the change, it just felt natural.

scott also cut off all the loose ends on his part. every random ex he’d fuck once in a blue moon? over. that one hot waitress he banged every now and again? cut off. it felt wrong. the former ladies man changed for you. and you weren’t even really dating, but it felt right.

“well, thank you. i actually need another favor. mandy was supposed to drive me home tonight but she left early, remember? so, now i’m stuck without a ride home… and i’m hungry…” you softly said, running a long, sharply manicured nail down the side of scott’s neck, eyes fixated on his throat as he swallowed thickly and his adam’s apple bobbed.

without a word, scott reached into his back pocket once again, pulling out the keys to his truck and handing it over to you. “wait for me outside, turn the truck on and warm it up. let me just finalize the schedule, make sure terry’s closing, and i’ll be right out,” he says, tugging you down by the shirt for a quick peck on the lips before sending you out with a smack on the ass.

a good 15 minutes passed before scott joined you in the truck. he felt all domestic like around you, even with the lack of labels—holding your hand as he drove, sneaking in kisses at red lights. maybe it was time to put a label on it.

scott made sure to pass by the local 24 hour burger place before dropping you off. he knew how strenuous the work was—pole dancing was truly harder than it looked. once you were all fed—and he paid for the food, duh—you soon found yourselves sitting in his parked truck, outside of your apartment building, without wanting to leave.

all you had to share a look and a simple “should we,” before you both slid into the backseat together. 

in an instant, scott was sat up against the backseats of the truck, with you perched comfortably on his lap, making out. his big hands were confident on your ass, squeezing and groping like it owned it. you had your hand down between his legs, rubbing him to get him hard, with the other very loosely wrapped around his throat.

“you always take such good care of me,” you whisper in between kisses, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth, before letting it go and kissing him even harder. “i wanna take care of you back.”

“you don’t need to do that,” scott counters as you lean down to kiss his neck. his hands trail up to your waist, back down to your hips, around your back, then right back to your ass, just shamelessly feeling you up. “it’s my pleasure to take care of you. it’s what you deserve. besides, you’ve been working so hard tonight. let me help you relax.”

with that, he swiftly shifted positions so that you were under him. he laid you down on the leather seats of his truck, before his hands went to your sweatpants, tugging them down and off, before he leaned back down to kiss you. your arms immediately wrapped themselves around his back, pulling him closer to you, your fingers tugging at the hairs at the nape of his neck.

he slowly kissed down your body with that. his lips found your jaw, your neck, your stomach, your thighs, until finding your pussy. “come on, scotty, i wanna get right to it,” you chuckle as he tugs your panties off and gives a tentative lick to your slit.

“baby, it’s gonna hurt if i don’t.”

“oh, please, you think i can’t take it? you think that lowly of me?”

scott really had planned on going nice and slow tonight. eating you out, making you cum a few times on his tongue before fucking you nice and slow—but how could he resist when you were pretty much begging for him to be rough?

“fine.”

“fine, what?” you tease, trying to provoke him.

“fine, this,” he huffs as he firmly grabs your hips and flips you over so you are flat on your front against the seats. he kept one hand on your lower back to keep you still, the other hand working on his belt and tugging it off. with the sound of his zipper then came the sound of him spitting, a few wet schlicks, and then the nice, warm feeling of the thick head of his cock pressing at your pussy.

“shit, scotty,” you moaned out, your hand flying back to smack his abs, fingers digging into his skin as he slowly pushed in. 

“i know, i know, baby, i’ve got you,” scott grunts, his fingers flexing around your hips as he settles in, before he begins to slowly push in, pull out, warming you up just a bit. he spits on his cock, watching, enamored, as he sees his thick head push the spit in and out, lubricating you.

once you were all warmed up, he was relentless. the truck shook as he pounded into you deep, the tip of his cock nudging and prodding at your cervix with each thrust. you couldn’t even speak. you felt like his dick punched your lungs with each thrust, forcing the breath out of you.

his thick, heavy balls only added to the sensation. every thrust, his balls swung and smacked against your pussy, making your thighs give little pathetic twitches.

“see, you’re a fucking natural, baby,” scott grunts, leaning down to press his chest flat against your back, his hand coming to roughly hold your jaw and tug your head up. his thumb circled over your lips, smearing your drool all over them before he pushed his tongue into your mouth. all the while, his hips never ceased their relentless pounding against your ass.

“scotty,” you whine again, his name seemingly being the only thing you could manage saying.

“shh, i’ve got you,” he huffs into your ear, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. his free hand slid beneath you, his thumb slowly rubbing at your clit. that, combined with scott's insistent pace, flipped you over the edge. with a cry muffled by scott’s hand over your mouth, your body jerked and you squirted all over his dick, his stomach, his thighs, and he just rubbed your clit through it, coaxing it all out.

“alright, there you go.. gimme just one more, okay?” scott whispered softly as the last of it came out of you, before he slowly pushed back in. “there you go, big stretch for me, that’s it,” he grunts, feeling your pussy spasming and twitching around him from the slight overstimulation.

“i’m almost there, baby, you’re doing such a good job for me, fuck,” scott grunted as both of his hands went to hold your waist, keeping you down as he shallowly thrust in and out, just enough to get him going. 

“yeah, i want it in me, give it to me, scotty,” you whimper softly, letting out a little hiss at the delicious drag of his cock. 

“oh, yeah?”

“yeah, i want your cum in me, give me your fucking babies,” you moan out, your confidence picking back up as you grind your hips back against his. since that was coming from you of all people, it was just enough to send him over the edge. he came for what felt like hours, entirely draining himself in you, and you ground your hips back against his, coaxing it all out like he did to you.

“sit back, lemme clean you up,” you whisper softly as you feel the last of it drip into you. scott simply grunts and nods at that, pulling out before moving to sit back against the car door. you pulled your panties back up at that, letting out a quiet moan at the feeling of his cum plugging you up, before turning around and leaning down, taking hold of his dick and effortlessly taking it down your throat.

scott let out a hefty grunt at that, his fingers tangling in your hair as your tongue poked out from between your lips and lapped up at the underside of his cock, tasting both you and him on it.

scott couldn’t even speak, his eyes slightly rolled back and his head tipped against the window as you expertly sucked him off. no obnoxious gagging or coughing, just a smooth slide. he violently twitched in your mouth, a telltale sign of his impending orgasm, and soon enough he just let out a little “babe, i’m sorry” and busted deep down your throat, this load being thicker than the last.

you held your head all the way down, letting scott empty himself before you finally pulled off his dick with a pop, swallowing down his cum. “you could warn me next time, you know how much i hate the taste of cum. makes my mouth all gross and itchy,” you chuckle as you sit up and lean over to peck scott’s lips.

“well, conversely, you could warn me before squirting all over me and getting my skin and truck all sticky. you owe me for my car wash,” scott chuckles in that deep, post-o voice of his that always sent a tingle down your spine.

you both just slowly and lazily kissed before you pulled back first, forehead resting against his. “you better be at my doorstep with a plan b in the morning. i know i talk a lot during sex, but i refuse to have a baby with someone as dumb as you,” you chuckle, teasingly, riling him up with a barely hidden smirk on your face.

“that so? i might be dumb as rocks to you but you’re the one that just let me put you through the car seat and cum in you, you’re not all that smarter,” he chuckled, kissing you again, not helping himself.

casual, he told himself. that’s what this was. or at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. but now, he wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t going to rush things either. you were both happy, who cares?

labels were complicated anyways, why bother with them? where you were standing right now, fucking basically every night, favoritism at work, cute intimate giggles after sex, that was enough for scott. more than enough.

please don't redistribute my works anywhere - wtredprch want more?

“Yeah,” Kelce adds, “As in, she’s everywhere. Out every night, every club on the strip. Unsupervised.”

“She’s not a child, you morons.” Rafe takes another sip of his drink, and it takes everything in him not to down the whole damn thing in one go. You were younger than him, sure. But that didn’t mean he had to personally hold your hand every time you went out.

“No. But if word spreads that you can’t keep her in check? Won’t be good.”

“Yeah, man. Especially those old school investors you’re always having meetings with. They won’t wanna do business with you if they know you can’t discipline your girl.”

“I discipline her just fine,” Rafe snaps, but they’ve got to him. And he hates it. His stupid clown ass fucking friends who couldn’t even dream of having a girl as hot as you in their beds. Talking to him about not knowing how to discipline his own girl. “Trust me, I have things under control more than you’d know.”

They leave it at that and change the subject. But Rafe’s pissed the fuck off. Wants to shatter his glass on the goddamned coffee table type of pissed off.

He’d show them.

***

“Baby, look! That new dress I bought finally came!”

You’re like a ray of sunshine inside his dark, desolate house. Always so excited, always up to something. Trouble, but in the most intoxicating sense. It’s what had attracted him to you in the first place.

But Rafe’s still seething from earlier, and all he does is grunt, tugging his tie off and throwing it on his bed along with his suit jacket. You jump into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Daddy, I missed you. Do you like my new dress?”

“Sure.” He mutters, gently prying you off him and not giving the dress you’re wearing a second glance. He knows it’s the one from some high end designer label’s new resort collection or some shit like that. It wasn’t even out in stores yet, but you’d made him pull some strings to get it for you. The exact one that had been worn on the runway. Nothing less for his princess. And all you’d had to do was bat your eyes and mention that you’d wanted it.

Maybe he was too lenient…

“Well, okay Mister Grumpy,” you giggle, skipping off back to your place in front of the vanity which is littered with your expensive makeup, skincare and hair oils. The ornate, vintage vanity you’d made him buy for you when he’d moved you into his house. “Well, I’m gonna wear it out tonight. Don’t wait up, by the way. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

He frowns, sitting down on the edge of his bed, “What?”

You pout, but it’s only to put your sparkly, candy pink lipgloss on. He loved it on you, it made you taste so extra sweet and made your lips look so fucking sexy and kissable.

“My friend Sierra’s party, silly! It’s at this new VIP club called Absynthe. And then there’s an after party back at—”

“You’re not going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

There’s a few beats of silence before you put your makeup brush down and cross the room. Perch yourself on his lap all pretty, looking so tiny and delicious, yet taken aback at the same time. You grab his hand, pressing it down on your bare thigh.

“Daddy,” you breathe in that sexy voice of yours that gets him weak in the knees, “Is this ‘cause you’ll miss me in bed tonight? ‘Cause we can make up for that right now, if you want…”

You press his hand between your thighs and he sucks in his breath sharply. Fuck, you were so hot. He doesn’t pull it away, instead feeling the warmth of your bare skin which glows with whatever glittery body oil you’ve massaged on. And inhaling that sweet perfume of yours that you’ve spritzed liberally all over your body.

“This dress is too short.”

The realisation snaps Rafe out of whatever spell you were about to put him under. He takes a closer look, unable to stop the poisonous thoughts that invade his mind. The dress barely reaches mid thigh, barely covers your fucking ass. And it’s tight like a second skin, makes your body look insane. Too insane to be seen by any pair of eyes that weren’t his own.

You giggle, “I like short dresses. You said you like me in them.”

“Yes. I like you in them. Doesn’t mean the entire male population of Kildare gets to see you in them too.”

You huff, standing up abruptly, “Fine. Then I’ll change into something else.”

Rafe knows you too well. Knows you’ll change back into the slutty dress the moment you leave the house. You’re trouble with a capital T, and he’s always found it enamouring, cute, sexy, exciting. Except now.

