#impishthots

After a long drive back from the airport and an even longer deployment, the tension on the car ride home was palpable enough.

Once home, his hand wrapped around a chunk of hair at the base of your head, forcing you into a heavy and thick kiss. Your dragged to the bedroom, your dress hiked up over your ass to expose the dainty underwear your wore obviously for the occasion.

He unbuckled himself hastily, bending down and grabbing your throat, forcing your head back for another heavy kiss. His free hand taking rough swipes at your already slick opening, forcing a thick finger inside to warm you up and you moaned into his mouth.

He pulled away, gently palming at his cock while pulling his fingers away, spreading you open and spitting between the mounds of your ass.

One hand forces your face into the mattress, grabbing another hand full of hair as he bottoms out quickly, letting a near pained cry leave your lips as he started to thrust slow and deep.

During the time apart the only thing that you had were the occasional toys or your weak little fingers to keep you company.

Yet in this position, with your ass raised and your mouth muffled he took advantage of dragging his cock against your cervix, pushing through the velvet walls of your aching pussy to buldge out your stomach.

His weight gently crushing you as he leaned down, forcing himself even further and your cried, nearly trying to escape before his hands moved to hold your hips as he humped you.

He would push himself back up, gaining the advantage of pounding and grinding against your poor cervix, his hand slapping you a couple times until you were spasming around his cock helplessly, the torture of being a little ragdoll was too much for you. But he wasn’t done yet, duh, you still had a long night of making up lost time!

Your hands sunk deeper into your chilled flesh, bubbled with little goosebumps from the soft flush of beach air slapping against you.

Another party at the boneyard, another clumsy accident where you spilled beer all over yourself and now you stood frozen and isolated on a piece of abandoned and bleached wood.

You couldn’t handle the loud boom of the kook’s music, couldn’t handle mingling or flirting with drunk kooks either. Your best friends were off doing just that, drunk and mingling so you took sanctuary by yourself, on a log, counting stars above you and seashells that washed between your feet.

Your hands coddled your arms still, slightly shaking at the cold before you finally decided to call it a night, wanting to trudge alone through the muggy marshes to your grandfathers little wounded and melting shack, eroded from countless storms but still standing sturdy nonetheless.

With your head bowed, weaving through thick crowds of people on the outskirts of the party, typically clumsy and uncoordinated little you, ran smack dab into the chest of the Rafe Cameron.

It wasn’t like you could tell it was him until his mouth opened with a painful hiss of his phone slipping into the sand and a subtle ‘bitch’ peeping from his lips.

Your eyes fluttered up, apologizing with a flamed face and flickered between the floor and his mouth, debating picking up his phone for him.

He, just as stunned, stood there and watched you. You weren’t someone he would ever interact with in a million years, yet he regretting calling you a bitch for the fact you skittishly picked up his phone and simpered apologies like how he spends money.

With a slight tremor in your frail and awkward fingers handed him back his phone, dusting off the sand the best you could.

He shook his head, rubbing his face with a groan (mainly for the inconvenience and self control he took not to speak back to you) before taking the phone with a rude yank and quick ‘thanks’.

You nodded and coddled your arms again as another gust of cold air crept behind you.

Before he left and lost the chance to talk to you again, Rafe awkwardly opened his mouth. He couldn’t stop himself but apart of him only did it out of pity. You almost reminded him of wheezie, skittish and a cumbersome sense of social cues

“you leaving?” He strained, eyes wincing as he looked off the crowd, hoping his friends wouldn’t see him.

You bit your top lip, nervously peeling the skin away with your teeth as you nodded, he took notice you didn’t like eye contact. Was that a choice out of intimidation or were you just fucking weird?

“You cold?” He asked again, bowing his head slightly as he tried to match up your face. The curls of your hair framing and falling into your face to hide, years of swimming had crimped the strands, he assumed.

Maybe he could take you to the beach sometimes. Alone. Together.

He sighed, checking his surroundings one last time before he peeled off his jacket, his stupid tacky collared shirt hiking up his abdomen with it before he gently tossed it to you.

It was a worn down fleece, a subtle faded brown in the dark of the boneyard with a beach musk that smelled too rich for lifetimes you’d never see.

He insisted you put on the jacket, smiling with only a corner of his mouth as he spoke with a shrug, watching you fumble to find the opening for your head and slipped on the slightly oversized coat, enveloped in the warmth it brought.