#daisyklee1

It got dirty fast.

The second Rafe kissed you properly, the teasing flipped into something darker, hungrier. His mouth claimed yours, deep and demanding, and before you could catch your breath he rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him with one strong arm.

“Fuck, come here,” he growled against your lips.

You straddled his waist, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips. The thin fabric of your sleep shorts and his sweatpants did almost nothing to hide how hard he already was. Rafe’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you down so you were grinding right against his cock. You whimpered at the friction.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Shit… you’re a whiner,” he murmured, almost amused. “Never would’ve guessed.”

You tried to glare at him but another roll of your hips had you moaning softly instead. Rafe smirked and sat up slightly, one hand sliding under your oversized t-shirt to grope your bare tits, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened.

He took his time.

Every time you got close to begging, he slowed down. He edged you mercilessly — fingers slipping into your shorts, stroking your soaked pussy, circling your clit until your thighs shook, only to pull back when you started panting his name. He sucked and bit at your nipples, alternating between soft licks and sharp little tugs that made you cry out.

“All those times you pissed me off,” he said roughly, two thick fingers buried deep inside you while his thumb worked your clit. “Spilling drinks on me. Arguing with me. Looking too fucking good in that bikini. This is payback, baby.”

“Rafe— please,” you whined, grinding down on his hand desperately. “I’m so close—”

“Not yet.”

He kept you right on the edge for what felt like forever, until you were trembling and dripping down his wrist. Only when you were nearly sobbing did he finally let you come, curling his fingers just right while sucking hard on your nipple. You shattered on top of him, moaning loudly into his neck as your pussy clenched around his fingers.

You barely had time to recover before he flipped you both again, shoving your shorts and panties down your legs. He pushed his own sweatpants off and you got your first real look at him.

He was hung. Thick, long, and rock hard.

“Condom?” he rasped, already lining himself up.

You shook your head, too needy to care. “I’m on birth control. Just fuck me.”

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice.

He pushed into you in one slow, deep thrust, stretching you open. You gasped at the fullness, nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he bottomed out.

“Fuck… so tight,” he muttered.

Then he started moving — hard, steady strokes that made the headboard hit the wall. Every thrust felt like it was punishing and rewarding you at the same time. He groped your tits, kissed you messily, and whispered filthy things in your ear about how long he’d wanted this.

You came again around his cock, whining and shaking.

Rafe followed not long after, slamming deep and groaning your name as he spilled inside you.

For a minute, the only sound in the room was both of you trying to catch your breath.

He stayed buried inside you, pressing lazy kisses along your collarbone, almost gentle now that the storm had passed.

“You’re still annoying as hell,” he mumbled against your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh, running your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah… well you’re still an asshole.”

But neither of you moved away.

Second Morning at the Beach House

Rafe woke up with you wrapped around him like a damn koala.

Your leg was thrown over his hip, arm draped across his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck. Your soft breaths tickled his skin with every exhale. He was on his back, one arm loosely around you, staring at the ceiling in a state of mild shock.

What the fuck did we do?

Last night replayed in his head on a loop — the way you’d asked him to kiss you, the filthy sounds you made when he fingered you, how tight you felt around his cock, the way you whined his name when you came. He’d fucked you hard. Twice. And you’d been loud. Really loud.

He glanced toward the door. Thankfully, this was the only room on the top floor. Still… the house wasn’t that big.

Before he could spiral further, you stirred.

Like a lazy cat, you stretched against him, back arching, legs tightening around his waist for a second before you nuzzled deeper into his chest with a soft, sleepy hum. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and when they met his, a shy little smile tugged at your lips.

“Morning,” you mumbled, voice raspy.

Rafe’s chest tightened. He didn’t know how the hell to act. Were you still pissed at him? Was this a one-time thing? Did you expect him to be soft with you now?

“You’re clingy as hell when you sleep,” he said instead, voice rough with morning gravel. A teasing smirk played on his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You didn’t pull away. If anything, you pressed closer, your bare tits brushing against his chest under the sheet.

“You’re warm,” you replied simply, tracing a lazy finger down his abs. “And you didn’t seem to mind last night when I was riding—”

A loud knock on the door cut you off.