“Change into whatever you want, you’re still not stepping foot outside this house tonight.”

Your hands land on your hips, perfectly groomed eyebrows raised and an indignant look on your face, “You can’t be serious…”

“I am. And spare the dramatics, I’m not in the mood.”

“Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me, Rafe!”

He frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Don’t be a spoiled brat just because I won’t allow you to go clubbing till the early hours of the morning in a dress with your tits practically spilling out.”

Your jaw drops, and now you cross your arms below your chest, and it makes your cleavage look even more incredible. Despite everything, he can feel himself getting hard.

“You’re being mean,” you look at him venomously, but your lower lip quivers. That’s when he realises just how much he let you get away with in the past. But you were just so sweet, so charming. Such a sexy little thing, and you were his weakness.

He couldn’t be weak anymore.

“Trust me, you haven’t seen mean yet.” Rafe mutters, “No more clubbing for the foreseeable future. I won’t have my girl doing that shit anymore.”

“You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.” You breathe.

“No? Do you want me to cut your allowance? Change my credit card details?” He waits, but you remain silent. “That’s what I thought.”

Now you’re glaring at him with daggers in your eyes, meticulously manicured hands curling into fists by your sides. You’ve always been a brat, and right now you look like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum. You’ve done it before, and he’s always given in. Happy wife, happy life, that kind of thing. Not this time, though.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rafe snorts, standing up and running a hand through his buzzed hair, “Why? When I’ve got you for that.” He smirks when you gasp lightly, “Now if you actually want to make yourself useful, then make me a drink how you know I like it, and bring it to me in my study.”

He leaves, but not before tapping your ass on his way out. You huff angrily, but he doesn’t look back. Not this time. Who said he couldn’t discipline you? Hell, you’re lucky he didn’t take you over his knee the moment he saw that fucking sorry excuse for a dress.

No, this time you’ll learn.

***

Predictably, you don’t bring him his drink. Instead, he leans back against his leather chair in his study, watching as his phone pings with multiple rapid notifications from his bank.

You were using his credit card right at this very moment, spending his money on a bunch of different shit. Several thousand dollars at Van Cleef, Guiseppe Zanotti, Chanel. It was your way of getting back at him, but you spending his money only served to turn him on.

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches upwards. He could block his credit card from your phone, or change his details. But he’s never had a problem with you spending his money. In fact, he found it to be the hottest fucking thing: the confidence with which you spent his money on the most extravagant shit possible. And he loved that he could show you off, his girl who was always dripping head to toe in diamonds and designer labels. Well taken care of. And all his.

Now if only you could just be a good girl and stop going out partying so much.

It’s not that Rafe cared much about you going out clubbing before today. He himself felt too old for that shit, but he never had a problem with you going. He liked to see you have fun, and you always came home to him all drunk and giggly. Snuggled up to him and let him take care of you. He liked that. Because he trusted you and knew you were a good girl who knew who she belonged to. But what he didn’t like was other people thinking he was some pussy-whipped little bitch.

It takes him upwards of an hour to get through the remaining work he has. By the time it’s all done, Rafe’s itching to get in bed with you. Hopefully you were done being dramatic and he could have a quiet night.

Instead, he walks back into the bedroom to see your suitcase open wide on the bed, and your shit strewn everywhere.

“The fuck is this?”

You sniffle, dramatically folding an article of clothing, “I’m leaving you.”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you leave me tomorrow? I’d like to sleep right now.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder in frustration, shooting him a glare but all he can focus on is how hot you look. You’ve changed into a pair of tiny pink silk pyjama shorts and a matching vest top. Hardly the kind of attire you’d wear when you were about to leave someone.

“You’re such a jerk, Rafe. A mean, horrible, unfair jerk. Fuck you.”

Rafe yawns, leaning against the doorframe and watching you in amusement, “A mean, horrible, unfair jerk, huh? For setting boundaries that you clearly need?”

You scowl, “I’m not your child, Rafe. And you’ve never had a problem with me going out before.”

He shrugs, “Yeah, well that’s going to change from now on going forward. I can’t have people thinking I don’t know how to control my girl.” He makes his way over to you and shuts your suitcase with a finality, pushing it onto the floor, “Now get in bed, I’m tired.”

“Of course you’re tired. You’re old and boring and you don’t understand that you’re smothering me and I hate you!” You’re growing more hysterical by the second, but it’s not something Rafe isn’t used to. This isn’t the first temper tantrum from you he’s had to deal with, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Baby,” he wraps his arms around you, not budging even when you fight against him with your feeble, ineffective little punches that only make him chuckle, “C’mon, don’t be like this. You know I’m only trying to protect you.”

“No. You’re just trying to control me. Because you hate me.”

“If I hated you, you’d be dead,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck while you’re still trying to push him away, “Now come on, there’s worse things to pout about than not being allowed to go clubbing.”

“It’s supposed to be the biggest party of the summer! And my outfit was soo good!”

“Why don’t you act like all the other girlfriends? Plan a brunch or go to the country club?” He continues pressing kisses down your neck.

“Because I’m not a brain dead tradwife, Rafe!”

That makes him laugh, and he can sense you holding back a smile too.

“No, baby, you’re just a brat.”

He kisses you, claiming your mouth while his hand reaches down to palm your ass. He grabs a handful, giving it a squeeze through the silky material of your shorts. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks, ignoring how you pound at his chest.

“Let go of me! I told you I’m leaving!”

But you let him push you down on the bed, let him climb on top of you and kiss you some more. Sure, you have a lot to say, cursing and whining and crying about your stupid club all while he kisses you everywhere. Your face, your neck, your collarbones, pushes your top down to kiss your breasts. And he can taste the chocolatey coco of your shimmery body oil, and he’s so fucking hard.

“I wanna go to the Bahamas.” You say while he’s between your legs, eating your cunt like he’s starved. It’s his favourite type of food, and he loves pressing your thighs so far apart he’s sure he’ll leave bruises.

He looks up at you indulgently, “Sure, baby. Anything else?”

A trip to the Bahamas with him was better than you going clubbing by yourself.

“I’d like a car. Like a cute pink convertible.”

“Of course you would.”

The truth is, he’d buy you just about anything you wanted. All the dresses, cars, jewellery, makeup, trips, all of it. If it meant you’d be happy in your gilded cage, satisfied enough that you’d give up your frivolous clubbing and wild ways that made him look bad.

Now, you thrash above him, grabbing at the sheets and at his head as you come undone. Arching your back so pretty, pressing your wet pussy right on his face as he laps you up. He knows he was hard on you today, and you need the extra attention.

“Mmmm, dada… I-I…”

Rafe makes you orgasm three times before coming up for air, kissing you possessively so you can taste yourself on him. And you’re more docile now, you always are after he’s tamed you and gotten you off. Like you’ve orgasmed the brattiness out of you. Except it never lasts long, but he’d take what he could get.

“Go to sleep now,” he orders you, pecking your face a couple more times. “It’s late.”

“For you it’s late.”

“Shhhh,” he kisses you again till he can feel you smiling against his lips.

“Fine.” You yawn, letting him tuck you by his side and pull the covers up as he turns the lamp off.

He knows it’s anything but fine, and the battle is far from over. But he’s got you tamed for now, which was a victory in itself.

Fuck his dumb fucking friends. Who said Rafe Cameron didn’t know exactly how to control his girl?

you know, the guy who sells weed to everyone on campus. or who's always at parties, despite not attending the school. yeah, him. 

so just why would sororitysweetheart!reader be meeting with such a character? or more importantly, be folded into a literal mating press by that same guy? going against her morals, high out of her mind, right in the sorority house . . . 

your bedroom smelled of the pungent scent of weed and sex. the combined scents were sure to leave a warm, musky odor long after jj left.  

a thick cloud of smoke curled in the air from the joint he lit a while ago, now unattended as jj pounded into your sloppy pussy. 

"thought you didn't wanna see me again?" he panted, a smug grin. the rough slamming of his hips forces a shrill cry from your throat. 

you instantly slap a palm over your mouth as jj laughs. he purposely left your bedroom door cracked, not caring that your roommates could hear all the downright filthy sounds coming from your room. 

"i—i," you stammered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. you can’t even muster up a response at the way jj mocks your expressions. 

"s'okay, sweet girl, no need to waste your breath, already knew you missed me," he answers cockily. this guy was so full of himself, you had no idea how you tolerated this relationship. 

you weakly push at his chest, groaning,  "ugh, you're so—hngh—irritating." he only takes your hand to kiss the back of it. 

he nuzzles his cheek into your soft palm, pouting, "well that's not what i wanna hear after giving you free weed and dick, is it?" 

you huff, “it's true though!"

"bet m'not irritatin' when i do this?" a sharp gasp is stolen from you when a particularly strong thrust of his nudges your cervix. 

"now that's more like it. keep makin' them noises and cum f'me like the good girl you are" . . .

well maybe sororitysweetheart!reader wasn't the good girl everyone made her out to be. but that'll just be her and plug!jj 's dirty little secret ♡

xo, blissedbunni

“it’s my arm,” you shoot back, breath catching when his grip only tightens. “yeah,” he says immediately. “yeah, i know it is.” he agrees, “doesn’t mean i don’t need it.” your stomach flips at that, at how serious yet needy he sounds, so so desperate. “you’re fucking obssesed,” you annoyingly whisper.

something in the way he looks at you shifts. like he’s subconsciously confirming your statement, before he actually does. “i am,” he says quietly. “you did that. you made me like this.” and before you can respond, he pulls you forward so quickly you’re stumbling into him, landing halfway in his lap. his arm wraps around your waist instantly, locking you there like it’s second nature, like you belong there. 

because to him you do, and you don’t even know it. “rafe.” you warn again. “stop talking,” he breathes, but it’s not harshly, it’s shaky, and  frayed at the edges. “please just-” he starts with that pleading needy voice again. “just let me” he brings your wrist up again. his eyes don’t leave yours, searching your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

you don’t, because you never do, part of it is gratifying for you too. to know how much he needs you. the second you go still, he exhales with relief, like he’s been holding it in for too long, and his lips brush against your skin. your soft and floral scented skin. “say it,” he murmurs against your wrist. your brows knit, “say what?” you ask confused. “that i can tatse it again,” he says, his fingers flexing against your waist. “i need you to say it.”

“you already are,” you point out, breath uneven. his grip falters for half a second, just enough to show it hit something. “yeah,” he admits. “yeah, but i wanna hear it.” your pulse jumps under his mouth, and he makes this quiet, wrecked sound like he felt it more than you did.

“…you can,” you say finally. that’s all it takes before his control snaps. he pulls you impossibly closer, but he does it anyway, his other hand tightening around your arm as he presses his mouth to your skin, and the second the sharpness of his fangs pierce the skin on your wrist, he loses it completely.

he lets out a sharp inhale, like it shocks him every time, like it’s too much and not enough all at once. his fingers dig in, holding you there, grounding himself in you as his head tilts back slightly. “fuuuck” he groans out broken, barely there. it's like his whole body is convulsing.

his lashes flutter, then his eyes roll back completely, like he can’t hold onto anything, not himself but you. “rafe,” you breathe out, your voice breathy and filled with concern, but he doesn’t answer.

he can’t answer. his grip tightens instead, he leans back dragging you flush against him, like he needs your whole body there or he’s going to come apart. his breathing is uneven, shallow, lips still sucking your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop.

like he won’t. “don’t” he chokes out, barely coherent. “don’t move.” he demands. “i’m not.”

