#perv!rafe

The impatient knocks were no use, so swiftly you swung the door to Rafe’s bedroom open. He was nowhere in sight, but before you could turn around to search for him in another place, the light that his computer monitor blared out into the space caught your eye.

Your vision however grew wide as soon as you saw the taboo tab that was open. It was porn, but not just any porn. The open page was littered with rows and rows of graphic videos that all fell under the stepsister search he had typed in. 

Frozen in your stance, you wanted to sprint out of there, though at the same time, some part of you wanted to inch closer and snoop further. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” a voice blared from behind you and caused you to jump.

Skittering away from the desk, you spotted the familiar buzzcut standing in the doorway. 

“I–, uh,” you swallowed and recalled the reason for your hunt, “my mom’s forcing me to go to that party at Topper’s tonight.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

“And so, because I don’t really do that sort of thing–”

“Because you’re a fucking loser who never gets invited.”

“Because I have better things to spend my Friday nights doing, your father wanted you to keep an eye on me and to make sure I got home safe.”

The only way you were gonna get through the night was if you got as wasted as possible.

Which is exactly what you ended up doing. 

When the clock chimed two, the raging headache you were developing from the blaring music convinced you to finally call it a night. You’d given it enough of a chance, enough experience to go home and state that partying simply wasn’t for you. 

But if you didn’t find the literal demon of a stepbrother and let him complete his end of the bargain, then maybe your mom wouldn’t believe you alone and force you to go to another. 

However, locating him turned out to be a much more difficult task than you’d thought. As you stumbled around the massive house, supporting your wobbly weight on the walls as you peeked into each of the rooms where some partygoers had migrated to, you soon dug your phone out of your jeans and dialled up his number. 

It was on the third attempted call that you finally stumbled into him. Sitting with a random blonde on his lap and the remnants of a mysterious white powder dusting the coffee table separating you from him. 

“There you are,” you grumbled, “I’ve been trying to call you!”

His expression turned sour as he noticed your presence, swiftly flipping his phone around as it layed on the table, though the caller ID that lit up the screen wasn’t of your name as your phone still buzzed in your palm to get through to him. Instead, it spelt out fleshlight in big bold letters. 

“So, you have,” he exhaled, “what do you want?” 

“I wanna go home,” you shoved your phone back in your pocket. 

“So, go home. What do you want my fucking permission? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“You have to take me home,” you reminded him, though when he began to laugh in your face, you shot back, “or you can just deal with your dad yourself when you get home. Your choice if you wanna keep being in his good graces or not.” 

That managed to shut him up. Though as he reluctantly pushed the blonde aside and got up from the couch, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “fucking prude,” like a curse on the wind just before he marched passed you and grabbed a hold of your arm to drag you with him. 

“Ow, Rafe, you’re hurting me!” you tried to tear yourself free of his grip. 

“Oh, shut up you baby, no I’m not. You wanna feel what does hurt?” his long fingers then dug further into your flesh and caused it to actually ache, “this.”

As he pushed open the front door, you whined, “ow, please stop,” but when he finally did, he only traded the grasp out with a light shove to your shoulder, directing you further towards his parked car. 

When you were planted in the passenger seat with your gaze firmly fixed out the window as the dark streets rolled by, you crossed your arms and mumbled, “I hate you…” gaining enough courage from the dizzying alcohol ravaging your system to utter it out loud. 

“What was that?” Rafe cast a glance in your direction.

Twisting your neck to glare back at him, you hesitantly repeated, “I hate you,” though the faint flicker of bravery you’d acquired was snuffed out as swiftly as it ignited when you saw the smirk that bloomed on your stepbrother’s features. 

“Aw, don’t tell me that, princess,” he chuckled, “you’ll just make me hard.” 

Eyes widening, they briefly fluttered down to the crotch of his trousers before you blinked away, a reaction that was evidently satisfying enough for Rafe to cause him to keep going. 

“But you probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”

“I know what to do,” you said defensively, though regretted your humouring him as soon as the words slipped out past your lips. 

“Oh yeah? Just how would you know that? Everyone knows you’re a fucking virgin,” something he was to blame for, though that wasn’t a fact you ever had to know. You didn’t have to be aware of just how many times he had stopped guys from asking you out, just because he wanted you all to himself, “but are you secretly a perv, sis? Is that how you think you know what to do?”

“Don’t call me that,” you cringed lightly. 

“What? A perv? Or sis? Don’t you wanna be reminded that you’re my stepsister?”

“Not particularly...”

As the car curved into the driveway to Tanny Hill, an offer suddenly rolled off Rafe’s tongue. 

“You know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

Your mouth hung agape as the vehicle rolled to a stop, the sudden shift made you fear that your latest drink would come up again. 

Utterly stunned, you couldn’t form a single word as you stared back at him. 

“I mean, it’s what you want, isn’t it?” he went on, turning in his seat to gaze over at you, already undressing you with his eyes, “haven’t you always had the hots for me?”

“I–…” it felt as if the car was swaying around even though it stood completely still, “…I drank way too much tonight, and I think you might have as well.”

“You’re drunk?” darkness glinted in his eyes, “well, I honestly don’t know if I should be impressed or run inside and wake everyone up so you can get grounded for fucking ever,” he laughed. 

“No!” you gasped, “You can’t tell them, please! I–…” you felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes and blur up your already hazy vision, “fuck!” 

Leaning even further back in his seat, he cocked his head, “I mean, I could also keep it a secret…” the tip of his tongue mischievously slipped out to poke his lip, “for the right price, that is.”

“Seriously?” you glared back at him, “are you serious right now?”

Capturing your hand, he swiftly brought it to the palpable tent in his pants, “do I not seem serious?” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly to a squint. 

Your lips parted in shock, stare flickering away from his eyes to spot how he ever so slightly pressed your palm down against him. 

He was so hard that you could nearly feel his pulse through the fabric of his trousers. 

“I mean, really I’d be helping you out,” your gaze stayed glued to how his broad hand engulfed your own a moment longer before you glanced up to find his unwavering stare once more, “so you should really thank me for both keeping your secret and doing you such a massive favour…”

As a shaky breath escaped your lungs, you whispered once more, “I hate you…”

But the proclamation only conjured a smile to appear on his lips, “tell me again,” and he leaned in a bit closer.

“I hate y–,” but you didn’t get the last bit out as Rafe then crashed his lips against yours.

It took a second for you to react with anything other than a surprised whimper, but when you did, it was slow and cautious compared to his boldness. 

A string of saliva strung you together as he eventually parted from you. Offering himself a small caress, he pressed your palm down against him one last time before he let you go. His breathing was heavy as he momentarily let his thumb trace your bottom lip, briefly slipping it crudely in your mouth, before uttering, “get inside.”  

Why, after all of this time, after all of the pain and torture he alone made you go through, why did he still have to give you butterflies the way that he did?

It was your room that he led you to, a hand ever rooted on you as you made the journey. At first, you thought it was because he saw the way you occasionally stumbled over your own feet, but perhaps it was just in case you wanted to make a run for it, just a precaution, a safety net already halfway over you. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded in a cold tone as he shut the door behind you. 

“W-what?” you turned to look back at him.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he repeated, “take your clothes off,” though they came out sounding slightly impatient. 

He palmed himself through his pants as you slowly began to strip. Though as you’d shyly peeled your t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor, his voice halted you just as you began to undo your jeans. 

“Stop,” his voice cut the thick air like a knife, “turn around when you pull those down,” you twisted away from him as your thumbs sank into either side of the waistband, “and do it slowly,” he made you put on a show, ogling as you gradually revealed the curve of your ass, “that’s it…” he nearly moaned as your pants crumbles to the floor, “bra and panties too, princess. Unless of course, you’re backing out of our deal already.”

Clenching your jaw, you squeezed your eyes shut and shed the rest, ignoring his soft wolf whistles and crude comments as you exposed yourself. 

Slowly turning back around to face him, your hands were clasped before you out of sheer timidness and not knowing what to do with them. 

“You gonna stand over there all night?” he raised his chin slightly.

When your feet stood rooted right before his seated position on the bed, your hands began to fiddle as he pulled his shirt over his head and caused your pulse to somehow beat even harder than it already did. 

One of his palms then scooped up your stomach and briefly grabbed one of your tits before scooping you closer, “come here,” and utilised his leverage to toss you down on the bed beside him, “let me get a good look at you.” 

Grabbing for the bedsheets as the mattress momentarily bounced beneath your spine, you blinked up at Rafe as he sat next to you, twisting his form and craning down to near your core. 

You tried to clamber your legs shut, embarrassed for what his cruel reaction might be, but he was not only faster, but stronger than you, and grabbed a hold of your thighs. As he split you apart, his lips curled up into a grin. 

“Look at you… fuck,” he let out a short chuckle, “this is gonna be fun.” 

A gasp curled out of your frame as he then grazed his thumb over your folds, smearing some of the mortifying wetness that seeped out and made you feel even more intoxicated than you already were. He lightly spread you apart and studied intently your dripping pussy, how it looked, how it glistened and how your little hole twitched when he lightly circled your clit. 

“Oh, you like this, don’t you?” he rubbed your puffy pearl with a mean lightness that caused your hips to buck slightly, “you like it when your big stepbrother touches you like this?” but when you didn’t reply, he reached down and grabbed your jaw, angling it for you to meet his eye, “answer me.”

“I–… y-yes,” you quietly admitted, feeling as if you were in some strange dream. 

“Of course you do, you dirty little girl,” he bent down again to gaze at your pussy a little too close for your taste, “I knew you were a slut since the moment I met you.”