“Yo! Rafe! Breakfast is ready, man. Get your asses up!” Topper’s voice boomed from the hallway, way too cheerful. “We’re making pancakes. Don’t make us come drag you both out.”

Rafe cursed under his breath. You froze against him, eyes widening slightly as the reality of the group outside hit you.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Rafe’s hand slid down to squeeze your ass possessively under the covers, even as he raised his voice just enough to answer. “We’ll be down in a minute!”

Topper laughed and walked away. The second his footsteps faded, Rafe looked back at you. The teasing from last night was still there, but now it was layered with something heavier.

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. “Pretty sure half the house knows I fucked you stupid.”

Your face flushed instantly. You buried it in his neck again, embarrassed but clearly not regretting anything.

“I hate you,” you mumbled against his skin.

Rafe chuckled, low and dark, rolling you slightly so he was half on top of you. “Yeah? That’s why you came all over my cock twice?”

You smacked his chest lightly, but you were smiling. The moment felt strangely… comfortable. Dangerous.

He wanted to say more. Ask what the hell this was now. But Topper knocked again, louder this time.

“Seriously, guys! Food’s getting cold!”

Rafe sighed and pressed one last firm kiss to your lips before pulling back.

“C’mon. We should go before they get suspicious.”

You nodded, still flushed and a little dazed as you both got out of bed. But as you searched for your clothes, Rafe couldn’t stop watching you — messy hair, marks on your neck, the way you kept glancing at him.

Junior Year, Early September

The bass from inside the Delta Kappa house was already rattling the windows when you climbed the front steps with your girls. The first big party of the year, and the campus was buzzing. Everyone had been talking about it for weeks.

Too bad it was supposed to be invite-only.

Your best friend waved her phone in the air, showing the official text invite she’d gotten from one of the brothers. “See? We’re good.”

You rolled your eyes but followed anyway. You weren’t technically invited, but the rest of your group was, and you weren’t about to sit in your dorm while everyone else had fun. Especially not when the entire frat seemed to have decided you were their new favorite girl on campus.

The door swung open before you even knocked.

Rafe Cameron stood there in all his arrogant glory—tall, broad, wearing a backward cap and a tight black t-shirt that showed exactly how much time he spent in the gym. As president, he was in charge tonight, and his expression made it very clear he was already over it.

His eyes landed on you immediately.

“No,” he said flatly, blocking the doorway with his arm.

Your friends froze behind you.

“Excuse me?” you snapped, crossing your arms.

Rafe’s jaw ticked. “This is invite-only. Your girls can come in. You can’t.”

The girls behind you started protesting, but you stepped forward, staring him down. You didn’t even know this guy personally, but you’d heard plenty. Rafe Cameron: rich, controlling, and apparently allergic to anyone telling him what to do.

“That’s funny,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because half your frat has been begging me to come tonight. But sure, keep acting like you’re the bouncer at some exclusive club.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “I am the fucking president. My house, my rules. And I don’t want you here.”

The way he said it—so cold and final—made your blood boil.

You laughed in disbelief. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he shot back. “You’re loud, you’re dramatic, and you cause problems everywhere you go. Last year you got two different guys kicked out of parties for fighting over you. I’m not dealing with that shit in my house on night one.”

Your mouth fell open. “Are you serious right now? I didn’t ask them to fight. That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah? Well it becomes my problem when it happens here.” He leaned in slightly, voice low and sharp. “Turn around and go find another party. You’re not getting in.”

Your friends were whispering nervously behind you, but you refused to back down. You stepped even closer, practically chest to chest with him.

“Make me.”

The air between you crackled with pure hostility. Rafe looked like he wanted to physically pick you up and toss you off the porch. You looked like you wanted to slap that smug expression off his face.

For a long second, the two of you just glared at each other—two people who couldn’t stand the sight of one another.

Then one of the brothers appeared behind Rafe, grinning. “Come on, man. Let her in. She’s fucking hot and the whole house wants her here.”

Rafe’s head snapped toward him. “I don’t give a fuck what the house wants.”

But the brother just shrugged and waved you and your friends through anyway, forcing Rafe to drop his arm. You brushed past him with a victorious smirk, shoulder checking him lightly on the way in.