“don’t move,” he repeats, fingers flexing. “please.” please. you go still instantly. that word shouldn’t sound like that coming from him. after a few seconds, he finally pulls back, but not far. his lips are still brushing your skin, damp, lingering, like he’s not ready to lose contact yet.

his chest is rising and falling too fast. his mouth stained red with droplets of your blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. you tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze. “you okay?” he lets out a shaky laugh. “do i look okay to you?”

not at all. he looks so wrecked, and completely gone. his eyes finally meet yours, and there’s nothing steady in them anymore,just hunger, just need, just you. “you’re-” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening like he doesn’t even have the words. “you’re not real.”

“i’m literally right here.”

“i know,” he says quickly, almost frantic. “i know, i just-” his hand slides up your arm again, back to your wrist, like he can’t help it. “nobody should feel like this.”

“like what?”

“like i’d fuckin' lose my mind if you said no,” he answers immediately. “like i already did.” your breath catches. “rafe…”

“save it.” he cuts in, shaking his head, pulling you closer again until your foreheads almost touch. “don’t make it a thing. i don’t- i don’t care.”

“you don’t care that you’re addicted to me?” then he menacingly smiles, it’s unhinged. “addicted?” he repeats softly. “that’s a nice way of putting it.” his thumb presses against your pulse again, slower this time, almost thoughtful.

“i was thinking more like, i don’t function without you.” your heart stutters, your unspokedn feelings only enlarging. you subconciously squeeze your thighs from want and he feels it, fuck, he smells your arousal. forgetting you don't fully know how the bond between a human and a vampire works.

his entire expression darkens instantly, something greedy flashing across his face. “see?” he murmurs, already pulling your wrist back toward his mouth, already slipping again. “you do that and then expect me to just, what? sit here?”

“do, what? rafe, wait.”

“no,” he says sternly, breath hitching as his lips brush your skin again. “you said i could.”

“i said once-”

“doesn’t count,” he cuts in, eyes flicking up to yours, completely gone again. “doesn’t count anymore.”

“that’s not how that works.”

“it is for me.” and the way he looks at you when he says it, like nothing else matters. “tell me to stop,” he challenges suddenly, voice quieter now, almost dangerous in how calm it is. “go on, tell me.”

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. his lips twitch, just slightly, already pulling you closer. “you have no idea how thin the line is between wanting you, and fucking loosing myself in you.” and this time, when he presses his mouth to your skin again, he doesn’t even pretend he’s in control anymore. and you're left with nothing but his venom, and the burning desire of wanting more of him.

your smart watch pings- ovulation day. but you don’t need a fancy app to tell you when your boyfriend is already tongue deep in your pussy, lapping up every ounce of the “sweetest juice” as he calls it.

clark knew the moment you woke up this morning when he tugged you toward him. his hand stroking up and down your spine before carding through your hair. “you’re warmer than normal,” he’d said. “must be fertile.”

“maybe,” you mused, relaxing into his chest.

“maybe?” he teased, shifting down and draping your legs over his shoulders.

“clark, let me shower first,” you whined.

“never,” he hummed, already pressing his nose to the soft flesh between your thighs. “so sweet this time of month, makes me crazy.”

“clark,” you moaned as he licked the first stripe.

and now here you are, thighs shaking as he pulls another orgasm from you with his mouth alone. his lips and chin glisten as the morning sun lights up your bedroom. his eyes are dark and focused on his prize, and he nudges your swollen clit with his nose. the sensitive bud being hit again and again makes you hiss.

“gimme one more,” he husks into your pussy, almost growling. clark is typically so textbook sweet and romantic, but when it’s this time of the month he’s like a man starved. “onemorebabyplease,” he moans, his words running together.

he shifts your legs higher, hitting a new angle with his tongue. your vision whites out for a second before your thighs lock around his head and you’re coming for a third time.

“mmmm…. knew you had it in ya,” he groans, moving up the bed.

“need you in me,” you whine, nearly breathless.

“i know baby, i know. i’m gonna take care of my girl.”

he kicks off his briefs and settles himself between your legs. “this how you want me?”

you answer by wrapping your legs around his waist and running your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.

he pushes in with a sigh. he worked you up so much with his mouth that there’s not too much of a stretch this time, and you kind of miss it because you love hearing him tell you “breathe baby” when he works his way inside.

his mouth tastes like your arousal when he kisses you. it’s heady and sweet. one strong arm wraps around your thigh, pulling it up so he can get even deeper.

“fuck baby,” you whine. you’re so full. “right there clark.”

he sighs out another groan- deeper this time, like he’s trying to hold back. his lips brush against the pulse point in your neck and you shiver.

“baby girl, feel so good,” he moans, rutting into you now with sloppy thrusts.

“don’t pull out,” you whisper, almost too quiet, but clark’s impeccable senses hear it immediately, along with the way your heart races.

“don’t say that,” he huffs out with a smile and a kiss. “don’t tease. you know how much i want to make you a mommy.”

“clark…. cum in me,” you whimper, feeling your body ascending to another peak.

“baby girl.”

“clark.”

“you sure? once i start i won’t be able to stop. you know how much there is,” he mutters, eyes searching yours.

“fuhhh- that feels good. i’m so sure- want all your babies.”

his breath catches on a moan- broken and hoarse- before he starts to press both of your legs up underneath him, pressing your body into the mattress. “gonna give you everything,” he grunts as he fucks you harder.

“fuck, lock me down, clark!” you moan, pushing him deeper inside of you as his legs start to shudder.

he gasps once and his eyes roll back before you feel him pumping into you in thick spurts. “there ya go. take it all baby girl,” he says as he keeps thrusting into you, more slowly now. he’s leaning back and watching it pulse out of you with a blush before scooping you up. your limbs feel like jelly, but you ignore them and look up at his flushed, perfect face. it’s not like your babies wouldn’t be adorable. what’s the harm in trying?

“gonna get you cleaned up baby,” he says with a kiss to your forehead. “and then go to the store for prenatals. folic acid. very important.”

“clark….” you start with mock annoyance.

“oh no baby girl, we’re doing this now. it’s my life’s mission to get you pregnant.”

“harem of one?”

“i don’t think it’s a harem if it’s just us,” he jokes. “but you’re the only one i want.”

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest while you look down at the ground between you. He scoffs. Cuts his own sentence off and lowers his voice. When he steps a little closer to you, he roughly asks, “Am I bothering you? Being an inconvenience?”

You don’t look up at him. Too tired of his bullshit. Through another dramatic sigh, you mutter, “Yeah. You are bothering me, and you are an inconvenience.” 

He laughs. It’s dark. A little hateful, even. His usual.

“That’s cute. You sure you wanna talk to your boss like that?” 

An eye roll is all you give him.

“Can you just get on with it? I have shit to do that doesn’t revolve around you, you know, and—and it’s hot as fuck out here! I wanna go back inside!” 

Scott’s eyes trace over your hand when you gesture toward the office building you’re stationed in this week, then he hums. With an infuriatingly loud pop of his gum and a plastered smirk on his face, he closes the gap between you completely. 

One of his mean hands wraps around your jaw and roughly lifts your head so you can look up at him. The gasp that leaves you is unintentional. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pucker as you lock eyes so roughly that you might piss yourself out of fright.

“I’m getting real fucking tired of this smart ass mouth. You’d better get it under control when you’re talking to me, sugar.”

He bends down to get a little closer to you. When his face is this close to yours, you get the chance to pick up on the mint on his breath and see all the spoiled brat rage in his eyes. That rage that’s probably been the same since he was a kid and his mother had the audacity to tell him he couldn’t do something. 

“And you better look at me when I’m talking to you. I won’t be ignored by someone I’m paying the fucking bills for,” he harshly hisses. That false bravado he puts forward always makes you sick. He might have been hot for a second—if it wasn’t for his big fucking mouth. 

It pulls you back down to earth and has you clearing your throat to swallow down your bile. You wrap one of your hands around his wrist and claw into it. He tries to hide it when he winces at the way your nails cut into his surprisingly soft skin. But when you laugh at him and dig deeper into it, he knows you heard him. That his jig is up. His eyes twitching and widening in embarrassment tells you all you need to know about that. 

“And you’re gonna get your hands off of me, you fucking pig,” you seethe while you push him off of you, voice low and unforgiving. Much like the way he talks to you. The part of you that noticed how solid his chest was when you pressed your hands against it is your least favorite part of yourself.

“You wouldn’t survive out here without me, so I suggest you stop talking to me like that.”

“I’m gonna talk to my assistant however I want to. If anything, you should stop talking to me like that. Especially if you wanna keep this cushy job I gave you, sweetheart,” Scott spits. 

“Cushy?” you gawk. “You can’t be serious. You made me run to three separate shops today because you wanted a particular type of coffee.”

“And you did it, so, clearly, you need this fucking job.” 

Usually, you can’t look at him on account of how fucking sick he makes you; which is unfortunate, because you have to be around him all the time for this stupidly well-paying job. 

Right now, though, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. His face is bright red. Eyes are wide and so fucking angry that you think they might pop out of his head. That sharp jaw of his is somehow even sharper whenever it’s tightened from his often self-inflicted rage. Gets tighter every time he chews on his gum, pulsing beneath his skin. His barrel of a chest is rising and falling so much quicker than usual.

You’re getting to him.

You smile at him when your eyes return to his. Real big and fake. Full of that saccharine sweetness that you know will only serve to piss him off more.

“Oh, how precious.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You reach up and flick the tip of his nose. He swats your hand away and, somehow, his face flushes a deeper red. 

“Scottie,” you coo. “Am I pissing you off? Getting under your skin a little bit?” 

He rolls his eyes and takes a step back. When you look him up and down again, you’re almost certain he squirms. 

“You’re on the clock. Get back to work,” is the gruff, hateful retort you get back, but he doesn’t seem like he’s releasing you. His eyes staying glued to you tell you that much. 

“Yeah? You want me to get back to work? You don’t wanna talk my ear off anymore ‘cause I got you all worked up?” you tease. Loud enough to get a few people to turn their heads before they continue working on whatever it is they’re doing. Not that it matters to you. This weird battle you’re in with Scott’s taking precedence over everything else. 

Speaking of, your annoying employer grumbles something beneath his breath. Runs one massive hand over his face and continues backing up.

“Just shut up and do as I tell you. Have you always been thicker than pig shit, or is that a recent development?” he spits. 

You follow after him. Every slow step he takes backward, you take one forward. 

“You’re being extra bitchy today. I think you need a lesson on how to speak to people.”

“And you’re capable of doing that?” he shoots back at you. Smirks at you and pops his gum. “Thought you were only good for coffee runs, sugar.” 

You hum.

“Wanna bet?”

Scott’s head falls back onto the headboard behind him with a thick, dull thump that makes you laugh at him. Laughing at him never felt so good. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he groans at you while you tighten the restraints around his wrist. He pulls at them almost immediately; the wooden posts of the headboard they’re tied to don’t budge. Don’t give him any sort of relief. He doesn’t deserve it. 

You shake your head. The click of your tongue echoes in the tiny little space between your pressed-together bodies. You’re so close to him that you can practically hear his thoughts, perched on top of him and straddling his thick thighs while you grind against his thick, hardening length. You can feel it through his jeans. So much for him being able to claim he hates you. 

“That’s the exact type of talking that got you in trouble earlier, Scottie.” 

He tugs at the restraints again. They don’t budge. Again. 