Letting go of your face, he then snaked his free hand down to give himself an ounce of relief. 

“You know, part of me doesn’t even wanna prep you with my fingers first,” he smirked and let his fingertips sweep down to tickle your entrance, “I like the idea of not stretching you out first and letting my cock do all the work, let it feel just how tiny and pure you are for me.” 

“But isn’t that gonna hurt?” your breath caught in your throat. Sure, you’d played with yourself nearly till your hands fell off, but that idea still managed to scare you. 

“God, I hope so,” he groaned and briefly leaned down to press a hot kiss to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and sloppily making out with it. 

When he then stood up and pulled his pants down, your jaw nearly hit the floor as well when you saw how thick his dick was. Fat and veiny, curving proudly up towards his abs. 

Seizing your hips, Rafe yanked you closer to where he stood, nearly letting your ass dangle over the edge of the mattress.

“Wait,” you suddenly reached out to touch his forearm as he gave himself a few lavish strokes, staring down at your cunt, comparing the obscene size of him to your puff, “what about a condom?” you squeaked as he flicked his leaking tip down to tap your core. 

Sucking in a fierce breath through his nose, he glared down at you and shot back, “what about you shut the fuck up and just be grateful,” before he sent his open palm down to smack your pussy. 

“Ah! I’m sorry, I just–, fuck!” you shuttered beneath him as he soothed the slap with the nudge of his length, rubbing it against you and teasing your cunt before he started sweeping it through your folds, nearly fucking your soppy slit, the tip of him kissing your little pearl on each silky advance.  

A dollop of spit dropped from his lips and joined the mess he already tickled at between your parted legs. 

“It’s too big…” you murmured as you stared down at how his fat girth parted your pretty petals, though the observation only conjured a smile on Rafe’s lips, “maybe you could just put the tip in?” you tried through your foggy mind, “that would still count.”

A rumbling chuckle bubbled out of him as he stared down at the two of you together, “just the tip…” his movements then grew more erratic as he slid through your folds, “is that all you think your little virgin cunt can handle?” shy gasps escaped you every time he deliberately let his cock catch at your opening, “just the tip?” 

As he slowly pressed just the flush head of his length in to breach your entrance, your brows crinkled up at the mind-numbing stretch. 

“Like that, baby?” he only moved ever so slightly, “is that all you think you can handle?” and you nodded foggily in return. But as you let your eyes flutter shut and breathed through the staggeringly wonderful sensation, Rafe’s voice once again washed over you, “nah,” like a splash of cold water while you were licking up warm sun rays, “that’s not good enough. This is,” and he then slammed the entirety of his length into you.

Your eyes instantly shot back open and your legs curled up even further on either side of you at the shock. 

“What?” he cooed at you mockingly as he slowly dragged his dick back out for just the memory to remain, “does it hurt?”

You were a blubbering and cursing mess, trembling beneath him as your pussy tried to accommodate him.

“Come on, princess,” he bent down over you and let his nose ghost against yours, “tell me that it hurts.”

“It h-hurts,” you whimpered as his hot breath fanned across your blazing cheeks. 

It did sting, a lot, but though you hated to admit it, a part of you loved it, a part of you sank even further into the pit of pleasure he so slowly dunked you into. 

“Tell me that it’s too big for you,” he nuzzled his nose against yours as he plugged you back up. 

Your body shook beneath his every time he moved as much as a millimetre inside you, “i-it’s too big.” 

Letting out a low moan of satisfaction, he then leaned down to press his lips to yours, stealing your breath away even further. 

You tried, but couldn’t really focus on kissing him back, not that he seemed to mind much as he moaned into your mouth, soon letting his sloppy kisses dance over your cheek and down your neck, letting hickeys bloom in his wake and mark up your skin like a brand.

As he sucked down on the spot where your pulse went wild beneath the skin, his hips drove against yours harder, causing them to collide in a sticky smack, as well as letting the tip of him bully the deepest part of you. He didn’t just do it once, but kept it up as he enjoyed the little squeaks you let out every time he bumped against your cervix. 

Kissing his way back up to your lips, he only offered them the briefest of pecks before raising himself off of you, just ever so slightly, and one by one, grabbed your already wide-spread legs and rested each one of them onto his broad shoulders, efficiently folding you in half. 

“H-holy shit,” you panted as the mattress rippled beneath you at every one of his rough thrusts, “Rafe–”

“Yeah?” he smirked down at your melted form, the vein in his forehead popping from the strain, “are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum on your big bro’s dick?” one of his hands swept up to squeeze your tit, then gave it a swift tap before growling, “come on, princess. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. Do it, I fucking dare you. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.”

You almost screamed as you tumbled over the edge, your head curling to the side to hide yourself in the crumbled duvet beneath you as your pussy gushed all over his fat girth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rafe croaked as he straightened back up to get a good view. Pulling out of you, he briefly flicked his dick through your folds to urge more of your nectar to leak out, before he slid it back inside and asked in amazement, “you ever squirted before?” 

Trembling from the overstimulation, your eyes rolled in your skull as you shakily mumbled, “maybe twice, I think.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” he growled proudly, “squirting all over me like a proper whore. Just look at you,” his grip dented your thighs as he pressed them further down against the bed, “you’re already a pretty little cockdrunk mess.”

“I–, I–,” you blubbered as you felt drool begin to trickle down your cheek. 

“Oh, fuck,” he then groaned, glancing down at where he split you apart, “hold your legs back,” he requested, though had to help your sluggish hands find their way, “look at this, baby,” he scooped a palm behind your head and ushered you to spot what he had noticed. Splaying a wide hand over the lower part of your stomach, he traced the faint bulge that rhythmically appeared, “sure as fuck not a virgin anymore, are you? Fucking ruining that perfect little pussy of yours. Now that’s how you pop a fucking cherry. Aren’t you happy I was in such a charitable mood tonight?” he then pressed down on the imprint rudely, the overwhelming sensation causing your pussy to drizzle a little more around him, “aren’t you, sis?”

“Yes,” you mewled, feeling as if you were floating on a cloud and not getting your guts rearranged. 

“You’d let me do anything I’d fucking want, wouldn’t you?” he smirked down at your dazed form. 

“Y-yes,” the word flowed out of you, though you couldn’t quite comprehend all of his dirty talk any longer. 

“Hold on,” he briefly slowed down and stretched over to reach a small apprentice obscured and hidden in all of the cluttered decor on your nearby dresser. Turning it in his hand, he pointed the discrete camera down to film you, “say it again,” he picked his pace back up, “tell me that you’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

“Anything,” the words bubbled out through your moans, “anything you want.” 

“Say that you’re my little slut.”

“I’m yours–, I-I’m your s-slut.”

Tilting the hidden camera down to get a few close-ups, his voice then seeped into you once more, “now tell me again that you hate me.” 

One of your hands fluttered down and began to rub your puffy clit.

“I hate you.”

“Again,” he reached down to give your left nipple a harsh pinch.

“I hate you.”

“Keep going, princess.” 

And the more times the phrase flowed out past your lips, the more it began to lose its meaning and morph into just another sound, one that was almost akin to the complete opposite kind of proclamation. 

Just like you barely noticed when Rafe dug out the hidden camera, so too did you miss it when he put it back down, obscured somewhere among your things, possibly not even the only one. 

When you came once again, Rafe didn’t so much as pause when you creamed around his cock and drenched the sheets beneath you that much further.

“There you fucking go,” he sent a palm down to smack the sensitive skin on your inner thigh, “god, you’re so hot. I can’t believe you actually let me do this,” he grinned as your fingers stretched out to graze his wild hips, trying and failing to slow him down, “you’re such a little freak,” he glanced down at the ring of your essence that marked the base of his throbbing cock, “so fucking nasty for your stepbrother. I bet you’d even let me keep using you after you fall asleep. I mean, who’s to say I haven’t already,” he chuckled, “you’re so fucking cute when you sleep. No annoying remarks, no dumb comments… I think I might prefer you that way…” his slamming grew sloppy as he soon moaned, “fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Pull out,” you begged through your hazy pants. 

And just when you thought he wouldn’t respect your wishes, he yanked out and furiously stroked himself before your winking and wrecked hole as it slowly retraced from the severe stretch. Moaning loudly, he swiftly painted your pussy with his load, getting it all over your puffy petals till he was panting above you. One hand rested on your thigh as he brushed the sensitive head of his cock over the cream, messily tapping the hefty weight of him against your aching clit and making you jump a few times as he smeared it in. 

Throwing himself down on the bed beside you, he let out a long sigh and said, “you’re welcome.”

You felt like you couldn’t move, like you might never be able to move again. Your breath still came in ragged as the only thing you could focus on was the sore throbbing centred at your core, that blossomed out through the rest of your nerves. 

“Well,” Rafe huffed as he soon lifted himself up to a sitting position, “night,” and without another word, slipped out through your shared bathroom into his own bedroom. 

“I can’t believe they made you take me,” you grumbled as you watched Rafe shadow you in the clothing store, “I could have just gone to the mall on my own.”

“You don’t have a car though–, also, why are you the one complaining? I’m the one being forced to go fucking shopping with you of all people.”

Somehow, for some mysterious reason, since you’d moved into Tanny Hill, your collection of underwear had shrivelled down till you barely had enough to get you through the week. Guess that was the price you had to pay for letting someone else do your laundry, though you’d always assumed it would more just be a single sock that commonly vanished in the wash…

When you dipped into the fitting room to try a few of the gathered options on, you only managed to test out two of them before the curtain slid back open and you swiftly scrambled to cover yourself.