“Enjoy the party, President,” you said sweetly over your shoulder.

Rafe muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “fucking nightmare.”

That night you argued three more times—once over the beer pong table, once when he tried to kick you out for dancing on the kitchen counter, and once when he caught you telling one of his brothers to fuck off after a bad pickup line.

By the end of the night, the entire frat was convinced you two hated each other more than any exes going through a divorce.

And yet… you were invited to every single party after that.

Against Rafe Cameron’s very loud, very stubborn will.

Okay guys I finally did it are you proud? Another Rafe Cameron series! This is based on the frat rafe blurbs i did a few days (or idk time) ago. their getting together, and guys there will be smut!!

A Few Days After the First Party

Rafe hated losing. But after three days of his brothers constantly asking when you were coming back to the house, he finally accepted that fighting to keep you out was a losing battle. The guys loved the energy you brought. The parties felt louder, wilder, more fun when you were there. Even if it drove him insane.

So, swallowing most of his pride, he found out which dorm was yours and showed up unannounced on a random Tuesday evening. He told himself it was just to set some ground rules—boundaries, expectations, whatever the fuck he could say to keep the chaos at a minimum.

He knocked twice, sharp and impatient.

The door opened.

And Rafe… paused.

You stood there in nothing but a thin pink tank top and tiny white panties, a cherry lollipop tucked between your glossy lips and a green clay face mask painted across your cheeks and forehead. Your hair was pulled up messily, and you looked completely unbothered by the fact that the President of Delta Kappa was standing in your hallway.

You raised an eyebrow, the lollipop stick bobbing as you sucked on it lazily.

“…Can I help you?” you asked, voice slightly muffled by the mask.

Rafe’s brain short-circuited for half a second. He’d seen you dressed up at the party—tight dresses, heels, the works—but this? This was somehow worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide. It was jarring how casual and unimpressive the whole scene should have been… yet you looked stupidly, unfairly hot.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice rougher than he intended.

You studied him for a moment, then shrugged and stepped aside, waving him in with the lollipop.

“Sure. Come in.”

As you turned and walked deeper into your room, Rafe got a perfect, unobstructed view of your ass—full, rounded, and barely covered by the panties. He had to physically stop himself from staring. Fuck.

He followed you inside, closing the door behind him. Your dorm was small, messy in that lived-in way—clothes draped over your chair, skincare products scattered across your desk, fairy lights strung up above your bed. You dropped down onto the edge of your bed, crossing your legs and looking up at him expectantly.

“So?” you asked, popping the lollipop out of your mouth with a soft wet sound. “What’s so important that Rafe Cameron had to hunt down my dorm?”

He stood near the door, arms crossed, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“I’m done fighting the guys about you,” he admitted. “They want you at the parties. Fine. You can come. But there need to be rules.”

You tilted your head, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were trying not to laugh.

“Rules,” you repeated, amused. “From the guy who tried to kick me out on night one?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked down to your thighs for a split second before snapping back up.

“Yeah. Rules. No dancing on counters. No starting fights. And if any of my brothers start acting stupid over you, you shut that shit down immediately.”

You slowly licked the lollipop, eyes sparkling with challenge even through the face mask.

“And what if I don’t feel like following your rules, President?”

Rafe took a slow step closer, staring down at you. The tension from the party was still there—thick, electric, and laced with mutual irritation—but something else was starting to creep in. Something dangerous.

“Then we’re gonna have a problem,” he said quietly.

You smiled, slow and sweet, like you’d already won.

“Sounds like we already do.”

The Drive

Thirty minutes into the painfully tense drive, your stomach growled loud enough for both of you to hear.

You shifted in the passenger seat, pressing a hand to your belly. “Can we stop for breakfast? I’m starving.”

Rafe didn’t even glance over. “We’ll eat when we get there. It’s only two hours.”

“I didn’t eat this morning,” you argued, turning to look at him. “And I get hangry. You really want to be trapped in a car with me when I’m hangry?”

He gripped the wheel tighter, jaw ticking. “We’re already behind schedule.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “There’s a diner right off the next exit. Five minutes. I’ll be quick.”