“Stop calling me that,” he growls. “You’re not pretty enough to call me that.” 

That one makes you roll your eyes. Another laugh tumbles from your lips as you slip your hands down from his shoulders to his chest. While your fingers are toying with and unfastening the buttons of his stark-white work shirt, your mouth is busy telling him, “Shut the fuck up. You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

“I don’t care about you enough to look at you any kind of way,” he sasses back while his eyes glue themselves to your fingers. 

“You must be seeing shit. Making up a story in that dumbass head of yours.” 

“You’re really digging yourself into a hole,” you reply. Every time he opens his mouth, it gets more aggressive, and it’s perfect. You haven’t been able to wipe the smirk off of your face since you got him in your bed. 

“You can act like you don’t want me. Scream about it ’til you’re blue in the face, for all I care.”

Your right hand slips lower between both of you. Lower than his stomach, lower than his happy trail that you’re trying not to drool over, lower than his belt that you unbuckle as swiftly as possible. When you slip your hand into the front of his pants, you find he’s already achingly hard. He jolts and tilts his head back, sighing in something mirroring relief when you start palming him through his boxer briefs. 

“Because that ugly fucking mouth of yours can lie all day, but this body can’t.” 

A shaky, sarcastic laugh punches out of his chest. “Yeah, sure, just…whatever.” 

His unfocused, jumbled words make you smile. He wants to fuck you so bad that he looks dumb. That he sounds dumb. You lean forward and press a few featherlight kisses on his jaw and neck, and although he’s complaining about not wanting you, he leans into those kisses. His breath hitches in his throat when your teeth ghost over his pulse point. His hips roll against your hand while it’s still working his cock through his boxer briefs. 

Your free hand travels up his stomach and chest, fingernails slowly scraping over his soft, warm skin. He groans and shudders when you slip it up to his hair and tangle your digits into his thick curls to give it a tug. You had no idea his hair could be so curly. He’s always wearing a hat; this might be the first time you’re seeing him without one. 

You take your hand out of his pants and earn a deep, agitated growl from him. 

“Fuck you,” he breathes while bucking his hips up, chasing after your hand so desperately that he loses the final whisper of credibility he had when he told you he didn’t want you.

You pull back from littering his neck in kisses. You raise an eyebrow. 

“What’d you say?” you ask. Your other hand slips out of his hair. Down toward his face. He sends you an ugly glare, but the way he shivers when your thumb runs over his sharp cheekbone and the way he glues himself to your palm tells you all you need to know. 

“Fuck you,” he repeats. 

SMACK. 

One rough slap across his right cheek. Quick and harsh enough to suck all of the air out of the room, to have him looking at you with so much anger and confusion and lust that you can’t help but laugh at him. He drops his mouth open—no doubt to berate you—but you cut him off instead. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” 

“What the fuck was that?! You crazy bit—”

You cover his mouth with your hand. His words die against your palm immediately. Probably a good thing if he wants to keep himself from getting hit again.

But he’s got his jaw clenched, and his right cheek is steadily turning pink, and his hips are stuttering and bucking when your fingers tease over the elastic band of his underwear. 

“You’re gonna learn how to talk to me tonight. You say nice things, you’ll get rewarded. You say mean things, well,” you pause and lean up on your knees to tug his pants and boxer briefs down to his thighs.

“I think you know what’ll happen,” you whisper while patting his cheek where you just smacked him so hard that your hand stung. He grumbles some barbarous insult beneath his breath. One he thought you didn’t hear, one that gives you a chance to prove you’re not lying.

SMACK.

Scott tosses his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. He whines. Bucks his hips up again, this time hard enough to make you shift in his lap. You giggle at him and gently rub his cheek. His skin is already hot. Flushed red, now; whether it’s from his embarrassment or from the force of your slap, you have no idea.

You pull your panties to the side and take your hand away from his face just to guide him into your pussy. Both of you hiss when you sink down on top of him. When he’s buried to the hilt, you whimper and shift back and forth, side to side, up and down, trying anything you can to get used to his size. He’s so much bigger than you thought he’d be. 

“Stop all that God damn squirming,” he aggressively growls when he finds his voice again. 

“If you’re gonna fuck me, at least do it right. Are you too stupid to figure it out?” 

SMACK. 

It’s so hard this time that his head snaps to the side. He’s the one squirming and whimpering now.

“You wanna try that one again?” you breathlessly ask while you start to roll your hips back and forth. Steady and slow. He shakes his head. Clenches and unclenches his jaw. Rolls a few words around on his tongue in order to decide what to say to you. 

“Just shut the fuck up and keep moving,” he pants, head lolling back against the headboard when you do as he says. 

But that first half of what he said can’t be ignored, right? 

SMACK.

“Shit,” he hisses, teeth clenched, face burning hot, hips roughly bucking up and forcing his tip to slam against the sensitive spot deep inside of you. You squeal and dig your nails into his shoulder. Scott yanks at his restraints once more. His biceps flex against the tightness of them, fingers curling around the pieces of fabric in a way that makes you feel jealous of them. 

All of it makes you feel woozy. Your head’s swimming with ecstasy, with the thrill and the heat of it all. With all of your hatred for him bubbling to the surface, blurring all the lines between you as you ride your boss in some shitty motel room that’s steadily disappearing around you. 

Your hips still. It’s all too much. You need a moment. 

“I told you not to stop,” Scott growls, denying you of said moment. 

“I knew you wouldn’t do this right. Can’t fucking do anything right, huh, sugar? So fucking pathetic.” 

SMACK. 

He groans. His body tenses and his back arches a bit. His cock twitches inside of you. Reminds you that you have the upper hand in this moment. Makes you giggle and start rocking your hips back and forth again, this time a little bit faster.

“You’re about to come already, aren’t you?” you tease. “I thought I wasn’t fucking you right?” 

“You’re not,” he lies right through his teeth. 

“No?” You shoot him a wicked little grin. 

“Fine. I’ll just stop, then, since I’m not doing it right.” 

When you stop your hips for the second time tonight, Scott lets out a rough, frustrated sigh. Looks you right in the eyes and, with all the confidence in the world, he growls, “You’re such a bitch.” 

SMACK. 

He yanks on the restraints again, this time hard enough to make the wooden posts groan. His chest heaves as he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. He moans, a sing-songy little thing that makes your pussy flutter and your hips buck. 

Then he explodes. 

In the blink of an eye, he’s coming inside of you. Shooting rope after rope of his load into you while he pathetically cries out your name and buries his face in your neck, hips erratically rolling and twitching against yours. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair and yank his head out of your neck. He’s too busy coming down from his high to care about your roughness. When he opens his eyes a few seconds later, you raise your eyebrow. 

“Am I still the pathetic one? You came without me even moving.”

He laughs at you. Sends you a smile that’s actually genuine—albeit exhausted—for once. You pat his cheek, and he flinches from the contact, but that smile on his face only grows. His skin is searing hot. If he was a better person, that might have made you feel bad.

“You can be whatever you wanna be as long as you keep fucking me like this, sweet thing.” 

You hum. When you lean forward to kiss him, he accepts it. Kisses you back like this is normal, like he’s been wanting to do it, like his lips slotting along with yours is as natural as breathing. You giggle against his lips and start rocking your hips back and forth again.

Through your panting and soft whimpers, you teasingly mumble, “Look who’s finally playing nice.” 

Rafe absentmindedly scrolls on his phone as his truck idles in front of your sorority house, the windows cracked to let the breeze in.

It’s been a couple of days since your kiss. He texted asking when he could see you, and earlier today, you told him to pick you up after ten p.m.

You step onto the front porch to see Rafe waiting in a black pickup truck. You’re sure it’s the same one you’ve seen him drive around the island. It’s loud and way too big. He probably chose it because he thinks it makes him look tough. Like the dirt bike you’ve seen him on.

Late nights are nothing new for you. You prefer to see guys after dark. It keeps things casual because then, they won’t try to impress you with expensive dates or big gestures. They get the wrong idea when they treat you like a girlfriend. They think that you owe them. And that’s the last thing you’d ever agree to.

When you slide into the passenger seat, Rafe looks you up and down, warmth creeping up the back of his neck.

“So,” you say, shutting the door and buckling in, “where do you want to take me so bad?”

He stares at you first, the words forming only after he’s had his fill. He wants to kiss you right now. He would if this wasn’t a game. He can’t look too eager.

“You said to surprise you,” he answers. He pulls away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console, inches away from your thigh.

・・・・・

Rafe drives off campus and toward the south end of town, the road curling upward into the hills. His truck’s headlights sweep over gravel as he turns into a pull‑off overlooking the city. Below, the lights glow in pockets of white.

He turns the truck to face the trail he drove in on and shuts it off, allowing the humming of crickets and ticking of the cooling engine to fill your ears.

A lookout point. How cliché. You’re not impressed, but you do appreciate the quiet up here. You won’t admit it out loud that it’s pretty. And that it’s definitely better than some restaurant or a random parking lot.

Without a word, Rafe drops out of the truck, the door thudding shut behind him. You exhale before climbing out after him. Of course he’d just walk off without saying anything. This man has no manners.

You meet him outside at the back of the truck, where he’s unlatching the tailgate. You step out, drifting a few paces toward the edge to study the view.

After throwing a blanket over the truck bed, Rafe follows you. When he looks at you gazing out below, he sees softness crossing your face. For a second, you almost look happy.

This whole thing might work. He came here to get the one thing he wants with you. Privacy.

“Nice, right?” he says. “We can sit in the back. I brought a blanket.”

“Just one?” you reply. “I’m shocked.”

He breathes out a low chuckle. You think about how many other girls he’s brought here. How many times he’s used this view to impress them. Rafe seems like the type who’d want to prove how much he can afford, yet he took you somewhere so lowkey.

You figure it’s because he wants to pick up where you left off the other night. But it’s not like you don’t want to be in private with him. This may all be a scheme to break his heart, but kissing him was nice. And you want to do more of it.

The manners he seemed to have forgotten come back as he cups your hand to help you up to the back of the pickup. You lean against the rear window, sinking into the comforter he spread out, pulling a corner of it over your lap.

Rafe lets out a soft grunt as he settles beside you, the side of his thigh pressed against yours as you take in the view together. Lights sparkle across the streets below, the night air smelling faintly of damp earth.

“What’d you do today?” he asks.

“I helped with prepping for that Olympics event,” you respond. “A bunch of us are volunteering.”

Rafe already knows the gist. The charter Olympics is some lame spirit thing for frats and sororities to compete in games. It’s a dry event. That was enough for him to decide he was skipping it, even with the talks he’s been hearing about his frat being at risk for probation.

“And that’s fun for you?” he asks.

You glance over at him, catching the teasing curve of his lips.

“Let me guess,” you retort. “You joined Greek life just for the parties?”

“Why else?”

You scoff, shaking your head. The more you learn about Rafe, the more you know that once this is over, you won’t miss it. He’s such a typical shallow guy.

“Why’d you join?” Rafe asks.

His eyes are softer, like he’s curious. He either actually wants to know or is doing a good job pretending to.

There’s no chance you’re admitting the real reason. Being in a sorority gives you the stability you never had growing up. Your friends are your chosen family, and joining gave you a place to belong.

But vulnerability, even faked, will pull him in faster. It’ll make him think he can earn deeper access to you. You’ll give him a very light version of the truth.

“I obviously like the parties,” you reply. “But I like the events, too. I can appreciate when things are structured. And predictable.”