“Rafe!” you let out a hushed screech, “what do you think you’re–”

“Try these on,” he handed you a wide stack of hangers. It wasn’t just underwear dangling from them, but also some clothing, though all of it way too revealing than you were used to. 

Glancing down at them, you refused to grasp the items and simply stated in a clear tone, “no.” 

Letting out a low sigh, he then turned to close the curtain back up before he twisted back to face you, “do you need me to have a little talk with your mom and my dad?” he took a few steps towards you, slowly pushing you into the corner by the tall mirror.

Glaring back at him through your pout, you huffed, “no…” 

You stayed in the corner as he then hung the clothing up on the hooks before taking a seat on the small stool where your purse was resting before he swept it to the floor. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “it’s boring as shit out there. At least in here, I might get a moderate amount of entertainment.”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly began to try the attire on. 

“I hate thongs,” you muttered as you tugged a pair into place over your hip, trying not to catch your stepbrother’s stare as his gaze wandered from your reflection to the perfect view he had of your backside. 

“I recall you hate a lot of things you still don’t hesitate to jump on.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “you have your fun, enjoy this little fashion show, but I’m sure as hell not getting any of these.”

“Well, good,” he uttered demeaningly, “because I’m buying them for you.”

Catching his eye in the mirror, you told him, “I’m still not wearing them. You can’t make me.” 

“Yeah,” he puffed out a smirk, “we’ll see about that,” and then tore his gaze away from you to gesture to one of the hangers, “try that dress on, but keep the pink thong on underneath, only the thong though.” 

You had to shut your eyes in annoyance a moment before you fulfilled his request, soon standing before him in a scantily cut, pastel mini dress, crafted in a fabric so thin that you could see the faint shadow of your nipples poking through them, especially after they’d turned all pebbly after Rafe had torn that privacy curtain to the side. 

“You happy now?” you turned to face him and propped your hands on either side of your hips. 

“Hm,” he cockily pursed his lips as his gaze studied you, “I was right…”

Your brows stayed furrowed till you watched his palm slide down to squeeze himself through his shorts. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed, eyes growing wide. 

“You do look hot in normal clothes.”

“I don’t think any of this is normal…”

“I think it’s time you learned how to suck a cock,” he suddenly announced, eyes still glued to the dress’ low neckline as he unzipped his slacks. 

“Rafe…” you breathed. 

His eyes flickered up to find yours, “get on your knees,” he tilted his head, “come on, princess. You’ll love it, trust me.” 

Rafe was tipsy. He would prefer to be drunk, but he knew he should probably be somewhat aware of his actions. Especially since you were dressed so fucking deliciously.

As soon as Topper left your side, though, Rafe stalked over to you like a predator.

“Hi, sweetness.” He coos, blue eyes locked on your tits before flickering back up to that pretty face he’s so obsessed with.

“Hi, Rafey.” You drunkenly giggle, barely standing on your own two feet.

“Y’look like a mess, baby.” He teases, his big fingers moving to gently poke where the fabric of your shirt is exposing your soft tummy.

You squirmed a bit at the action, almost falling over. Which, Rafe clearly planned for, since his big arms caught you.

“Woah, y/n. Maybe I should take ya upstairs, huh? Back t’mine and Top’s room?”

He was acting like a concerned friend, but in reality, he wanted to get you away from all the prying eyes. Alone.

“Uhmm…” you just hummed unsurely, but didn’t protest when Rafe wrapped his arm around your waist and started guiding you through the crowded house, all the way upstairs into his and Topper’s shared bedroom.

He helped you slip your shoes off, your legs stumbling over to your boyfriend’s twin xl bed before Rafe’s big hands lifted your hips to set you down carefully on it.

“There ya go, good girl.” He murmurs softly, although his cock is painfully hard in his jeans.

“Thank you, Rafey.” You mumble out drunkenly, laying back on the mattress, angling your head so it’s not propped up against the wall while your hips still face the side of the bed.

“Anythin’ f’you, sweet girl. Y’know that.” He coos, his perverted eyes automatically drifting down to where your thighs are spread a bit, revealing a damp spot on your pretty panties.

“Oh, babygirl… look a’ya. All wet ‘n needy f’me. S’your boyfriend takin’ proper care o’ya?”

His thumb came over to start rubbing against your clothed clit, blue irises flickering back up to watch your face.

“A-ah, Rafey.” You mewl softly, lifting your head to watch with half-lidded eyes.

“Shhh, be a good girl f’me, yeah? Rafey s’jus’ helpin’ ya out.”

He gently grasps your thighs and pulls them to where he’s standing next to the side of the bed, fingers hooking into the cotton material of your panties as he tugged them down your legs.

You just laid back against the shitty mattress, mind spinning. But you trusted Rafe. He is your boyfriend’s best friend, after all.

Rafe almost came in his underwear at the sight of your drenched pussy. How long have you been left aching during the party? His poor girl.

He’s had so many wet dreams and fantasies about this moment, and it takes everything in him to not pull his own pants down and fuck you senseless on Topper’s bed while there’s a party downstairs.

But, somehow, he refrains as he spreads your thighs a bit more as he leans down a bit, resting his toned chest against the edge of the mattress.

“S’pretty… such a pretty baby.”

You went to respond, brain fuzzy from alcohol. But then a warm, wet tongue met your bare clit, and the only thing that escaped you was a soft moan.

“Fuckkkkk…” Rafe grunted, already leaking precum in his boxer briefs just from his tongue flicking out to sample your hardened bud.

Just the little taste already had him even more addicted.

He couldn’t help himself, he’s been fucking his fist to this thought for months. His mouth latches onto your drenched cunt, tongue swiping through your folds and over your clit.

“R-Rafe!” You cry out, fingers digging into your boyfriend’s sheets.

“Shh, sweet girl. Shut up.”

He lifted two fingers and slid them through your parted lips, your mouth instinctively starting to suck on the long digits. His cock twitched at the sight and he let out a small moan against your pretty pussy.

He watched you suck on his fingers for a minute before he reluctantly pulled them out, a string of saliva connecting your lips from his soaked digits.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl f’Rafey.” He praises softly, his middle and ring finger gently sliding into your quivering hole.

“A-agh…” was all that left you, unable to form words in your drunken, pleasure-filled mind.

He swore under his breath again, watching how your greedy cunt swallowed his fingers. He looked back up at you as he began to slowly slide his fingers in and out, his tongue moving back to slide circles around your throbbing clit.

You were panting, back arching, hips bucking. All for him.

“Such a sweet cunt, babygirl. Knew I called ya sweetness f’a reason.”

He crooks his fingers against that spongy spot inside of your walls, his own stomach feeling warm when he heard you whimper out.

“Rafey…”

Rafe felt like such a fucking loser, because all it took was you moaning his name before he’s cumming in his underwear, sensitive cock completely untouched.

“Shittt, y/n. G’nna let m’eat this pussy whenever I want?” He practically whimpers.

Your tummy was feeling tight as the pleasure was getting overwhelmingly good, better than any time Topper tried to eat your cunt.

He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your eyes squeezed shut, pretty lips parted.

“Cum f’me, sweet girl. Cum all over Rafey.”

His command was enough to send you over the edge, soft mewls and noises leaving you as your body trembled for a good ten seconds.

Which sent Rafe into another orgasm, his underwear and jeans completely ruined from his sticky, leaking cock.

And Rafe has never been able to cum without getting any friction on his dick before, but here you were, making him cream himself twice back to back while he ate you out.

“S’good… S’good.” He coos softly, lapping up your release, his own legs shaking a bit.

He was feeling overwhelmed, beyond grateful his chest is leaning against his best friend’s bed.

You let out another little whimper when he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your eyes still fluttered shut.

Rafe sucked on his own fingers, feeling his dick twitch again at your addictive taste.

📥 yourname_4870: the guilt. if i hadn’t pushed him to meet up he wouldn’t have been out that night. maybe he’d still be alive.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: I hear that. But remember, they checked his phone. He already made plans with his friends for after your date and he was also talking to someone else at the time. You couldn’t have stopped what happened. No one is to blame.

📥 yourname_4870: i know logically, but it still feels like i set everything in motion.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: It’s normal to search for causes. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.

📥 yourname_4870: yeah… it’s been hard to make that thought stick.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Healing takes time. Lean on people you trust. Who’s there for you?

📥 yourname_4870: I have a few people. my brother of course. he’s been really nice to talk to. there’s a guy on the football team he’s in my poetry class… really sweet. he reminds me to laugh when I feel heavy. He was Chett’s roommate. and an older guy who works at my school. Idk its complicated.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Complicated isn’t automatically bad. Does he make you feel safe? Do you feel cared for when you’re with him?

📥 yourname_4870: yeah. he’s always really thoughtful. i probably notice more than i should.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: That matters. It really does, especially when you’re trying to heal.

📥 yourname_4870: i can’t handle drama right now. i just want someone steady, who means what they say.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: That’s smart. You have to protect your heart and your mind. Move slowly. Do any of these people bring you peace more than chaos?

📥 yourname_4870: my brother. but as for romantically idk. i think the older guy could. sometimes i catch myself smiling about him. but i don’t know if he feels the same.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: You can always ask.

📥 yourname_4870: no way lol

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: That’s fair. Again, you don’t need to rush. There’s no timeline for healing. Go at your own pace. Maybe just think about it for a bit. If they’re worth your time, they’ll wait for you.

📥 yourname_4870: ok. i’ll think about it.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Same time next week?

📥 yourname_4870: yes. Thanks.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: You’re stronger than you know.

⏰ Session End Time - 8:33 PM EST

The green dot dies.

