He hooks a finger beneath the sleeve of his golf polo and rolls it a little higher on his bicep, adjusting the fabric before dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. The UV index has to be somewhere around ten and he feels every bit of it.

“The only reason I’m out here is because she said it’d be good for me.”

Topper snorts and Kelce’s chip barely makes it out of the sandpit.

“And you’ve been thinkin’ about leaving since hole one,” Topper chuckles, shaking his head.

“Hole one? That’s insulting,” Rafe breathes.

“Sorry, hole four—”

“Parking lot,” Rafe cuts him off. “I was thinkin’ that since the parking lot, Top.”

But even that’s a lie. He was thinking that the moment that he watched you wave to him over your shoulder before you stepped outside—that little string bikini peeking out of the top of your shorts, tormenting him beyond belief.

Ever since then he’s been crossing holes off in his head like an advent calendar from his own personal hell.

“He’s not even listening,” Kelce teases.

Rafe looks over at him, blinking slowly a few times with his lips pursed and his hands resting on his hips.

“‘Course I’m not.”

“Unbelievable,” Topper sighs. “I was just telling Kelce we could do another eighteen holes—”

Rafe can’t even contain his disgust—wincing, brows pinched tight, nostrils flared with a side eye dripping with judgment.

“We’re not inviting you, Cameron. Calm the fuck down,” he blurts.

Ding! Rafe’s hand moves, diving for his pocket like someone challenged him to a goddamn duel.

Kelce drops the head of his putter against the grass, shaking his head judgmentally. Rafe rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone without a shred of shame.

“You’ve got a problem,” Topper says.

“A legitimate fucking problem,” Kelce adds.

“I can’t help that neither of you like your wives,” Rafe mutters and both of their mouths hang open in disgust. “Whatever,” he says, sounding so genuinely unbothered. ‘Cause he is.

Then he looks down at the screen and suddenly nothing else matters.

You’re stretched out across one of the lounge chairs beside the pool with a book propped open. The afternoon sun reflects off your skin. The book covers half your face, but that isn’t helping him concentrate because the rest of you is impossible to miss—the soft swells of your breasts pressed against the pool chair, the curve of your ass, just a taste of your thighs. Your feet are crossed, the little anklet he bought you glittering in the North Carolina sun.

“Look at him,” Topper says, nudging Kelce with his elbow.

“Not a single thought in that head,” Kelce adds as he steps forward and rests his putter behind the ball, taking his time while he studies the break.

The green goes quiet for a second while everybody waits for him to hit it. Before he can even pull the putter back, Rafe steps directly into his line and sinks his putt without hesitation.

Topper starts barking out a laugh and Kelce stares at him in complete disbelief as his ball rolls toward the hole. “You are such a prick,” Kelce says.

“We’re done.”

“We are absolutely not done.”

“This feels done,” Rafe answers, bending down to grab his ball, starting toward the flag before the argument is even over, Kelce’s ball still rolling toward the cup.

“You’re unbelievable, Cameron—”

Rafe cuts off Kelce’s critique, kicking the ball, sending it careening away. “It was gonna hook left anyway,” Rafe says over his shoulder, digging his keys out of his pocket, heading toward the parking lot as the two bitch behind him. “You two suck at golf, by the way,” Rafe calls back.

“Fuck you, Rafe,” Kelce laughs weakly, walking toward his ball.

“Short game’s terrible.”

“Rafe!” Topper calls but he flicks him off in response.

“Don’t even get me started on you, Top. You read greens like an eighty-year-old man with cataracts, fucking useless.”

“Jesus Christ,” Topper gasps.

Rafe doesn’t even bother organizing his clubs when he reaches the parking lot. He yanks them out of the cart, tosses the entire bag into the trunk with absolutely no regard for the thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment inside.

He jogs around the side of the car, yanks the driver’s door open, and practically falls into the seat before firing the engine to life.

Gravel spits behind him as he throws the car into reverse, backing out of the spot in one smooth movement before shifting into drive.

The second he hits the main road, he grabs his phone and calls. His thumbs drum against the steering wheel as the summer wind whips through the car, his pulse hammering, still racing from that power walk to his car.

“Hey, baby,” your voice fills his car and he softens in his seat, hands wrapping a little tighter around the wheel as he smiles.

“Hey pretty,” he hums.

His voice is softer now, gravelly from talking all day and sweeter than it has any right to be considering the way he’d been speaking to Topper and Kelce five minutes ago.

If you’d been standing on that green listening to him threaten both of them, you’d absolutely have something to say about it. He already knows exactly what you’d tell him too. Be nice. Stop being grumpy. They’re your friends. The problem is that he doesn’t care about any of that right now.

“Where are you?” You ask curiously, and he can hear in your voice that you know he dipped out of there sooner than he should have.

“Just left.”

“You just left?” You giggle.

“Mhmm...” Your voice comes through the speakers and instantly makes him feel better than the entire golf outing did.

Traffic slows for a red light and the drumming starts again as he waits for it to change.

“You weren’t gonna get a drink or something?” You ask. “Relax?”

“Absolutely not.”

The answer comes so fast that you start laughing again. The corner of his mouth twitches as he shifts in his seat. “They were stayin’ to practice puttin’, baby.”

“Really?” You ask, not convinced in the slightest.

“Yeah. Their—uhhh… Their short games suck.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“They’re fuckin’ terrible, baby. That was a long-ass day,” he grumbles and you giggle. He leans back against the headrest as he lets the moment breathe for a minute. “Kids been easy on you today?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Just laying by the pool,” you say.

“Sounds rough.”