Rafe just stares. Hearing the girl who’ll snap at anyone over nothing saying she wants structure doesn’t really register. It’s intriguing.

“What?” you laugh, tilting your head at him when he doesn’t look away.

“You don’t seem like you like predictable,” he admits.

“Well, I do,” you reply with a shrug, looking back out at the view again.

His jaw tenses. He wants you to care what he thinks, but you don’t. It’s like your attention is already full with everything else in your life and he’s trying to find space where there isn’t any.

“I’ll probably come to that, too,” he decides. “Some guys were saying we could be put on probation, so we gotta get more involved in things.”

“Seriously?” you say with a disbelieving laugh.

“Security showed up a few times ‘cause of noise complaints,” he says. “Apparently, you get enough warnings and the school steps in.”

You wince, but Rafe shrugs. He’s used to getting in trouble. When his world crumbled around him as a kid, he lost all control, and he’s been fighting to gain it back since. It turned him into a man who never had patience for being told what to do, who never cared for authority.

“I can tell you’re really torn up about it,” you say, sarcasm thick in your tone.

“It’s just annoying,” he admits. “Their rules don’t make sense. They just like having something to hold over us.”

Of course. The entitlement you always suspected in Rafe is alive and well. He believes that rules are optional for him, that consequences are something that should only happen to other people.

“You realize probation means none of those parties you care so much about, right?” you tease. “Seems like it’s all you care about, actually.”

Maybe it should piss him off that you think that’s all there is to him, but it’s a compliment. You’re wrong. He cares too much, feels too much, but if you think he’s this apathetic, that means he’s selling it.

“They’re just trying to scare us,” Rafe murmurs. “If we come to that Olympics thing and act like we care, we’ll be good.”

He readjusts his backwards hat, licking his lips before speaking again.

“Too bad we can’t be on the same team again, yeah?” he says, thinking back to your game of beer pong the other night.

You meet his eyes. You’re more aware of yourself now. The way you toyed with men used to be instinct, but now, with this bet on your mind, you can feel yourself doing it in real time.

It’s an art. Giving warmth in small doses. You realize that while you hate unpredictability, you love being the unpredictable one.

“It is too bad,” you play along. “I can’t believe we never talked before. We should’ve.”

Heat blossoms in Rafe’s chest, spreading to his limbs. It feels so good to hear you say that, and he’s not sure if it’s because of this bet he’s trying to win or if he really is looking for validation from you.

His eyes sweep over your features in the moonlight. It’s dizzying, watching you lean towards him, showing him that you want him.

You tilt your head just a little, taking your time with closing the distance, teasing him in a silent promise that he’ll get you for now, but if he messes up, he’ll lose you again.

He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous around a girl.

Rafe’s lips press on yours, as warm and soft as you remember them. Your eyes flutter shut as the tip of your nose brushes against his, and his hand cups your cheek just like it did the other night, guiding but gentle, as if he needs to ground himself.

When you part your lips, allowing his tongue to touch yours, he tastes impossibly good, better than you thought he would. He’s not forceful or rough like so many guys are. There’s no need to back away or tell him to slow down. He’s firm, but careful, almost gentle in a way you didn’t expect.

Rafe pulls you in closer. Your lips are so soft, your mouth hot as you breathe each other in. He realizes he revels in the way you taste, wanting more and more of it.

The deeper and longer your kisses grow, the more Rafe’s stomach tightens with need. He’s already so hard. His grip tightens on your cheek as he leads you to tilt your head back just slightly.

The cool air presses against your wet lips as he leaves languid kisses along your jaw, moving down the column of your throat. He presses his hot, open mouth on the most sensitive parts of your neck.

You bite your bottom lip as tingles cover every inch of your skin, your craving for him flooding your senses. His hand drags down to your thigh, and when you let out a breathy moan, his grip tightens. He skims higher, testing.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Rafe huskily murmurs against your skin as his palm lands over the curve of your ass. You respond by kissing him again, deeper this time. He squeezes your flesh over your jeans, and now, his kiss is even hotter.

Your pulse is loud in your ears as time bends in itself, the sounds of your tangled breaths and wet kisses consuming you. Eventually, slowly, his hand trails to your hip, the pad of his thumb brushing under your top.

You want him to move his hand higher. You want to crawl into his truck and let him peel your clothes off and touch you. And you would, if you were here for any other reason.

You pull back, taking in a soft breath, your foreheads brushing together.

“Can you take me home now?” you half-whisper.

Rafe straightens, his heavy lidded gaze trailing down your face.

You move first, scooting forward to get out of the bed of his truck. After you slip into the passenger seat, he sits behind the steering wheel. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, undoubtedly trying to hide his arousal after making out with you.

His keys jingle, and his engine roars to life. But before he drives off, he looks at you.

“Everything good?” Rafe murmurs.

You nod, wanting to keep him invested without giving him much clarity at all.

“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile. “I just need to slow down.”

It’s a promise that’s more to come, a way to keep him on the hook without blowing him off. He looks ahead and you take in his profile, watch his Adam’s apple bob with a slow swallow as he puts his truck into drive.

You wanted to keep going, but you want to hurt him more.

・・・・・

The sun is already scorching, even though it’s only the first event of the chapter Olympics, music blasting from a portable speaker.

You’re standing in your chapter’s lane, waiting for the water‑balloon toss to start. Jada is a few feet away, rolling her shoulders to warm up. The rules are simple: toss the balloon, take a step back, last chapter standing wins.

Rafe ends up right beside the guy next to you. When he looks over and sees you, he grins, his dimples dipping into his cheeks. You return the smile.

Insecurity isn’t new for him. He hasn’t stopped replaying the other night in his head. The heated makeout session, the way you pulled away, the quiet car ride home.

It was almost a week ago, and you haven’t talked since, and it’s made him restless. He’d normally just text a girl in this situation, but he keeps needing to remind himself to play this carefully.

Now here you are, beautiful, smirking at him like you know you’ve been driving him insane.

The game starts. The guy between you and Rafe eventually misjudges his toss, the balloon slipping through his hands and exploding at his feet. He groans and steps back, and suddenly Rafe is closer. He leans in slightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice barely threading through the noise from the speaker and people shouting and laughing all around you. “Did I totally fuck up the other night?”

He’s asking because he wants to win the bet. Mostly.

There’s another reason, one he hates admitting even to himself. He wants you to think good things about him. He wants your approval. And that feels really fucking embarrassing.

He’s not sure how to manipulate this anymore. The whole be forward but not desperate thing gets harder every time he sees you. His instincts keep pulling him in toward you, and it’s getting harder to pretend he’s above it.

He’s not the type to play coy when he wants a girl. He’s usually direct. And he wishes you’d want him just as bad as he wants you.

“No. I had fun,” you reply with a small smile, squinting in the sunlight.

You can see worry in the way his eyes dart away. And it feels like victory. Worry means he cares, and caring means he’s slipping. He’s starting to have feelings. You’re sure of it.

The next toss comes. Jada’s balloon slips right through her fingers and soaks her shoes when it pops. She screams out an angry groan so loud that it scares her neighbors. You burst into laughter.

Rafe finds himself smirking. Your laugh does something to him.

You step out of the lane, brushing past him. Your hand finds his bicep, warm and solid under your fingers, and he meets your eyes.

“Good luck,” you say.

You feel it, the charged pull between you, heavy and unignorable. Even with all the noise around you, the air between you feels louder than all of it.

Rafe’s gaze lingers when you let go.

・・・・・

You report for your volunteer shift at the snack table, ready for half an hour of collecting tickets and handing out whatever people want.

From under the tent, you catch sight of Rafe across the field, digging his heels into the dirt during a game of tug‑of‑war. He’s all muscle and it sends your mind straight back to the night in his truck.

The losing team is supposed to fall backward into a kiddie pool filled with cold water, and you find yourself hoping that Rafe’s side slips. You want to see the way his shirt would cling to him afterward, plastered to every line of him.

Your sexual chemistry is undeniable. He knows exactly how to touch you. But you’re here to give him what he deserves. And you know now that you’re at the point where you can toy with him.

Three guys wander towards the snack table together, interrupting your daydreams.

“What do you have?” a guy with sunglasses says.

You can tell by the way his eyes are trailing down your body that he’s checking you out. You don’t bother answering. You just tap the laminated sign hanging from the front of the table, showing that you’re offering popsicles, granola bars, and chips.

“If I get a popsicle,” he begins, “can I watch you eat it?”

His friends snort, elbowing each other like they’ve never heard anything funnier. You scowl and step to the side.

“Next,” you say to the girl who just approached behind them. You help her quickly, but the guys linger, still expecting service.

One of his friends steps forward and tries to hand you his ticket.

“Sorry,” he says. “It was a stupid joke. Can I just get some chips?”

You scoff and wave curtly to dismiss them.

“Wait for the next volunteer,” you tell them flatly.

“I was just having fun,” the one who made the comment to you says.

“By being a disgusting pig?” you mutter, your voice sharp.

They don't move. You cross your arms, staring daggers at them, furious that you’re stuck behind this table and that they refuse to leave.

Then, someone approaches. You look up.

After his team won tug‑of‑war, Rafe spotted you, noticed your hand lifted in an irritated gesture. Even from a distance, he recognized that pissed off look on your face.

He realizes a group of guys are hovering around your table, annoying you. He’s seen them before. They’re members of the rival frat his house is always competing with.

“You guys botherin’ her?” Rafe says, light but edged.

“Immensely,” you answer before they can speak. “They won’t leave.”

Normally, you hate when a man acts like you need rescuing. But right now you’re trapped. You can’t walk away from the table. And these guys won’t go away.

Rafe feels a flare of protectiveness burn in him when he sees just how angry you are, and how these assholes are trying to intimidate you. The rivalry between their houses makes his temper snap tighter.

“Go,” Rafe tells them, the sharpness in his voice unmistakable now.

“I want some food,” one of the guys mutters.

“You lost your chance,” you snap.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes like you’re the unreasonable one.

“You heard her,” Rafe says, daring him to push it. You don’t want to expect any good from him, but he’s standing with his broad shoulders squared, making it very clear whose side he’s on.

The guys finally leave, muttering as they stalk off. It’s just you and Rafe at the table now. You don’t want to believe he stepped in because he’s sincerely looking out for you. You can’t. But you’re still grateful because you had no escape and he just gave it to you.

“I’ll give you all the snacks you want,” you say in a show of appreciation.

Rafe huffs a small laugh, but his eyes stay on you.

“What’d they do?” he asks.

“They were gross,” you mutter. Admittedly, you’re tired of pretending the way men objectify you doesn’t get to you. “Like all guys, treating me like I’m only good for one thing. It’s so fucking degrading.”

Rafe is thrown by your honesty. You can tell. But when you’re this angry, you don’t care about putting up a front. Just like the night he spilled his drink on you, when you snapped at him with no inhibitions.

And that memory hits you now. Rafe asked if you were always so sensitive and it reminded you exactly why you don’t let yourself trust guys like him. Whatever he’s doing right now is a game. You have to keep your guard up where it always is.

“Want anything?” you ask, attempting to brush the thought away with humor, to continue to charm him. “Or I could keep ranting if you’re into it.”

“I’ll take one of those,” Rafe says with a small smile, pointing at the granola bars. Your eyes dip to his lips, reminded of how they felt on yours, before you hand him a bar. Your fingers brush his for half a second.

He steps back as he realizes someone is in line behind him. But he’s still staring at you like he’s trying to figure you out. You break eye contact first. And he steps aside to let the next person through.