I sit back, the glow of the screen fading until I’m staring at my own reflection in the black glass. A long slow breath leaks out of me—satisfied, not guilty in the slightest honestly. An older guy? Christ. You actually said it. You’ve been circling around it for weeks, and tonight you finally put words to the little crush I’ve felt humming between us.

You think this is just your space… a clinical room with walls and a stranger who nods and reassures. But it’s so much better than that. This isn’t a room. This is a bridge and I built it. I built every inch of it for you. Every secret you lay here becomes a thread I weave into something steady—something you can hold, something safe, just for you.

I’m not trapping you. No—No, I’d never. Guiding you closer, sure. Clearing the path, making sure nothing and no one can hurt you again—that’s what I do. No harm in that.

You don’t understand that you’re already mine—not in some fantasy, but in the real, solid way that matters. You keep coming back here because you’re drawn to the comfort I give. I’m your anchor. I’m your quiet place.

I’m the steady hand you don’t even realize you’re reaching for, princess.

And tonight, in this “therapy” session, you didn’t just mention me; you imagined us.

Why shouldn’t it be me? Your friends don’t see you like I do. Your brother can’t protect you like I will. That boy in poetry class? Fuck him. He’s a distraction… He’s there to get you that closure you needed.

You don't want him like you want me. Shit’s laughable… The two of you? Please… Spare me.

Tomorrow I’ll be there. The man you already trust, calm and patient. I’ll show you that what we have isn’t a coincidence it's inevitable.

I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

The hallway is jammed, backpacks bumping, sneakers squeaking, chatter rising into a thick wall of noise. I shove my earbuds in letting it all fade into the low hum, switching to a podcast, volume up to drown out the crowd.

The jingle plays—dark and mysterious—as the cohosts riff off each other. Theo Chen and Sabrina Anne Sanders; Sas for short. The Last Podcast on the Left a.k.a. my living nightmare and a true-crime, horror-lover’s fantasy.

They ebb and flow between half-assed horror movie reviews and in-depth true-life terrors. A My Favorite Murder knockoff with a fascination for death; but as of late, the content’s shifted… Far too local for my liking.

“So, how was your night, Theo?”

“Not productive. Definitely not studying, Sas.”

“Shocker,” she teases, her bubbly tone contrasting his cloudy demeanor.

“Okay, but listen.” He drops his voice like he’s confessing. “Binge-watched a docu on The Night Stalker... Fell asleep at four.”

“You’re going to tank your GPA,” she breathes.

“Please,” he scoffs. “It’s dedication to the craft.”

She laughs and sighs into the mic, pushing the conversation forward.“Alright, enough small talk. Everyone’s been asking, any updates on College Row?”

The name hits like ice; my stomach twisting every time but I can’t stop listening.

“Police are tight-lipped,” Theo gossips. “No suspects. No weapon. No motive. Honestly, not much to go on.”

“So we’re stuck with rumors still?” She asks.

“Yeah… And lots of ‘em. But, if you ask me?” He pauses, selling the line. “… I think it was someone on campus.”

“No way… Like who?” She whispers and the question echoes through my head as heat climbs up my neck, the thick crowd around me closing in even more than before.

“Could be anybody,” he says, “student, teammate, staff.”

My nails bite into the leather strap of my bag. I pick up the pace, dress shoes slapping the cold stone.

“Watch it,” someone mutters as I elbow him, taking the stairs two at a time, the contact enough to shake me out of my head for the moment. Three more steps and it’s like the building exhales. Everything blurs except the vision ahead, because I see you.

I stop, watching through the coffee shop window as you slide into a seat, bag in one hand, coffee in the other; steam creeping out of the top.

The crease between your brows, the soft bite of your lip, I give myself a few stolen seconds with all of it, studying you the way I always do. And just as it always does, time slows and everything dulls to hush because the whole world revolves around you, sweetheart.

‘Cause look at you… So perfect. So mine.

You take out your phone, drumming your fingers against the keyboard—buzz. My phone trembles in my hand, and your name glows.

📱Your Name: hey

📱 Your Name: you free tonight?

I stare down at the words for the moment, blinking my eyes like it might all be a dream.

📱 Rafe Cameron: For you, of course. What’s up?

📱 Your Name: i don’t want to bother you

📱 Your Name: just thought maybe we could hang out later?

Hang out? My lips tremble as I try my best to keep the corners from curling.

📱 Rafe Cameron: Bothering me? Never. Just tell me where and when.

📱 Your Name: okay!! I’m studying at the library until 7 but maybe after?

I walk a few paces as butterflies swirl in my stomach, leaning against the cool brick as I smile down at my phone like an idiot.

📱 Rafe Cameron: I’ll wait up for you. Doesn’t matter how late.

I should be embarrassed at how eager I am but I’m not. I know how boys your age talk—how they treat women like you. That’s not me. That’ll never be me. You deserve someone who shows up. You deserve this.

📱 Your Name: okay 💕

📱 Your Name: Dinner? You pick the place? ☺️

Oh shit… Dinner?

You tuck your phone away as you step out of your seat, walking toward the exit. I watch you as you wander out into the hallway, swallowed up in the mess of people, fighting my inner demons wanting to take off after you and bump into you casually.

You asked for me. You didn’t call it a date, didn’t say the word. But you asked. A dinner. Your time. And that’s enough for now.

By the time I step off the porch, I’m buzzing—palms sweaty, keys clutched, autumn leaves crunching under my feet.

I pull my phone out before I even reach the car. Be it habit or need, I want to see your face one more time.

I pull up Instagram and there you are, in the library right where you told me you’d be. Just a casual selfie—stunning, effortless; a little smirk pulling at your pouty lips that never ceases to knock the air out of me.

The likes climb by the second, friends gushing, comments pouring in, and still they have no idea—no idea that that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. They don’t know your inner thoughts and the beautiful workings of your mind. They see the surface. I hold the rest close, where it’s safe.

“Shit,” the word seeps past my lips, every muscle in my body winds tight.

There he is. Blake Edwards, Chett’s former teammate and roommate… The other man who caught your eye…

A comment… Two words. Pretty girl.

Bold. Casual.

Your reply is as sweet as ever. Just a gentle thank you 🩷

That’s all it takes to split my heart in two.

My chest aches and my hands shake. I press my thumb so hard against my phone that the glass bows under it, just to keep myself from smashing it against the sidewalk.

He thinks he can steal you away with two words? He thinks he can claim what’s mine in front of everyone?

He thinks two words in your comments make you his. Let him choke on them. You’ve already chosen me, even if you don’t see it yet.

I close my eyes, and all I see is my hands around his throat, and the breath leaving his chest. I crash into the driver’s seat, throwing my phone against the leather seat. My fists slam against the wheel hard enough to make the horn cry; my hands twist around the leather, creaking under my grip, but I hold it there until my arms shake.

“Pull it together, Rafe,” I hiss through my teeth, forcing myself to take a breath.

I reach for the phone where it landed; the corner of the screen spider-webbed, but your smile is still there—soft and stunning—bringing me back down to earth. I’m not mad at you. Never you.

My pulse slows, steadier than before as I pull out of my parking spot onto the street. I glance up at myself in the rearview mirror, watching the angry red drain from my face, a slight red splotch in my eye where I popped a blood vessel. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I run a hand through my hair, letting it fall; my body softening in my seat. All I have to do is see you—hear your voice… I’ll be fine.

The drive is routine, time to rehearse every possible version of tonight in my head, to stop at your favorite flower shop and snag the perfect bouquet. That kid in your comments wouldn’t know…

The fall wind swirls around me; some confidence settling in my bones. I walk up your sidewalk, stopping in one of my favorite spots. Almost dropping the flowers when I catch you through the narrow slit of your curtain.

A little tease… You look at yourself from the side, smoothing your dress over your curves before you lean into the vanity, spraying perfume across your collarbone.

You’re a goddamn dream. All of you—“Yo, man!” I jump, flinching as I’m torn from the moment as a hard slap cracks against my back ‘cause your brother’s there, bouquet crumpling in my big fist.

Zach jogs around me, shirt licked with sweat, digging his earbuds out of his ears as my heart bangs against my ribs.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he smiles. “How ya doin’, buddy?”

Fuck me. I turn my body away slightly—away from the window—tucking the flowers by my side.

I hadn’t thought about this part... Too caught up in the moment. So high off your request that I forgot all about your brother.

His gaze drops to the bouquet and lingers too long as he takes it all in. He draws a deep breath, lips tugging to the side like he knew this was gonna happen eventually.

He looks up, glancing over his shoulder as you cross your room, disappearing into the hallway.

For a second the air is heavy between us. One of us waiting for the other to break, so I take the fall. “We’re uhh… We’re goin’ to dinner.”

His face twists as he takes it in, lips quirking like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Wait—dinner? Like you and me?” He deadpans.

“Exactly,” I chuckle and roll my eyes, standing a little straighter now.

“So dinner, huh? And you brought flowers,” he asks as his voice bleeds honestly again.

“Sorry if this is weird,” I press the words out but his eyebrows lift and his lips quirk.

“No you ain’t,” he chuckles, friendly mocking like the idea of an apology from me is laughable—and it is.

“—Guess you’re right,” I mutter under my breath, playing into the joke, but I mean it. He says something smart like he always does but his voice fades because then it’s you—you step out of the house, your little skirt fluttering in the breeze.

My tension loosens, shoulders falling like everything that has me twisted up—Blake, his comment on your picture, your brother, these flowers in my fist all melt away the moment I see you.

It’s stupid how easy you make it. One look and I’m steady again.