Rafe muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “fucking nightmare,” but he took the exit anyway.

The diner was cute — the kind of old-school Southern spot with checkered floors, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox playing soft country music in the corner. A bell jingled as you walked in. An older waitress with perfectly curled silver hair and a name tag that read “Darlene” greeted you with a warm smile.

“Well, good mornin’, y’all! Table for two?”

You both nodded. Darlene led you to a booth by the window, handing out menus with a twinkle in her eye as she looked between you and Rafe.

“Aren’t you two just the cutest? Nothin’ like a little lovers’ quarrel to start the day off right,” she said with a knowing chuckle. “I’ve been married forty-two years — trust me, make-up breakfast is the best kind.”

Your eyes widened. Rafe stiffened across from you.

“We’re not—” you started.

“Not dating,” Rafe finished flatly.

Darlene just waved a hand, clearly not believing a word. “Sure, sugar. Whatever you say. Coffee for both?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. Rafe just grunted in agreement.

The next ten minutes were excruciating. You ordered pancakes and bacon. Rafe got eggs and toast, arms crossed like he was being held hostage. Every time Darlene came by to refill coffee, she threw in another comment.

“Y’all remind me of me and my Henry back when we were young and stubborn. He used to get that exact same grumpy look on his face when we’d fight.”

You nearly choked on your orange juice. Rafe looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

When the food came, you ate in charged silence, the tension from the car following you right into the booth. You caught him watching you a few times when he thought you weren’t looking — eyes flicking over your face, your mouth, the way your tank top sat on your shoulders.

You refused to acknowledge the way it made your stomach flip.

When the check came, Rafe grabbed it before you could even reach for your wallet.

“I’ve got it,” he said gruffly.

Darlene winked at you as she took his card. “Smart man. Keep this one around, honey. Even when he’s actin’ difficult.”

You didn’t bother correcting her again.

Back in the car a short while later, the silence felt even heavier than before. Rafe started the engine, eyes fixed on the road.

“You didn’t have to pay,” you muttered.

He shrugged, jaw still tight. “Just eat your damn pancakes next time before we leave.”

You fought a smile despite yourself.

The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy with anticipation. You were both lying on your sides, faces inches apart, the king bed suddenly feeling much smaller. Moonlight spilled across Rafe’s bare chest, highlighting every line of muscle, and your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could hear it.

You licked your lips, voice barely above a whisper.

“Kiss me.”

Rafe went still. His eyes darkened, surprise flickering across his face. He’d never seen you like this — soft, shy, asking for it. Not the fiery girl who argued with him at parties or spilled drinks on him on purpose. This version of you was vulnerable. Needy. Flustered and waiting for him.

It did dangerous things to him.

A slow, cocky smirk tugged at his lips as he shifted a little closer, his hand sliding to rest on your waist under the sheets.

“Say that again,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

Your cheeks burned. You knew exactly what he was doing. Teasing. Making you work for it.

“Rafe…” you whispered, embarrassed but too turned on to stop. “Kiss me.”

He leaned in just enough that his lips hovered over yours, breath warm against your mouth. So close, but not touching. His fingers flexed on your waist, gripping the fabric of your oversized t-shirt.

“You’re awfully demanding for someone who was hiding behind a pillow barrier ten minutes ago,” he teased, eyes locked on yours. “Thought you were pissed at me.”

“I am,” you breathed, but your body betrayed you, shifting closer. “But I still want you to kiss me.”

Rafe’s smirk deepened. He brushed his nose against yours, teasing, drawing it out. He’d imagined this — you under him, wanting him — but never like this. Never so sweet and flustered, practically begging with those wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Beg a little more, baby,” he said softly, lips grazing the corner of your mouth before pulling back just enough to deny you. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

You let out a frustrated little sound, half-embarrassed, half-desperate. Your hand came up to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm.

“Please, Rafe,” you whispered, voice trembling with need. “Kiss me. I’ve been thinking about it since that night in your room… since the lake today… just kiss me.”

Something in his expression shifted — the teasing mixed with raw hunger. He’d never seen you this way, and fuck, he liked it. A lot.

He finally closed the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that quickly turned hungry. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as he tilted his head and kissed you harder, tongue teasing yours.