・・・・・

Later that night, you read Rafe’s text while standing in front of your mirror in your bedroom. Jada is in the bathroom, blasting music as she does her hair.

You coming tonight?

You check your reflection, smoothing your hands down the sides of your deep red mini‑dress. You’re dressed up for an ‘angels and demons’ theme party, your dress soft and skimpy, paired with a plastic headband of two red horns.

His frat shouldn’t be throwing their annual Halloween party tonight. They’re almost on probation, and everyone knows it by now. But that’s not your problem. If they want to risk getting shut down, that’s on them.

Probably, you type back, even though you’re fully planning to head over there.

Rafe has never been afraid to come on too strong with a girl. He either cares or he doesn’t. But tonight, sitting on the couch in the frat house living room, surrounded by his brothers, he feels different.

He keeps checking his phone, rereading your text.

Probably.

His friends are shouting over the music. Normally, he escapes into this loud chaos. He loves not having to think about anything. But you might be coming, and your attention feels different than anything else.

Rafe leans back, letting the music wash over him, pretending he’s relaxed even though he’s anything but.

・・・・・

The second you step into the frat house, the air is thick, too many bodies packed into one place. Music thumps through the floorboards, vibrating up your legs. Your friends pull you deeper inside, weaving through clusters of people.

Rafe stands near the kitchen doorway with his friends. His hair is pushed back instead of hidden under a hat, a little tousled. He didn’t bother with a real costume. Just a red polo and jeans, the bare minimum effort to dress on theme.

You look away before he can catch you staring and go further into the house, pretending you’re not aware of where he is in the room.

Eventually, while you’re dancing with your friends, you feel a hand graze the small of your back. You turn to see Rafe towering over you, close enough that you can smell his cologne under the haze of sweat. His eyes are on you like you’re the only person in the room.

“Who cares about probation, huh?” you say, motioning to the chaos around you. This party absolutely should not be happening.

“Aw, you worried about me?” Rafe replies, leaning in just enough that you feel his breath on your cheek.

“I’m losing sleep over it,” you deadpan.

He laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t want to second guess himself with you, even though it’s all he does.

Suddenly, he’s aware of every guy in the room who’s staring at you in that tiny dress. The twist of possessiveness burns in him.

Rafe has no claim over you. But it feels like he does. Like he should.

You gaze up at him, at the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead.

“I like your hair like that,” you flirt.

His grin widens. It’s a full, toothy smile he tries to hide by ducking his head for a second.

“Could barely shower,” he says. “My arms are killing me from today.”

“Weak,” you tease.

“Hey,” he says, laughing. “I carried my team.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you reply with a nod. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“You have a good time?”

“It’s fun to get competitive,” you say. “You?”

“Yeah,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Just need a massage now.”

“Nice try,” you laugh.

He pauses for a moment to take in your bright smile, the sweet sound of your laugh.

“Who do you think won?” he asks.

“Us. Definitely.”

“You’re so sure,” he says with a squint.

“We can put money on it if you want to bet,” you say.

Rafe’s smile falters.

The goal was just to hook up with you. It was supposed to be a game. Now he’s standing in front of you, and you’re joking with him, and he’s having so much fun with you that he already misses you before you’re gone.

You’re not just some stuck-up princess. There’s more to you. He’s seen it. How funny you are. How sweet you can be. And today, when he saw that anger in you flare yet again, he realized it’s rooted in how much you have to protect yourself.

He knows what that’s like.

He wonders what’ll happen if he wants more than what he promised his friends. He’s definitely attracted to you. That part was never in question. But there’s something else now that makes the bet feel cheap.

It pisses him off that he’s doing what you vented to him about. He tried to convince himself that he could see you as just a girl to fuck around with. And he was an idiot to do that.

You study him, curious about what his sudden silence means. He’s looking at you like he always does, like he’s trying to read your mind.

But you don’t make it a habit to read between a guy’s lines. All you can feel is the heat of your need for him. The way he’s looking at you only makes it harder to ignore.

You’ll stick to the plan. You won’t go all the way. But you’ll do more.

“You want to show me your room?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Rafe licks his lips, nodding gently.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Come on.”

He leads you through the crowd, up the stairs, the noise fading behind you with every step. His palm covers yours, sending a hot current straight through you.

He opens the door to his bedroom. And you follow him inside.

(to be continued)

You’ve been screaming back and forth at each other for over 20 minutes; nothing but barbarous insults hurled at each other that neither of you will be able to forget but will refuse to discuss when your tempers have regulated. Not to mention that he heard that tell-tale grit in your voice from the very first second that you opened your mouth. Hell, it almost weighed heavier on him than the horrible things you were telling him. 

Now, though, you’re both silent. Everything that needed to be said was said. 

Eyes wide and unflinchingly locked together, unwavering connection stemming from the vicious battle you just went through in this bedroom. The one that was never going to produce a victor, because neither of you can take back what you told each other. You’re still red in the face. You’ve still got veins popping out of your neck. Hot, angry tears are silently pouring down your cheeks—no doubt from the high emotions, the unbearable pain. 

Or maybe from the realization you’re arriving at for the millionth time this month: This relationship isn’t working. Hasn’t been working for weeks, and he knows you’ve been in that state of mind for a while. 

Clark, though? Not so much. He’s given you so much of himself, so much of his time, so much of his life and love…how could he ever let you go?

So when you finally break that eye contact, when you look down at the floor separating the two of you, he knows what he has to do. Does he want to do it? No, because Clark is a good man. 

But he’ll do anything to keep you with him.

It starts when you let out one of those wistful little sighs—the exact type of sigh that precedes the line he knows you’ll forget you even said to him in a few minutes: 

“I think we need to take a break.” 

Your voice is much softer now. Broken, in a way. Broken from how hard you were yelling. Broken from how upset you are. Broken from your own suggestion, because Clark knows that, deep down in your heart, you never mean that. You’ve never gone through with it, so how could you possibly mean it? You don’t want that. 

He knows what you want. 

Clark clears his throat. Takes a few slow, long strides across your bedroom until he reaches you. You’re so tired from the fight that you don’t even move away from him. Not like you’d want to, anyway. Clark knew you wouldn’t. He knows this fight—and the way you react to it—better than anything else. 

You might have said you can’t stand him, that you want to take a break, that you’re tired of it all…but your body doesn’t agree. Your body leans into him. Your body presses your hands against his chest and lets your forehead fall on his shoulder. Your body rests on his so that you don’t have to carry the weight of your shared dysfunction on your own anymore.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t say that.” he whispers. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Clark, don’t—” 

That tiny beginner’s protest doesn’t really ring true while you’re sliding your arms around his shoulders and pulling yourself into his chest, so he cuts you off.

“No. No, we don’t need a break. We can work through this. We always work through it, don’t we?” he purrs at you. Tilts your head up with one hand while his other arm stays wrapped around your waist. Glues you to him and doesn’t give you any space to unstick yourself from him. His fingers curl around your jaw and a quick scan of your face in the pale blue moonlight streaming into your room gives him what he was hoping to see. 

You have a certain habit that he uses to his advantage when you fight with him. You gnaw at your bottom lip when you’re trying to keep certain insults in. Sometimes, it’s so harsh of a bite that you cut the skin. Make yourself bleed. 

Give him an opening to change your mind. 

“Goodness, honey. You gotta stop doing this,” he sweetly coos. Runs his thumb over your bottom lip to make it seem like he’s only concerned about the cut. To be fair, he is concerned about how it’s probably hurting you—but that’s not taking precedence right now. 

“Gonna hurt yourself. I know this doesn’t feel good.”

He pushes out a sigh through his nose. He has to look frustrated and sympathetic if he wants to act like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

“You gonna let me clean you up?”  

You whine and lean into his touch; a confirmation without the words to accompany it. He knows you can’t resist him. He puts on his sweetest smile and mumbles, “Good. Gotta take care of my girl,” while he gives you a soft squeeze.

Getting you this close is just step one. 

Step two, though, is where the last remaining dregs of his own guilt start to creep in. He hesitates for a moment when he pulls his thumb off of your lip and brings it up to his own mouth. He could pull away from you and get a wet rag to clean it instead. He could be the good man Ma raised him to be. 

Then you lean into him a little more. Get so close to him that he can smell the shampoo in your hair, the perfume on your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your blood. Your bottom lip is still subtly trembling. A shockwave from your crying that just refuses to leave you, much like how you can’t leave his arms right now.

How could you blame him for what he’s about to do? Your body is begging him to do it. Begging him for some release from this pain. Craving relief that only he can provide you.

Isn’t the whole point of his being here on Earth protecting and caring for its inhabitants, anyway?

So he ditches the guilt. Swallows it down and acts like he’s just trying to clean you up when he licks his thumb to wet it and swipes it over the gently oozing blood on your lip. Drags it back and forth over the still-open cut once, twice, three times. Soft and sweet, like Ma would do when he had a stain on his cheek from playing outside when he was a kid. As though there’s no ulterior motive here. 

And to you, there probably isn’t. To you, he probably seems like he’s just caring for you. Trying to make you feel better. 

Clark knows that’s not the case. 

He keeps his thumb pressed against your lip. Keeps it over that cut. Keeps pressing his saliva into the little wound. Rubbing it back and forth. Licking his thumb again. Repeating the whole process when some more blood wells from your self-inflicted bite. Feeding more and more of himself to you. 

Part of him wishes Kara never told him about this little trick.

“All I know is that it’s like…a fuckin’ love potion, or something. If you kiss a human, they’ll go crazy for you. I think it’s in our spit. I know it sounds crazy, Kal, but trust me. That shit works.” 

He thought she was lying. Didn’t believe her at first, because how outrageous would that be? Sure, his parents wanted him to repopulate Earth, but isn’t aphrodisiac-laced spit a little far fetched? 

Two years later, he knows she wasn’t lying. Especially right now, as he’s watching you fall into the effects of it. He’s watching your pupils dilate with every gentle brush of his thumb over your lip, watching your breathing quicken in your still-heaving chest. 

This trick’s worked on you every time. And every time he does it, he feels bad about it, but he’s sure not stopping any time soon. Not when he gets to see you like this. 

Your eyes keep locking onto his mouth. You keep squirming in his grasp, body warm, skin dampening, and much more pliable than you were only a few seconds earlier. When your fingers dig into his shirt, he finds that they’re trembling. Whether it’s from the rage of your fight or the lack of his attention toward the mess you’re already making between your thighs, he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s both. 

“Clark,” you whine. Pitchy, breathy, irresistible. He ticks his jaw, annoyed with himself for being so turned on by this. By being able to control you this easily. He’s supposed to be a good man. He’s not supposed to get hard when you’re upset with him. 

“I’m here. I’ve got you, baby.” 

Your lidded eyes trace every single word that leaves his mouth. You moan at the pet name. His fingers, still curled around your jaw while his others grasp at your waist, pick up on the heat radiating from you. 

“Don’t like it when we fight.”

“I don’t like it either, honey.” 

Your knees buckle at the saccharine nickname he knows is your favorite—a slight jolt that makes him tighten his hold on you—and you start panting, start gripping him a little harder. 

Are your hips rolling against his? He pays no mind to it. Forces himself to take his thumb away from your lip, because you’re good and moldable for him already. Three rounds of feeding himself to you through an open wound’ll do it. He doesn’t need to take this any further.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to, though. 