Your brother gives me a half-smile, his hand clapping my back again. “Fuckin’ kill you if you hurt her,” he breathes, just quiet enough for me, still joking, but with a brother’s edge. My lips curve up, but I force a smile back, ‘cause to me it feels like I’ve earned it. Like he knows I'm perfect for you.

You walk into me, arms around my waist, pulling me in for a hug and the scent of you fills my nose, so dizzying I forget everything I had prepared to say.

“For me?” You coo as your hand rests gently on mine over the flowers. I swallow hard, nodding yes, mumbling ‘of course’ as I dip my head down to get a little closer. “You’re so sweet. Wait right here—I’m gonna put these in water,” you say, still smiling, heels tapping against the sidewalk as you step back inside.

“Fuck, she’s mine,” I mutter under my breath, rocking back on my heels, hands stuffed in my pockets as you leave me for the moment.

And you are… All mine.

From that night on it’s been a steady incline, every day pulling us close. I don’t push or rush. I let you move at your own pace because I don't need to force anything. Every look, every laugh, every time you leaned into it.

The therapy sessions became a map. You typed out guilt, fear, and second-guessing. I traced every word like a route, steering you gently, giving you what you needed before you even asked.

Our first kiss… better than every fantasy that kept me awake for months. The taste of you, your petal-soft lips, the sound you make when I touch you just right—heaven, I swear.

Candles flicker between us as we talk. Elbows on the bar, your chin in your hand, smiling at me like I’d handed you the world when all I’d done was dim the lights, pour some wine, and choose the playlist. The glow from the candles dances across your skin— throwing everything around you golden—so pretty it hurts.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” I say, my voice low and honest.

“Me too,” you whisper back and I can tell that you mean that. I trace my thumb along the stem of my wine glass, watching the way you take a sip of your own, that pretty lip gloss I love smudged against the side.

“Come here,” I murmur.

You shift off the barstool, sliding between my knees until we’re eye to eye. My hand finds your waist, your palms resting on my chest, and I know you can feel how fast my heart is beating.

I tilt your chin up with my fingers, matching your lips, and you sigh warmly.

You smile, lingering for a charged moment before you take what you want from me, pressing your lips against mine.

I wrap my arms around you, lightheaded from the wine and the way you pull me under, deepening the kiss. “Christ, you have no idea what you do to me,” I murmur against your mouth.

My teeth catch your bottom lip and you gasp softly, the sound bringing me to my feet and fast.

You smile into the kiss, then pull back enough for our foreheads to touch, lips wet and kiss-bitten. You giggle softly, this giddy sound that goes straight through me.

“Can I ask you something?” My voice softens.

“Anything,” you breathe, and I can hear the anticipation in your voice—like you already know what I’m going to say.

“Can I—” my breath hitches, cheeks burning, “—can I call you mine?” You bite your lip, eyes shining, happiness radiating off you like heat. “Exclusive. Like you and me?”

“Exclusive?” You tease gently, ‘cause you're nervous, but the sound comes out so soft and sweet. “Like my boyfriend?”

I chuckle, feeling heat creep across my cheeks; showing my age but can't help it—I want that shit in writing. I want that title. “Yeah,” I hum, thumb tracing your jaw, “like your boyfriend, sweetheart.”

You tilt your head, a smile ghosting over your lips. “I was waiting forever," you whisper and I chuckle under my breath.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice quieter now as I draw you closer to me. “I just didn’t wanna rush you.”

“I know,” you breathe. “That’s exactly why I trust you… So, you’re my boyfriend?” Your lips part slightly, a small smile pulling at the corners as you whisper.

“I’m your boyfriend, baby,” I murmur, voice dropping, and you shift the rest of the way between us, swinging your leg over my lap until you’re straddling me, chest pressed to mine.

I smile, my hand slipping to your waist, anchoring you there. My mouth crashes against yours, months of restraint snapping in a second because this isn’t just a kiss...

This isn’t sweet—It’s desperate. Your lips part for me and I slide in, gliding my tongue along yours, tasting the wine and need.

Your fingers tangle in my hair, tugging like you can’t get me close enough, and the sounds you make unspool me more. “I need you,” you whisper as my fingers slide up your bare thighs, slipping under your dress.

“Holy shit, honey. Yeah? S’that what you need?” I mumble hot against your neck and your head falls back, giving me more.

“Your bed? Please,” you whisper needily, making me suck in a breath when your hands rest on top of my stiff cock. Your eyes fall, feeling the weight of it in your hand, tripping you up for a second before your lips crash against mine, even hungrier now.

I scoop you off my lap, guiding your legs to wrap around my waist. “You set the pace, alright?” I mumble against your lips as I walk with you down my dark hall, making you moan as I press you against the wall, waiting for an answer. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Everything, baby,” you whimper. “Whatever you want.”

I'm dreaming… I gotta be. I smile against your lips because you’ve got no clue how far I could go but tonight, it’s about making you forget that any man existed before me.

I set you on the edge of the bed, but I don’t let go. I can’t. My mouth trails along your body; hands blessed by every new inch of skin. “This okay?” I rasp against your body, desperate for the word.

“Yes—” Your breath hitches. “Don’t stop.”

“Fuuuck,” I groan, biting down on your skin, soothing the sting with my tongue; feeling your thighs spread wide on the mattress. “That’s it—mpfhh that’s it, baby. Let me in,” I grunt.

I'm so painfully hard—so goddamn desperate I'm frantic at the sight of you sprawled out like that, waiting for me, almost drops me to my knees. The bed dips below me as I crawl over you, caging you under my body.

My lips find yours, harder this time, and you writhe under me, nails clawing at my shirt, yanking at the buttons until they’re snapping loose. I tug my shirt off my shoulder; my fingers quickly lacing around your dress straps, pulling it down with ease, tossing it to the floor.

You look up at me; body decorated in lace, so pretty I know it had to be planned for me. And you wait, breath held for the praise you want to hear–the words that you know I love more than anything to give.

“So fucking pretty for me,” I moan. “And you’re mine?” I ask, as your eyes twinkle; hands moving slowly up your body like you want me to take in it all before I rip it off.

Your fingers catch the garter belts hugging your thighs, tracing the delicate straps clipping them to the rich, red lace.

“Fuck me,” I mumble, dipping down to kiss your stomach right below your navel, working lower and lower. And as much as you want me to appreciate the details, the desperate way you scratch your fingers into my hair and shove me between your thighs tells me patience isn't an option.

My mouth trails lower, your skin hot under my lips. You arch into me, little gasps spilling out as my stubble grazes you; my greedy hands part your thighs wider, pinning you against the bed.

“All dressed up like you knew I’d end up right here, huh?” I ask and your ‘yes’ trips up in a gasp, nodding quickly as I kiss along the lace, tracing the edge with my tongue.

Your hips buck when I take the garter between my teeth, letting it snap against your thigh, the sound that squeals past your lips making me shove my pants down low.

I hook my fingers, tugging it aside; cock throbbing when I finally see you—slick and swollen—so wet you’re dripping for me already. “Fuck… So perfect, pretty,” I moan against your clit, groaning when your taste hits my tongue.

You jolt, thighs squeezing around my shoulders, but I push deeper, meaner; devouring you like no man before. My tongue slides through you, slow and thick, before circling your clit. You cry out and I groan against you, the sound vibrating into your core.

“Jesus, baby,” I whine, sucking harder; my big hands slamming down on your hips to hold you in place.

“Rafe—Oh… Oh my God—” You sob as I sloppily lap at you, every flick of my tongue pulling a pathetic cry, solidifying everything I already know about you and me. I was made for this.

You fist my hair tighter, dragging me against you until I’m buried, nose pressed into your clit, tongue stroking relentlessly.

“I’m cumming,” you break and my mouth locks on your puffy bud; fingers curling and working through the wet mess between your thighs.

I groan into you, pussy-drunk, drinking down every drop until you’re tapping me out for my lips, tugging me higher, grinning like a sinner before your tongue slides in my mouth, rolling so you can taste yourself.

“So many nights, sweetheart…” I pant as you hum against my lips. “I’ve dreamed about this—about you.”

You smile blissfully, arching your back enough to unclasp your bra, sliding it off your shoulders with your eyes on me, waiting for my reaction.

“Luckiest man in the world. Holy shit,” I murmur as I tilt in, lowering my lips to catch your nipple in my mouth, kneading the other in my rough palm.

I work lower with my eyes locked on yours. Your lips are still swollen from my kiss, eyes glazed, chest heaving. You smile down at me; so pretty, already so satisfied that I could fuckin’ cry. “You want more?” I ask as I slip my fingers under the waistband of your panties watching goosebumps fan across your skin.

“Please, Rafe,” you whimper and I waste no time, dragging your panties and garter down your thighs.

I reach over, grabbing a condom but you stop me, wrapping your hand around my bicep. “Hey—Hey you alright?” I ask, and my stomach sinks ‘cause the last thing I wanna do is stop.

“Umm… Can we—umm… Do we have to use a condom,” you whisper all shy like you’re reading a play-by-play on my inner-thoughts. The fantasy of stuffing you full of my cock and filling you up, almost too good to be true.

“Christ, baby, trying to kill me,” I whisper. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you breathe against my lips; your nails ghosting over the length of me, catching my precum on your little finger.

I snag your wrist, lifting your hand, guiding it between your lips, sucking it clean, the corners of your lips curling into a smile around your fingers.

Your thighs twitch; nails digging into my shoulders as I line up, nudging at your entrance with the fat head of my cock. You tense, clinging to me tighter, breath stuttering against my mouth.

“Easy, baby,” I murmur, kissing your lips. “Just relax for me, yeah? Wanna take care of you.”