September Szn

Maybe it was the alcohol buzzing through both of you. Maybe you were both just ridiculously stupid. Or maybe all the arguments, the glaring, the weeks of him ignoring you and you missing the fire he gave you had finally reached a breaking point.

Rafe took one more step forward, caging you against the wall beside his door with both arms. His bare chest was inches from yours, heat rolling off him as he glared down at you.

“You don’t get to come in here and fuck with my head,” he growled, voice low and rough. “You spill shit on me, follow me to my room, and then look at me like you want something. What the hell do you want from me?”

Your back hit the wall. Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. He was so close — shirtless, pissed off, smelling like beer and that stupid expensive cologne. The tension that had been simmering for weeks felt ready to snap.

You didn’t answer with words.

Instead, you pushed up onto your tiptoes, grabbed the back of his neck, and kissed him.

Hard.

For half a second, Rafe froze in shock.

Then he kissed you back like he’d been dying to do it.

His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and angry and desperate all at once. One of his hands instantly slid into your hair, gripping tight as he tilted your head and deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting like whiskey and heat, and you moaned into him before you could stop yourself.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, the word vibrating through you.

It was messy. Rough. All teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration. Your hands roamed over his bare chest, nails dragging down his abs as he pressed you harder into the wall. Rafe’s other hand dropped to your waist, then lower, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against him.

You gasped when you felt how hard he already was.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he pinned you against the wall, his hips rolling into yours. The thin fabric of your dress rode up your thighs while his hands groped everywhere — squeezing your ass, sliding up your waist, palming your breast through your dress like he couldn’t get enough.

“God, you piss me off,” he breathed between kisses, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “So fucking much.”

You kissed him harder, rolling your hips against him, chasing the friction. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth.

You had really fucked up

Still Late September

You were way more drunk than you’d realized.

The stairs seemed to tilt under your feet as you followed Rafe upstairs, red Solo cup still clutched in your hand even though it was empty. Just apologize, you told yourself. Clear the air. Stop being childish. But the truth was simpler: you missed the way he looked at you when he was mad. That sharp, burning attention that made your skin feel too tight.

You pushed open the door to his room without knocking.

Rafe was already halfway through pulling his soaked shirt off over his head, back muscles flexing as the wet fabric dragged across his skin. The sight hit you harder than it should have. Broad shoulders, toned back, that stupidly perfect V-line disappearing into his jeans. Your mouth went dry. Heat rushed to your face, and suddenly the room felt too small, too warm.

He turned at the sound of the door, shirt balled up in his fist, chest now bare and still glistening from the spilled drink.

The second his eyes landed on you, his expression twisted from irritation straight into pure rage.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” he snapped, voice low and cutting.

You blinked, trying to steady yourself against the doorframe. The apology you’d rehearsed on the way up suddenly felt stuck in your throat. He looked pissed. Really pissed. And shirtless. That combination was doing dangerous things to your already fuzzy brain.

“I… I came to apologize,” you managed, the words slurring just a little. “For the drink. It was an accident. Mostly.”

Rafe let out a harsh, humorless laugh. He tossed the ruined shirt into a corner and took a step toward you, eyes dark.

“Mostly?” he repeated. “You followed me up here, into my fucking room, after you ‘accidentally’ dumped your drink on me? After weeks of me ignoring your ass so you’d stop causing problems?”

You swallowed hard. Being this close to him while he was shirtless was flustering you more than you wanted to admit. Your gaze kept dropping to his chest, to the way his abs tensed with every angry breath. You forced your eyes back up to his face.

“I just wanted to talk,” you said, lifting your chin even as the room spun a little. “You’ve been acting like I don’t exist and—”

“And I have my reasons,” he cut you off, stepping even closer until you had to tilt your head back to look at him. “You’re a pain in my ass. You bring drama everywhere you go. And now you’re in my room looking at me like—”

He stopped himself, jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle jump.

“Like what?” you whispered, heart pounding.

Rafe’s eyes dropped to your mouth for a split second before snapping back up. The anger in them was mixed with something hotter now.

“Get out,” he said roughly.

But he didn’t move to push you toward the door. And you didn’t move to leave.