“I love you,” you whisper to him. The inky blackness of your pupils eats up your irises. You’re soaking through your panties, making such a big mess that he can smell it. He should be excited—and part of him is—but his heart aches instead. When was the last time he had you this wet, this compliant, this soft and needy for him, without using his saliva to get you there? Must have been before everything started going downhill a few months ago. 

Oh well. At least you’re there now, right?

So he smiles at you. Sweet and crooked, the smile you’ve told him you love a thousand times before. Makes you whimper and has you bucking your hips up against his. You’re so hot that your skin is burning. Warm to the touch and a little bit damp. Just how he likes you. His trick worked like a charm.

“There’s my sweet girl. Was starting to think I’d never see you again, baby. I love you so much.” 

When his lower-octave purr hits your ears, you almost collapse. He felt it all. The way your knees gave out, the way you grabbed onto him a little harder, the way your heart started slamming so roughly behind your ribcage that it almost burst out of your chest. 

“Can I have a kiss?” you mercilessly, pathetically beg. Voice so soft and needy and whiney that he couldn’t possibly dream of resisting you. “I know—I know you don’t like to do it, but…I need one. Please?”

“Is a kiss gonna make you feel better?”

You hum and nod so hard that your head looks like it’s about to fall off. He finds himself laughing. Not mean, not teasing, just…laughing. Because he’s in awe. How has this trick worked for this long? How haven’t you built up an immunity by now?

Thank God you haven’t built up an immunity by now. 

“My needy girl always gets what she wants.” 

He licks his lips—getting them wet so he can keep you pliant—and leans down to press them against yours. His tongue gently glides against your bottom lip, making sure to take a little extra time on that cut there and causing you to suck in a brief wince. He pushes his way into your mouth without even a hint of resistance from you. Does its work. Keeps you easy. 

20 minutes ago, you’d have had his head on a pike if he kissed you when you were that mad. If he had so much as suggested a kiss 20 minutes ago, you would have walked out of that door and never came back. 

You break away not even 10 seconds later. Clearly woozy from the kiss, like he knew you’d be. Everything is so heightened for you that he’s surprised you even lasted that long. You press your forehead against his jaw. 

“Better?” Clark asks. Your answer is some sort of jumbled little confirmation. 

Your sticky, warm skin clings to his when you catch your breath, pull back, and try to reconnect the kiss. He lets you. You’re the one parting his lips to press your tongue against his, you’re the one licking into his mouth so you can get as close to him as possible, you’re the one tangling your hands in his hair and yanking on it so you can part for air after a pathetic 10 more seconds. And yet, after you gulp in a few deep breaths, you kiss him again. Surprise engulfs him when, this time, you suck on his tongue. 

Couldn’t hold the moan that burst from his chest back if he tried. 

It’s the first time in a couple weeks that you’ve paid any sort of positive attention to him at all, and he loves it. He loves you. If his girl wants a kiss—or two, or three—she’ll get one. Matter of fact, he’d let you do anything if it meant he got to keep you forever. He just might be able to do that if you keep sticking your tongue down his throat and sucking on his like you just did. 

He pulls away when he senses that you’re losing yourself in him. That realization comes through your landing a particularly rough bite on his bottom lip before you start kissing his chin, his jaw, and his neck, leaving a trail of tiny wet patches in your wake. 

Clark cradles your face in his hands to stop you from diving in for another kiss. Gives you a chance to breathe and gives him a moment to drink you in when you’re not mad at him. Your precious, soft, absolutely lovedrunk face. His poor baby. So far gone—eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and glistening from your messy litany of kisses, skin hot to the touch and chest heaving as you claw at his shirt and stumble over your own two feet while you drag him backwards toward your bed. 

You’re more than pliable enough, now. 

Clark swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, thumb dampening from the filthy kisses you’ve shared with him, a mix of your saliva and his. You chase after the contact and tilt your head into his palm when he slips his thumb down toward your jaw. 

He puts on his best soft, deep voice and asks, “Gonna let me take care of you, now, baby? Let me apologize?” before you can yank him down onto your bed.

He gets a soft hum from you. A nod. Of course he does. You’d never say no to him when you’ve got this much of his “love potion”—as Kara would call it— coursing its way through your veins. So he takes your confirmation that he knew he’d get, lifts you up, and lets you indulge in your forced desires.  

Clark’s form of an apology isn’t an actual apology. He doesn’t say sorry to you anymore. When has it ever soothed your anger, anyway? 

Instead, he apologizes by burying his face between your legs. He never has to give you much after you’ve kissed. A gentle circling of his tongue around your clit for a handful of seconds is enough to get you to come undone for the first time. The next is a little harder to work for, but if being between your legs and humping the mattress to get his own relief could be a full time job, he’d apply for it immediately. 

“Clark!” you groan while arching off the bed. While you’re being thrown off the proverbial cliff, falling into your third climax in an obscenely short time frame.  

Your body is a gorgeous symphony to him when you’re like this. Everything you do is music to his ears when you’re in this bed. The roughness of your breathing, the sheets rubbing against your heated, sticky skin, the lewd squelch of your wetness as he drives two fingers in and out of you, the moans you sing out when he curls those fingers up to hit the soft, spongy spot that he loves to abuse until you’re boneless beneath him. 

“Coming! Fuck, I’m coming! Don’t—ah! Don’t stop!” you babble. There’s a string of curse words attached to the end of that jumbled declaration. Clark just hums and continues eating. Slips his fingers out of you to replace them with his tongue. The rough push of his nose against your clit forces a full-body jolt out of you. 

You keep screaming for him to continue, to go deeper, to not stop, and he gives it all to you until you’re falling apart. It’s not like it was his intention to stop. Wouldn’t dream of stopping now. Wouldn’t deprive himself of the pleasure of being glued to your pretty pussy like this. 

He’s not sure when he became so selfish. Maybe it was the first time he kissed you to manipulate you. Well, it’s not manipulation. Not if you were the one who asked for a kiss. That’s what he tells himself, at least. 

“Shit!” you hiss while you collapse back down on the bed with a heavy thump. Your body’s starting to give out. Mind’s been gone for a while, now; there’s no way you remember what that fight earlier was about. Perfect. Just where he wants you. Should be enough to buy him at least a couple days of peace. A couple days of not having to worry about you wanting to break up with him and him losing all his motivation to live. 

Clark smiles. Pulls back just enough to speak to you. When he pushes his thumbs against each of your folds and spreads you open, your whimpered response is telling him you’ve got tears in your eyes. You cant your hips up, bucking and squirming for him to give you more. 

How are you still begging for more when you’ve had so much already? Maybe he’s not the only selfish one here. 

“Look at the mess you made. Love it when she’s cryin’ for me like this, baby. Can’t believe I get to call this perfect little pussy all mine. How’d I get so lucky?” 

He pushes his filthy words into your thighs between kisses as though he’s praying to you. He is, in a way. Praying that you won’t leave him. Praying that he’ll get to keep you if he’s good enough at worshipping the altar of your body.

Those kisses slowly trail up your hips, your waist, your stomach. Each time he makes contact with you, he feels the goosebumps on your skin. Feels the way you shiver, the way you’re still weak for him even though he hasn’t kissed you in what feels like an eternity. 

He wants to kiss you. Wants to push you a little further. Wants you to go completely dumb so that you don’t have to think about how mad you are at him. So that, if he’s lucky, you’ll forget about everything altogether and just love him the way he loves you. Without hesitation. Without regret. 

For now, he refrains. Kisses up to your chest and sucks one peaked, sensitive nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other. A gentle back and forth swipe, one that he drew on your bottom lip just a little while earlier. 

He stops his kisses when he reaches your jaw. Tilts his head away from you when you try to kiss him. Nearly dies from the tiny, sad noise you push out when he doesn’t give you what you want. Clears his throat and gently spreads your legs with one knee. Somewhere along the way, he slipped his hand down to your overstimulated clit, and he earns a cute little moan from you when he starts tracing soft circles on it. 

“Gonna let me use her one more time, honey?”

“Last time,” you confirm while spreading your legs wider for him. You nod. “One last time.” 

Clark stills. Lifts his head so he can actually meet your eyes for the first time since this has all started. It’s a miracle that they’re still open. What’s not a miracle, though, is how your irises have started to return.

His blood chills. Threatens to freeze in his veins and render him useless. How long has it been since that aphrodisiac wore off? 

“Last time? You don’t mean that,” he mutters. The way his voice went up an octave is embarrassing. How could five words make him panic so quickly? 

“I told you I wanted to take a break,” you counter. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck. Clark’s face starts to burn. Whether it’s from embarrassment, panic, or anger, he doesn’t exactly know. 

“You didn’t mean it when you said that, either.” 

He sighs. He knows what he has to do. He didn’t think it’d ever get this far, but if it means keeping you, it’s getting done. 

He steels himself and sends you a fake smile. You probably clocked it. He’s never been good at faking them with you. He brushes some of your hair off of your forehead and lowers his face towards yours. His voice is a whisper when he finds it again. 

“We’ll talk about it later.” 

You huff at him. Press your lips into a thin line but turn toward his palm when it slides down your cheek. Soon enough, his thumb is gliding over your lip again. He always seems to find it. This time, though, he’s got a reason. 

He swipes it back and forth. Gentle. Unassuming. Considers it a win when you tilt your chin up for him to continue the tiny, comforting movement. He regains some confidence in his voice now that he’s accepted his fate and knows what he has to do here. 

“Be a good girl and open up for me, baby,” he commands while he drags his thumb down your chin. For someone who wants a break so badly, you comply immediately. The smile he sends you is genuine, this time. 

“That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.” 

As soon as you’ve got your mouth open, chin tilted up, he does it. He stares into your eyes as he lets a single, heavy dribble of his saliva fall onto your tongue. Just enough of it to bump up the concentration of the aphrodisiac without knocking you out completely. 

“Swallow,” he coos when he closes your mouth for you. Smiles when you do as he says without skipping a beat. 

“Atta girl.”

When he finally tears his focus away from your mouth to look at your entire face, he sees everything he wants:

Blown out pupils and utter devotion. 

“Can you believe that?” Clark grumbles, his rough thrusts quickening as he pounds into you again and again, making you squirm each time his hips crash into yours. That's right. You were supposed to be attentive to his complaints throughout all of this.

“Bruce made me look like an idiot in front of the rest of the team,” he growls against your ear.

“Made everyone question my decisions, and—and how could they question me? I’m the leader of the Justice League, for Christ’s sake. I know what’s good for everyone.”

His head lolls forward for a moment. Falls into your neck while his heavy breaths fall against your heated skin. His thrusts pick up speed and pressure until your entire bed is shaking beneath his force. Clearly, he’s not worried about breaking you tonight.

“Whatever I say goes. That’s that. How hard is that to understand?”

His hands tighten on your hips, fingers curling around and digging into the soft flesh there. Squeezing them so roughly it almost hurts. Probably bruising the skin. That grip tightens every time he even thinks about that humiliating Justice League meeting he just crash-landed back from.

He was irate when he came home to you tonight. Jaw tense, eyes wild, chest heaving, face a bright red that was steadily bleeding down to his neck. That kind of roughness isn’t natural to Clark. He has to have a truly horrible day—or, more likely, a horrible set of days—to even consider fucking you like this. To storm into your room, tear through your panties, and fuck you with his suit still on. To fuck you like you’re an object to be used rather than his lovely, perfect girlfriend who deserves time and slowness and respect.

Just the thought of that has your cunt clenching around his cock and tears welling in your eyes.