You’re so tight, clenching around the tip, my arms shaking as I hold myself back. “Rafe—” You gasp, looking at the slight space between us, the tip of my dick barely stretching you out.

“I’ll go slow,” I whisper, but you're so fucking wet. “Holy shit,” I moan, pulling out just enough for you to see my throbbing tip glistening with you. “See how wet you are?” I smile as I tap and press it against your clit, rubbing circles on top, gliding through your slickness before finding your entrance again, pressing deeper this time.

You gasp with each push, thighs trembling, legs cinching higher around my waist as if your body can’t decide whether to fight me or pull me in.

“That’s it,” I moan. “Taking me so good. Look at you… Fucking perfect—” I bottom out, finally buried, my hips pressed against your soft skin. My head bows between my shoulders, a ragged groan tearing out of my chest.

“Fuck, baby, you’ve got all of me,” I praise, pressing my palm against your tummy, feeling the bulge, making your eyes roll back and your hands slam against the bed, gripping the sheets.

“Feels so-so good,” you hum as I drag back slowly, letting you feel the stretch of me before I push back in deep. A ragged laugh rips out of me, low and hoarse, and if you weren't so wet and tight I'd think I was dreaming, but I'm not.

“Look at you, doing so good for me.”

“So good, baby,” you whimper into my mouth in reply, nails scraping down the plains of my back, and I know I’m done for.

Your hands hold my face, kissing me deep; gasping and whimpering beneath me, hips lifting to match my strokes.

“Talk to me, honey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I—” I cut you off as I lift your hips, rutting deeper, hitting the perfect spot, coaxing a fucked-out moan out with each stroke.

“Feels good, baby? Need a little more?” I mumble as my hand drifts down your body and you arch into me, legs opening even wider. “Yeah, baby? That's it—you like that shit?” I mumble against your lips.

“Make me cum,” you cry with my hand cupping your cheek and the other nestled between your thighs. A tear rolls over my thumb and I hold my breath, trying to hold back my pleasure—trying not to cry myself but fuck I want to.

Your head falls deep into the pillow, eyes rolling back with it. My name breaks past your lips in a sob as I work my fingers quicker when you cum. “Shit—” You hiccup, thighs drawing in as your eyes widen and fall between us, pussy squirting around my cock.

That’s the end of me. My rhythm cracks—my hips snap forward, cumming inside you with a heavy load.

“I’m sorry—” You whimper at the mess on my linen sheet, but I just chuckle, hot and warm against your mouth, kissing you deeply, feeling you smile against my lips as I wordlessly tell you this is the whole fucking point.

I grind it in, burying myself as deep as I can get it, wanting to make it stick, wanting to mark you from the inside out so you're dripping tomorrow, feeling me leak down your thigh, legs still trembling from the night before.

I collapse over you, chest pressed to yours, both of us gasping for air, and slick with sweat. I kiss you slowly—deep and tender—full of every ounce of worship you deserve.

“I love you, Rafe,” you breathe as you come off my lips.

Your breathing fills the room as your heart bangs against mine. I look down at you, searching for a sign that those words left your lips.

“I’m sorry—You. Did you just…” I whisper, “Can you—”

“I know we just started dating officially… I’m sorry if it’s too much too soon—”

“No… No. It’s just. I—I can't believe you’re saying this to me. Say it again,” I rasp, barely more than a plea.

Your hand trembles against my cheek. “I love you.”

“—I love you too,” I assure, before you can doubt yourself anymore—doubt just how much you mean to me. I tip your chin up, kissing you softly, feeling your smile against my mouth. “So, so much.”

You walk into my lecture hall like nothing happened—like you didn’t spend last night gasping my name, whispering I love you’s; like your hair wasn’t still damp from the shower we took this morning. But I know. Every inch of me remembers.

Your perfume clings to me still; red lines decorating my back where you marked me as yours, covered up with a crisp, white Burberry button-down.

You open your notes, pen twiddling lazily between your fingers. But every free moment your eyes find mine, twinkling with our secret.

“Blue books open. IDs visible. Phones away. You have one hour,” I drone as I walk down the lecture hall steps, trying to stay professional, but it’s impossible with you…

My mind’s filled with it, more than ever before. My grip tightens on the stack of tests until the edges curl.

You look at me again, crossing your legs, letting your skirt rise high on your thighs. I draw in a deep breath, trying to be normal about you but that ship’s sailed.

You bite your lip, eyes scanning the page, and I swear I can see the sweetest tinge of guilt as you catch the indentations. Perfectly placed in the stack to fall right into your hands. I faintly circled the right answer on your test for you, erasing them half-assed. I know you should’ve probably spent the night studying but fuck if I’m gonna let anything take that time away from me.

And that’s when I catch him… Blake Edwards.

He’s not writing, pencil frozen, tapping against the desk as his eyes move between you and me.

My nervousness about him putting the pieces together quickly waved away by anger and the thought of that little comment he made on your picture, still sitting in your Instagram feed for all to see.

Go on. Say something, bitch. My lips curl into a smile, so self-satisfied that I hope he’s smart enough to know there’s somethin’ there and he should back the fuck up.

He takes a breath and hangs his heavy head; eyes locked on his test. No doubt telling himself there’s no way—no way there’s something between you and I.

“Ten minutes left,” I announce, my voice a shade too smug.

My eyes drift back to you, biting at the end of your pen as you decide between A and B, but the corners of your mouth curve into a smile too because you can feel my eyes on you.

I glance up at the clock in the back, catching the time, thinking about lunch, and getting you out of here for a few minutes before you have to come back for your English class. Maybe I could get you to go home with me and forget about every obligation you’ve ever had, with my tongue in your pussy.

And as I look away, something catches my attention; another set of eyes locked dead on me. Sharp and watchful, not even pretending to be concerned with the test in front of him, just sits there and watches me… Theo Chen.

My stomach falls, palms sweating, throat tightening so much that I reach up, loosening my tie enough to breathe.

I sit down behind my desk, putting on my glasses, my eyes set on the roster in front of me as I try to look busy but in my head I swear I can hear him narrating it all, breaking down my life on his podcast as he spins the tale for his listeners, ruining my life and stealing you away.

My throat dries out, sweat beading at my temple, rolling down my cheek. I want to lunge up the stairs, rip the pen out of his hand, and jam it down his throat until he chokes. But I can’t. Not here. Not yet.

He saw it all—the way your eyes drew to me, my smile, the wordless exchange with Blake. I’m fucked. And he isn’t looking away.

“Time,” my voice breaks.

You’re the last one to finish. You lingered so you would be.

When you finally stand and start down the stairs, my eyes catch on you and they don’t let go.

“Here you are, Professor Cameron,” you whisper with a soft smile, biting your lip enough to pull me up from drowning. “You okay?” You ask, brows pinching together. You have no idea—no clue of the battle I’ve got goin’ on in my head.

I look over your shoulder as the door fans shut when the final student leaves. My hand finds your waist, pulling you flush, my mouth pressing to yours so fast you gasp and giggle. My greedy hand slides lower, palming your ass, squeezing possessively.

“Fuck, baby. M’perfect,” I mumble against your lips. The slightest waiver in my voice I’ll let you think is nerves.

“Did you do that on purpose,” you whisper, hinting like you know it may have been me that gave you the cheat codes to solid A.

“No clue what you're talkin’ about,” I mumble between soft kisses, my heart tripping as I feel your hand wrap around my tie. Fuck, you're gonna get me fired, sweetheart.

“Tonight?” You ask, sweet and sure as you draw back, still questionably close for student-professor relationship but damn… I’d never tell you to step away. I'd never let your lips leave mine if you'd let me.

“Yeah? You wanna do that again? Don’t you have an English test tomorrow?” I tease, smiling and winking as I shove my sleeves up my arms, leaning back into my desk.

You step a little closer again, drawn to me like a magnet, that same devilish glint you were sitting with moments before, looking like you could crawl right on my lap right here, right now—ride me on top of this stack of tests.

Your lips tug to the side and you give me a little look.

“M’just fuckin’ with you, pretty,” I whisper.

“Eight?” You ask gently as you trace my upper thigh.

“Can’t wait.”

You toss one last look over your shoulder before the door swings shut behind you. My eyes stay glued until the last second and I see it.

Through the glass panel, Theo steps toward you.

Fuck me.

By the time I’m home, everything feels a little quieter.

I was worried about Theo, not gonna lie. But if he knew somethin’, and he would’ve told you, I wouldn’t have gotten the version of you that just rolled across my phone.

A picture taken from your favorite cozy nook in the library—your books, that coffee I bought you on my way out, a little look in your eye that said ‘I wish you were here’.

I smile before I can stop myself. Lunch sits half-finished beside the keyboard, my feet kicked up on the desk as I scroll through my phone, browsing through the videos and pictures I took last night. Digital gold. Fucking priceless.

The laptop hums beside me, the glow of the therapy portal open like it always is when I’m home. A new notification slides across the screen.

For a second I just stare at it. No way.

I almost laugh, because part of me actually thinks I did this. Like I’d been sitting here so wrapped up in you—so desperate to feel close—that I manifested it.

Then the typing bubbles start to move.

⏰ Session Start Time - 3:00 PM EST

📥 yourname_4870: hi!

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Hello. I’m glad you logged in. How’ve you been feeling?

Typing... I wait; my jaw clenching, pulse hammering until they disappear and pop back up again.

📥 yourname_4870: honestly good really good.

My body unwinds seeing the words, but it doesn’t stop the ache. I lean back, fingers flexing open and closed, trying to keep from typing three paragraphs back at you. Good... You’re good. And yet the second I read it, I’m clawing for more—because one word isn’t enough when my whole body is begging to hear you explain why.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: That’s good to hear. Good how?

📥 yourname_4870: lighter. i’m not drowning in guilt anymore i’ve actually been happy.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: What’s been making you feel that way?

📥 yourname_4870: well there’s someone.

I drag my hand over my jaw, nails scratching my stubble, forcing myself to wait a second before my fingers hit the keys.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Someone?

📥 yourname_4870: yeah. i’ve been spending a lot of time with him. he makes me feel safe. wanted. like i can breathe again.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Sounds like he’s good for you.

Bubbles blink, then vanish, blinking back again.

📥 yourname_4870: he really is i didn’t think i’d ever feel this way.

I rub a hand over my mouth, a low laugh breaking in my throat before I swallow it back. My knee won’t stop bouncing under the desk, jittering with energy I can’t type out.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: The football player?

I indulge myself—I can’t help it. My heart swells in my chest, waiting for my girl to confirm what I already know.

📥 yourname_4870: no. no lol not him. that was nothing.

“Atta girl,” I groan at your words, stretching back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my eyes. That was nothing… He was nothing…

📥 yourname_4870: the older guy.

I stare at the screen until my vision blurs. Literally on cloud fucking nine… All the waiting, all the patience—it’s working. My fingers hover over the keys because if I type what I want to say, I’ll give myself away.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: I’m glad he makes you feel safe. That’s so important.

I bite down on my knuckles to keep from grinning like a fool. I gotta move on… I gotta ask you something else but I don’t wanna move on from this.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: What’ve you been up to today?

📥 yourname_4870: class.

📥 yourname_4870: just got out of an interview

My brows furrow and the muscles in my body go rigid. The word alone twists in my gut. I shift forward in my chair, elbows on my knees, head hanging low for a moment.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Interesting. What was your interview about?

📥 yourname_4870: The murders last year. idk. I wasn’t ready to have that conversation today.

My stomach turns and a wave of cold blankets my body.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Was it a reporter?

📥 yourname_4870: no just a campus podcaster. some true crime show. im not really sure. it’s not really my thing.

The glow of the screen feels like a spotlight on me. I straighten, then sit back, then straighten again, unable to stay still. The thought of him getting under your skin or figuring me out makes me crawl out of my fucking skin.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: What did he want from you?

I type slow, each word feeling like it might give me away. My sweat-slicked palms drag across my thighs.

📥 yourname_4870: he just asked about chett. said since i was the last one he talked to he wanted to know what i remembered. if i was talking to anyone else that day.

Tears build behind my eyes; body trembling, jaw ticking. I clear my throat and open my eyes, trying to breathe through it.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: And what did you tell him?

📥 yourname_4870: that i really don’t know a lot about what happened. i wasnt really talking with anyone but my brother and a few friends. I just let him know since then that I’ve been trying to take care of myself.

📥 yourname_4870: that I’ve been talking to a therapist online that’s really helped me :)

I go still. My whole life and everything I’ve done flashing before my eyes.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: That’s great. Anything else?

📥 yourname_4870: nope! i told him to keep the practice off the record. that you weren’t taking new clients. i guess i’m selfish. it’s just nice to have someone to talk to whenever i need it :)

I’m sitting still but it feels like the room is spinning. You think you confided in a peer sweetly, like maybe Theo could use my help if he needed it, but all I hear is exposure—Theo’s voice in my head, narrating as he recalls the moment he found my fake practice online and cracked the case wide-open.

My high detonates into panic. I shove back from the desk so hard the chair screeches against the floor.

I kill the chat. The laptop lid cracks down like a guillotine and the sound explodes through the room. I’m on my feet, pacing, scalp raw from my own fingers. My dress shirt doused in sweat—a second skin—glued to me as my blood runs cold.

I could smash the wall, drive across the river, and rip him out of whatever recording studio he’s hiding in. I could make him mumble every word he ever said to you around the barrel of my gun. I grit my teeth. Not like that. There are better ways to ruin a man.

Instead I stumble into the chair, fling the lid back open and hunt—analytics first, the part of me that trusts numbers when everything else is spinning. IP logs. Visits. Last accessed. No hits for months. No trail. Nothing.

I shred my practice until the Safe Harbor site is a ghost on the screen—blank, nothing but white.

The only thing I can’t touch is the thread where you still type to me… He can’t take that away from me.

My fists slam against the desk, everything rattling. The whiskey tumbler tips; I pick it up and hurl it against the wall—glass shattering as my chest heaves.

Everything was perfect. You were happy. Mine. And now it’s slipping between my fingers because of some nosy bastard with a microphone—Ping.

⏰ Session Start Time - 3:42 PM EST

📥 be_5511: hey doc. you there?

My gut clenches; fingers fumbling across the keys.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: I’m here. Tell me what’s going on.

📥 be_5511: its weird. dont know why i’m writing. feels stupid.

I roll my eyes, annoyance gnawing at me… I don’t have time for this shit.

An old handle? One of the students your brother gave my card to at school last fall, after Chett’s death—a trash account, the kind of kid that just couldn't let it go.

I type because I’m a machine when I’m afraid and this might not be over… I have to keep up the act.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: If it’s on your mind it matters. Go on.

📥 be_5511: it’s her. I can’t get her out of my head.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Describe her.

📥 be_5511: saw her in class today. she looked like she finally moved on. From everything. from me

📥 be_5511: she was talking to my roommate. she found me after he died.

And in that moment, everything stops…

Holy fuck.

be_5511…

Blake Edwards.

This is Blake.

I lean in, holding my breath as he continues to type.

📥 be_5511: im not as confident as chett was.

📥 be_5511: i saw her first. chett didn’t give a shit.

📥 be_5511: but after he was gone we got close. she showed up. she told me stuff about herself. let me know i wasn’t alone.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: What else happened?

📥 be_5511: i let her know that i had liked her for a while. that was eating at me i wanted her to know

📥 be_5511: chett and i got into a fight

📥 be_5511: over her of course because i knew chett was a piece of shit

📥 be_5511: he had it coming

📥 be_5511: he always was an asshole. he didn’t deserve her.

📥 be_5511: so yeah it got physical. he beat the shit out of me and i beat the piss out of him.

📥 be_5511: then he got fucking killed

📥 be_5511: i can’t even walk downtown without feeling guilty like maybe if i went out with him like i usually would have someone would have had his back

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: Did anything happen after that?

📥 be_5511: i told her all that and she told me i couldn’t blame myself or hold on to it.

📤 LicensedSupport_ASerene: And what else happened between you and her?

📥 be_5511: we kissed once. i didn’t plan it. i leaned in. she didn’t stop me.

My vision tunnels. I lean back hard in the chair again, white-knuckling the armrests. For a moment I look at the ceiling, but all I can see is his hands on her—his mouth. My stomach twists so violently I nearly throw up.

He touched what was never his to touch.

I slam my palm to my mouth because the sound that rips out of me is animal, not human.

The chair kicks back, crashes to the floor. “No. Not him. Not ever.”

The sound of my footsteps ricochets through the room, off the walls, into my skull, until I can’t tell if it’s noise or heartbeat. My jaw’s locked; teeth grinding just to keep from screaming.

The chair’s on its side, the monitor still glowing. That word—kissed—is branded behind my eyes.

My fingers rap once, twice, against my temples—sharp little taps meant to knock the noise out of my brain. Think. Think. The sound is steady, almost metronomic, until it isn’t—until it fades, replaced by that terrible quiet ‘cause something’s changed.

The heat drains out of me, leaving something colder. My heartbeat evens. There’s no shaking, no blur, no sound. Only focus.

Every thought starts to click into place, sharp as glass.

I should be falling apart but I’m not. I’m thinking. My hands find the desk. It isn’t rage anymore, it’s order.

And that’s somehow worse.

❌ Session Ended by the Therapist Time - 4:12 PM EST

The rest of it happens automatically—scroll, copy, paste, and delete. My hands shake as I start to cut: first the hedging, the ‘i-dunnos’, the ‘maybes’. Out goes the sorrow. Out goes the confusion. I leave only the teeth.

be_5511: it’s her. can’t get her out of my head.

be_5511: i saw her first. chett didn’t give a shit.

be_5511: chett and i got into a fight

be_5511: over her of course because i knew chett was a piece of shit

be_5511: he always was an asshole. he didn’t deserve her.

be_5511: so yeah it got physical. he beat the shit out of me and i beat the piss out of him.

be_5511: then he got fucking killed

be_5511: he had it coming

I read it back… It’s not grief anymore. It’s a map—obsession made confession. His voice, shaped into accusation.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

📧 Subject: anonymous tip

📎 Attachment: confession.txt

💬 Message: this was sent to me on discord by blake edwards. thought you should see it. He told me he has everything stuffed in his football locker. I don’t know who to tell.

My finger hovers and for a sliver of a second part of me hesitates because even I’ve never been so quick to act—quick to plan. Everything I do I do out of love and it takes time but I don’t have any and it’s his fuckin’ fault.

Then the rest of me steps forward… protector, judge, executioner.

Email Scheduled → Sent Time: 6:47 PM EST.

Someone else will hold his words now, believe them, amplify them.

Blake doesn’t even know he confessed.

The plan is clean because it doesn’t need to be complicated. Blake’s the first one on the field and the last one off. I memorized it the second you spoke his name in session. Every habit mapped, every blind spot etched in my head.

The locker room is the stage—fluorescent hum above, disinfectant biting the air, dented steel doors echoing from years of boys slamming them shut.