Your head falls back onto your pillows while you squeal out a babbled mess of noises that were supposed to be words. Those tears start to flow down your hot, flushed cheeks. Your attempted whine doesn’t even come out; your throat is too raw from how much you’ve been screaming, from how good he’s been making you feel.

“Gosh, baby. You feel so good,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning when you clench around him again.

“Lettin’ me use you like this,” he grunts between harsh thrusts, hands sliding up to your thighs so he can press them down harder. So he can get deeper. The tip of his cock nudges against your cervix with each rough thrust, the first of which makes you jolt and punch out a strangled moan. Makes you reach out and grab for him, but you can’t. He’s too far gone, and at a certain point, so are you.

He picks up his head and stares daggers at you. Misdirected anger. You're not upset about it, and neither is your pussy judging by the way it clamps around his cock.

“You understand, don’t you? You know that whatever I say goes. Such a good girl for me. Not askin’ any stupid questions. Just takin’ all of me like you’re supposed to. Like you’re made just for me.”

This isn’t your Clark. This is someone else—someone you could see yourself really getting used to.

Your arms and fingers stretch down toward your own hips, a pathetic attempt at trying to get your hands on him. They find a soft, silky fabric to curl around, to clutch and hold on to for dear life. When you finally lift your head back up to look at what you’ve got, you almost black out.

It’s his cape.

Bright red and flowy, softly billowing with each of his harsh, borderline hateful thrusts into you. He didn’t even bother taking it off. He didn’t bother taking any of his suit off; all he did was free himself from those iconic trunks and get to work, and he’s controlling just how much of him you get to touch.

Him, on the other hand? He gets to touch whatever he wants. You only get his cape, and he gets your entire body. All of you, none of you, as much of you as he wants, whenever he wants. He’s in control.

God, is it good for him to be in control.

There wasn’t even a hint of foreplay tonight, and yet you’re soaked. All you can hear in this room is a combination of his brutal thrusts, your creaking bed frame, your moaning mixed with his grunts, and the lewd squelch that comes with every shift of his skilled hips. You’ve finished twice from the way his cock keeps bullying that soft, sensitive spot deep inside of you; the one he keeps hitting without hesitation even though he knows it'll overwhelm you. The one that makes you squirm so much that he has to pin you down on the bed to keep you from skittering away.

You’re already on the verge of coming—again—and it’s from his brutality alone. You felt it deep down in your belly, a burn that you’re so familiar with after being with Clark for so many years, and all you need is a final push.

And Clark gives it to you when he picks up his speed and force once more, leans over you with both hands pressed into the mattress aside your head, and growls, “Maybe I’ll take you to our next meeting. Do this in front of everyone and show ‘em whose in charge.”

You whine and nod your head; couldn’t control the way your pussy spasmed and constricted around him at the mention of this Clark fucking you in front of the entire Justice League. Your Clark wouldn’t even think of it.

“Goodness, she’s squeezin’ me like a vice. You like the sound of that, honey? Me using you in front of everyone?”

“Yes! God, yes!” you shout while you come all over him, body convulsing and falling apart like only he can get it to do. First time you’ve been able to find your words all night.

Clark just laughs at you. Keeps hammering into you over and over with a playful glint in his eye. Watches your tears fall down your cheeks without wiping them away because he’s too busy with his rough, now-sloppy thrusts.

“I like the sound of that, too.”

“Well, what about that one?” 

Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through. 

Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.

You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.

“Who is she?”

“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.

“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.

“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”

“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”

Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any. 

Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable. 

He licks his lips.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.

Topper raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”

Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”

They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—

“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and— 

“A week.” 

“Mm?”

“A week to fuck her. With proof.” 

Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it. 

“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”

“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.

“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”

Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.

You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.

He’d have fun ruining you.

***

“You sure do love reading, don’t you?” 

It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.

You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.

“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”

Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…” 

“You find books more interesting than people?”

“Huh?”

He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug. 

“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—

“Are you making fun of me?”

You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.” 

“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds. 

“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”

Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more. 

“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.

“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”

“I’ll be your friend.” 

He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive. 

You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too. 

“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”

“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.

It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that. 

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.

“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.

“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means… 

“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.

You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?” 

He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right. 

“You could call it studying.”

You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing. 

“What’s your name, homeschool?” 

You tell him.

He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”

You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it. 

Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could. 

That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.

***

Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.

You’re alone. As usual.

“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.

“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.” 

“What’re you up to today?” 

“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”

He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?

“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect. 

“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”

He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way. 

“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”

“Friends?” You don’t have any.

“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”

Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.” 

Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.

He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.

“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”

Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue. 

“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”

He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…

“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.

“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.

“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”

“Say it. Now.” 

You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.” 

The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this. 

“Huh. Is that so?”

“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”

Rafe nods, “Hmm.”

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“

“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”

You blink, “What?”

He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”

“It’s not that–”

“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”

He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.

“I asked you a question, homeschool.”

“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”

“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.

“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”

He stops, allows you to catch up.

“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”

“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”

You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”

“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”

*

Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…

 ”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.

“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.

“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”

He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.

Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.

“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.

“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.

“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”

“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”

You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”

He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”

You look aghast, “No! I would never–”

“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”

“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”

“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”

You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.

“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”

“Thank you.”

“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”

He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.

He nods, “You look pretty.”

Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”

He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.

*

On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.

“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.

Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.

“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.

“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”

He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.

“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”

Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.

“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.

“No?”

“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”

Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.

“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.

You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”

“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”

The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.

“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.

You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”

You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.

Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.

“Rafe?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”

“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.

“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.

“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”

It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.

“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”

He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.

“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.

“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.

“Wow, that was cool!”

“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”

Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.

He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.

“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”

He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”

That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.

He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…

He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.

*

On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.

“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”

You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.

“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”

Rafe grins, “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”

He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.

“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”

You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.

“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”

But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.

“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.

Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”

“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”

He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”

“You sure about that?”

He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”

Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.

All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.

You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.

*

Rafe: Hey.

Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?

He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.

Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.

Rafe: What are you up to?

A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.

Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?

It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.

He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”

He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?

“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”

A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”

“What like vacuuming and shit?”

“Yes.”

Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.

He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.

“Uh, Rafe?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

A pause.

“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”

“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”

“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.

He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.

“I’d rather speak to you than them.”

 “That’s not true, Rafe.”

“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”

“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”

“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.

“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”

“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”

“You’re funny, Rafe.”

You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.

“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.

“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”

He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.

“A-Are you still there?”

“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–

“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.

“Rafe?”

He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.

“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.

“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”

“Like, uh, at your house?”

“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”

That just makes him even more determined to be your first.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”

“Rafe…”

He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.

“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”

That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.

“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.

“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”

*

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”

Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.

“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.

“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.

“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”

Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”

Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”

“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”

“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”

“What?”

Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”

“Well, yeah, but –”

“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”

“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”

Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.

He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”

Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”

Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.

“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”

“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”               

Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.

He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.

That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.

“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”

“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.

You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”

“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”

He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.

“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.

“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”

“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.

He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.

You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.

“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.

Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.

Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”

Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”

He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”

“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”

He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.

“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.

You blink, “Um, water?”

He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”

“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”

“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”

You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.

“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.

“People have been talking about me to you?”

“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”

He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.

“Do you always drink after school?”

“Huh?”

“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”

“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”

He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.

Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.

“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”

Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”

He shrugs, “A few.”

You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”

“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.

“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”

Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.

“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”

You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”

“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”

He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.

“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.

You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”

“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”

“Hey!”

He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.

You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”

Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”

You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”

Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”

Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”

He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.

Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”

He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.

“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”

He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.

He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”

Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”

He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.

“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”

Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…

“There. Comfy?”

“Well, I guess, but…”

He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.

He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.

And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.

When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.

“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”

Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”

“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”

Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.

Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.

He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.

And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.

“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”

“Rafe, maybe not too much–”

“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.

“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”

He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.

Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”

You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”

“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.

It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.

Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.

“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.

“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”

He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–

“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”

He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”

He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”

Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”

Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.

“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.

It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.

“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”

Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.

“That’s okay,” he says.

You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”

Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.

You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”

Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.

Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”

He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”

“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”

Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.

He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.

“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”

What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.

“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.

Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.

You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.

Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.

Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.

*

Kelce: One day left, loverboy.

Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.

Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.

Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.

He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.

That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.

Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.

How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.

The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.

He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–

His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.

“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry I called you, I just… How are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m fine. You wanna talk?”

“No. I mean, yes. Oh, I… Rafe, I’m sorry. You’re probably busy.”

“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I’m scared.”

You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”

He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”

“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”

“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”

They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.

“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”

“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”

He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”

“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”

Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.

“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”

Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.

“Rafe! You came!”

You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.

“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.

At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.

“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.

“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”

“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”

He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.

You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.

Despite everything, his dick hardens.

“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”

He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”

You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.

He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.

He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”

“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”

“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.

“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”

You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”

He smirks, “I could distract you.”

“H-How?”

He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.

“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.

“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”

You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.

“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”

“H-Huh–”

“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”

You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”

It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.

He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.

Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.

“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”

He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”

“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”

“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”

Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”

He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”

“Y-You.”

“Yeah. And who’s older?”

“You are.”

“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”

You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.

Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.

He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.

He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.

“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.

“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”

“Stand up, baby.”

You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.

You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.

“Take your leggings off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.

You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.

“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.

“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”

“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”

He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.

“Stand up straight, look at me again.”

You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.

“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.

Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.

And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.

His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.

“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”

You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”

God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.

“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”

“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?

Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.

You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.

“You have an accident, princess?”

You look absolutely aghast, “No!”

Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.

“Oh my God–”

He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”

“What?”

“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”

For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”

“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”

He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”

He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.

“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.

Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.

“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”

“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”

Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.

“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.

Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.

“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.

“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–

You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.

And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.

“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”

Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”

“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”

He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.

“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”

You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”

“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”

It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.

He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.

But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.

“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”

Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.

“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.

“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”

He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”

You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”

“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”

Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.

He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.

“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.

You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”

He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.

“Take it out.”

“N-No!”

He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”

“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”

You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”

He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”

As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”

You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”

“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”

You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.

“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”

You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”

“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”

 In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.

“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”

“I am?”

“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.

“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.

Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”

“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.

“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.

“Yeah?”

Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”

God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.

Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.

“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”

‘I don’t know.”

SMACK.

Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”

“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”

“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”

You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.

You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.

“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”

He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.

“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.

But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.

“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.

“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.

“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”

‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”

“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”

Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.

“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”

“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”

“But it hurts!”

“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”

A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”

“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”

“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.

Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”

You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”

“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”

You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”

He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.

“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”

You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.

“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.

“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”

You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.

“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”

“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“

You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.

“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”

All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.

It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.

Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.

“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”

The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”

He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.

That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.

“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”

“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”

“Nooo…”

He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.

“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…

He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…

“Rafe, I… please…”

“Baby…”

His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–

“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”

“Fuck.”

Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.

He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”

“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.

“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”

“You pr-promise?”

“I promise.”

He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.

You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.

The wind laughs and laughs all night.

*

The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.

Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.

Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.

He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.

Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.

He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.

What the fuck did that mean?

His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.

That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?

Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.

Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.

Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?

“You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.

He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.

*

“There he is! The loverboy himself!”

His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.

“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”

“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”

Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”

He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.

He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.

“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”

“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.

“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.

“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.

Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”

“Then show us. That was the deal.”

He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.

“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.

“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”

Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”

He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.

“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”

He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.

And immediately locks eyes with you.

And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.

“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.

A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.

Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.

And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.

𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)

Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?

Should reader forgive Rafe?

Favourite scene/part?