Gloves first. Thin latex snaps tight at my wrists. I open his locker and slide my hand into the pocket of my bag, curling my fingers around the weight. The nine-millimeter; cold, balanced, memory-stained. The echo of Chett’s last breath ghosts through me like smoke.

Blake’s backup glove waits exactly where I knew it would, stiff with old sweat. I turn it inside out, shove my latex-covered hand inside, and lift the gun enough for my wrist to lock. My lips curve anyway.

“Bang.” The sound exists only in my head, satisfying nonetheless.

The gun slides into the dark of his locker, placed to be seen. Then the paper trail: a yellow folder, pictures, schedules, timelines, curated to scream obsession.

But paper and pixels aren’t enough. Not for me. I reach into my bag and pull out the pieces I swore I’d never let go of—the collection I’ve kept hidden in the back of my dresser like relics. Each one burns in my palm before I set it free.

A creased photograph taken from outside your window, a hair tie, stretched thin and still carrying your shampoo. A pair of lace panties I stole when I was nothing more than your brother’s best friend.

One by one, I drop them into his space, transformed into a stalker’s shrine. By the time the door clangs shut, it doesn’t look like my secret life anymore. It looks like his.

Theo’s podcast starts at six. By then, I’ll be gone. The email’s queued for 6:45. Blake won’t leave practice until 7:30 and by that time everyone else will be gone.

It’s a risk, but Theo won’t resist the blood in the air. He’ll come himself, hunting for evidence, wanting to be the one who cracked the case before anyone else. He won’t just report the story, he’ll stamp his name on it.

And when the headlines roll, it will be neat.

Blake Edwards—the jealous roommate. The obsessed coward.

Blake Edwards, the killer.

The room is heavy with you, sex and perfume still hanging in the air long after the aftercare; your perfect body curled against me, limp with exhaustion, hair still damp from the bath we took together, breathing softly against my chest like an angel.

I drag my palm over your hip, fingers skimming your soft skin. I lean back into the pillows, letting my eyes fall shut, a smile creeping slowly across my lips.

The television hums across the room, flickering against the walls. You stir but don’t wake, body pressing deeper into me, and I tighten my arm around your waist, binding you to me.

The reporter’s voice cuts through the quiet, pulling me out of my lull.

“Breaking news tonight in the case that has gripped the city for months. Criminology student and podcast host Theo Chen is being hailed as a hero after bravely confronting his classmate in what police are calling the final chapter of a violent love triangle.”

A low laugh rumbles out of me before I can stop it. Hero? Of course.

“Evidence discovered in the locker of Blake Edwards paints a disturbing picture of obsession, jealousy, and motive. Investigators say notes and personal effects indicate he had been stalking a female student for months.”

I hum low in my throat, satisfied as the media feeds the public the words I spoon-fed them. Exactly the story I wanted told.

On the screen, a student blinks at the camera, eyes wide; voice cracking. “I—I don’t even know what to say. I lived with both of ‘em. Played football with Blake all fall. And yeah, they fought… I just—I never thought it would end like this. I mean, over a girl?”

Over a girl. The words hang there, almost laughable. A girl… The girl. My fucking girl. I chuckle under my breath, dipping to kiss your hairline.

The feed cuts sharply, back to the anchor’s grave face. “Blake Edwards was rushed to St. Luke’s Medical Center tonight with life-threatening injuries after sustaining a gunshot wound to the chest. His condition was unknown as of an hour ago…”

A pause. Papers shuffle. The screen changes to a slow zoom on the headline across the ticker.

“… We can now confirm that Blake Edwards has succumbed to his injuries. He was pronounced dead shortly after arrival.”

I bury my face in your hair, inhaling deep, hiding the grin splitting across my face.

A buzz rattles sharp against the nightstand. Your phone. I turn my head, eyes narrowing at the glow; College Village Police staring back at me… Someone’s already trying to pull you into the mess, scrape your wounds raw again.

Not tonight.

I reach over, thumb pressing the screen, silencing the call. The glow fades, swallowed back into the dark, and I watch it vanish. Just for now. Just for me. You’re too warm, too soft, too perfect in my arms.

I won’t let them take this moment.

The news calls it closure. I call it proof. Proof that I can bury anyone who thinks they can have you. Proof that no one can outplay me when it comes to you.

And when you stir faintly, sighing, shifting in your sleep, I whisper it into your hair—a promise and a warning all at once.

“No one will ever take you from me.”

“babygirl,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face, trying to snap himself out of it.

“c’mon.”

no response. you’re curled up in a fetal position, shivering under the blanket as if you can hide from the onslaught of cramps if you just make yourself small enough. rafe clenches his fists. unclenches his fists. fights down something in his gut that stirs at the sight of you so helpless and pretty like this. he forces it down, because shit, you’re in pain, and that’s not—this isn’t—he shoves it away.

“god, enough,” he sighs, reaching for you.

“let me help.” you shake your head, sniffling, curling up tighter. god, you’re so fucking stubborn. his fingers twitch, and then—fuck it. he hauls you up, maneuvering you into his lap, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. you land straddling one of his thighs, his arm bracketing you in despite the weak, hiccupy protests you make. you struggle for all of two seconds before your body falls entirely limp, tearstained cheek pressing into his chest. he sighs, keeping a steady grip on you as he settles back against the headboard. a toned arm locks around you, one hand gently pressing against your lower stomach.

“you’re gonna listen to me, alright? this isn’t the time to play a goddamn martyr.” his voice has lost its authoritative edge, gone softer, but no less firm. you hiccup against his chest, eyelids fluttering shut when his thumb starts moving in slow, repetitive circles. applying gentle pressure, easing the cramping away.

“poor baby.” rafe clicks his tongue in sympathy and affection. you sniffle, fingers curling into his shirt, and he rubs a circle over your belly. it’s just that—just him taking care of you, like he should—but then you let out this content little sigh, so soft, so fucking sweet, and fuck. the protectiveness in him is immediately tainted with lust.

he catches himself wondering where he can make you wetter, what other sounds he could pull from your mouth if he really tried. his dick twitches again (thank god you didn’t notice, because how the hell is he going to explain that), a sharp pulse of heat low in his gut and he forces himself to ignore it. later. right now, you need him. so he rocks you a little, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. trying to ease the strain in his jeans, rafe carefully shifts his weight, but you make this sweet little noise when the movement jostles you—something between a contented sigh and a moan— goddamnit, he knows you didn’t mean it like that, because you’re still all soft and pliant from the pain, but.. he simply can’t help himself.

“that feel good?”

you nod, nuzzling against him, and his hand is still rubbing absently over your stomach, dipping just a little lower, teasing the waistband of your shorts.

“mm.” a sleepy little hum, barely even words. “feels nice.”

“I’m showering first!” you shouted, racing to the bathroom and locking the door just as Rafe reached it. He banged on the door in protest, while you giggled behind it, waiting for him to give up.

“Damn it,” he muttered, stomping back into your room and flopping onto the bed.

He waited until he heard the water running before standing up. He knew it was risky with you just in the next room, but he needed his fix. Walking over to your hamper, he grabbed the first pair of panties he saw—a cute red lacy pair that made his breath hitch. He already had four pairs at his house, and he was definitely taking these. Pressing them to his nose, he inhaled deeply, groaning at the familiar scent.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, he pulled out his hard, leaking cock, his grip tightening as he let his imagination take over. He pictured your thighs wrapped around his head, grinding against his mouth, and a deep moan slipped from his lips as his strokes quickened. He was so lost in it that he didn’t hear the water stop.

You dried off quickly, slipping into a tank top and shorts before heading back to your room. As you reached for the doorknob, faint noises caught your attention, but you assumed it was just Rafe messing around. Pushing the door open, your breath hitched at the sight before you—Rafe sprawled out on your bed, your panties pressed to his face, stroking himself with desperate, thrusting hips.

You gasped, too loud.

“Shit!” Rafe jolted upright, his hand still gripping his cock.

“Rafey…” you mumbled, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. Your heart pounded, your stomach twisting with something you didn’t quite understand. Slowly, you dropped to your knees between his legs, gazing up at him. He swallowed hard, his hand reaching out to brush your hair from your face, his eyes telling you everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Without a word, he took your hand and wrapped it around him, guiding your movements.

“Like this?” you whispered, your touch hesitant.

“Just like that, princess…” he murmured.

His breathing grew heavier as you continued, and when his hand slid into your hair, pushing you closer, you didn’t resist.

Your mouth opened as his cock tapped against it. The girth of his cock had your mouth stretching immensely. His hand in your hair guided you as you took him further down your throat.

“That’s it, baby.” His hips began to thrust up into your mouth at a hard but slow pace. “You like your best friend’s cock down your throat, huh?”

A chuckle escaped him, along with a hiss after you gagged around him. He hit deeper in your thrust while you continued to gag as his pace increased.

Spit began to run down the sides of your mouth while Rafe’s hips started to stutter. “I’m gonna cum all down this tight fucking throat.” You looked up at him with your pretty innocent eyes, and Rafe almost came at that moment.

Sweet moans and grunts left Rafe’s mouth, and his body tensed with pleasure. His cum shot into your awaiting throat, with Rafe still slowly thrusting up into it.

When he came to a stop and slowly pulled out, a smile grew on your messy, teary-eyed, and pretty face. Rafe leaned down and sloppily kissed you.

“That was fun, Rafe. Can we do it again soon?” There was nothing but cheerfulness and hope in your voice, and Rafe grinned down at you. “Of course. But let’s watch a movie for right now.”

He put his cock back into his underwear and kissed your forehead. He pulled you up off your knees and pulled you on the bed with him. Snuggled up like you two always were.