“Fuckin’ terrible, baby,” you echo his words back to him and he smiles. “They’re actually at Wheezie’s.”

The car accelerates, completely subconscious on his part, but you hear it loud and clear. Rafe’s eyes flick briefly toward the speedometer while a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

“Rafe Cameron, slow down.”

The grin only gets worse, sinking a little lower in the driver’s seat, as one hand falls to the shift stick.

“I’m goin’ slow, baby.”

“You are not,” you answer. “You accelerated the second I said the kids weren’t home.”

“Did I?” You can practically hear the grin in his voice now as he weaves through traffic. “So.”

You start laughing, knowing exactly where he’s going to go with this. “Winnie’s in Charleston with Jackson.”

“Got it. And Max?” He asks eagerly.

“He left like an hour ago.”

“On the boat?” He asks, knowing that’s an all-day affair.

“Mhmm…”

Rafe’s laugh rumbles through the phone. “Interesting,” he says.

“Interesting?” You laugh and sigh sweetly.

“Sounds like I get you to myself all day?”

“Sounds like it.”

By the time he turns into the neighborhood, he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The gates open and he barely slows down as he pulls through them, already spotting flashes of blue water between the houses.

“You’re almost here, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he hums. “See you outside, baby.”

The second he turns into the driveway, the car barely has time to rest before he’s throwing it into park, killing the engine.

The garage door rumbles overhead and he doesn’t wait, ducking underneath it before it can open all the way. His shirt’s halfway over his head before he even reaches the mudroom. By the time he steps inside, he’s carrying the polo in one hand, snagging his swim trunks from the laundry room with the other.

He stumbles slightly, kicking off his golf shoes without ever breaking stride. Future Rafe can deal with that problem. Present Rafe has more important things to do.

His golf shorts are already undone by the time he reaches the hallway. He steps out of them, steps into the swim trunks, and keeps walking without stopping once to grab his hat, tugging it on before he flicks it to the back.

Now he’s finally home and the only thing he cares about is the backyard door sitting at the end of the room. He reaches it a few seconds later and quickly slows down, dragging the glass door open.

And that last bit of tension breezes out of him, because there you are.

You’re curled up in a chair with a book open in your hands, completely unaware that he’s standing there.

He admires you for a moment—one leg crossed over the other while sunlight dances across the pool behind you. He soaks in the scene he’d spent eighteen holes waiting to get home to.

Then a sharp whistle rips through his lips.

Your head lifts at the sound.

The book lowers into your lap and a smile breaks across your face so fast it makes something in his chest tighten.

You start to uncross your legs, already leaning forward like you’re about to stand, but he points at you.

“Nah, baby,” he says. “Stay right there. I’m comin’.”

You laugh under your breath and fall back against the chair.

The cushions dip beneath his weight as he climbs on top of you. One hand braces against the armrest while the other finds your thigh, his broad palm sliding higher as he guides you closer.

“Miss me?” He asks. Rafe’s smile tugs a little wider when you whisper yes, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your thigh.

He slides a hand along your side, guiding you onto his lap as one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest while the other lifts to cup your cheek.

“Goddamn, I missed you. Don’t make me do that shit again,” he mutters, shaking his head once before leaning back enough to look at you properly. “M’not home enough for that.”

“Okay, baby,” you laugh.

“I mean it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t try to charm me after that, pretty. That was hell.” He leans in first this time, forehead brushing yours for a second before his lips find yours. “I love you,” he murmurs.

Your hand presses against his chest, nails scratching lightly down sun-warmed skin. He pushes the cup of your bikini to the side, wrapping his lips around your skin while his other hand drifts between your thighs.

“Out here?” You ask with a laugh.

“We’re all alone, baby. Why not?” His lips brush yours again before trailing along your jaw. “We can go inside too—”

“Right here,” you whisper.

“That’s what I thought,” he hums. “Who’s my girl, huh?”

You smile, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. “I’m your girl.”

“Mhmm.” His thumb drifts along your collarbones to your shoulders, nudging one strap down before the other. “You’re my fuckin’ girl.” The words come out rough enough to pull a smile from you.

You reach up and untie the small bow holding your swimsuit top together. The fabric slips loose between you.

Rafe’s eyes drop as you toss it away. “Jesus Christ, baby.” A low groan slips out of him as he tips his forehead against yours for a second, hands lifting to squeeze your tits in his big palms as his mouth finds yours again.

You glance down briefly, catching his swim trunks sitting low on his hips from where you’d been tugging at them, bunched slightly against his muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight across them.

“Take these off,” you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before he slides down in his seat, tugging down his shorts with him, his heavy cock smacking against his toned stomach with a snap, his eyes locked on your body.

His hands squeeze your hips, digging in as he drags your clothed pussy on top of him, head pressing back into the chair. The sun beats down on your skin. A thin line of sweat catching his chain before it rolls in a lazy train down his chest.

“They said I got a problem,” he mumbles through a smirk, his jaw tightening as you keep moving against him, the heat of your body bleeding through the fabric of your swimsuit, finally snapping whatever patience he had left.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You see any problems here?” He asks breathlessly as he reaches for the bows at your hip, tugging them free, yanking away the rest of the fabric in a hurry as his hands close around you again.

He blows out a breath like he’s finally gotten rid of the last thing standing between him and what he wants, his hand diving between your thighs.

His fingers press inside and he gasps, working you with his hand as you rest on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath, his muscles flexing with each push of his hand.

“Just jealous they don’t have a woman like you?” He hums as he pulls his hand away just long enough to drag you in.

Rafe’s lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pulls you down on him. You grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your wetness wrap around him tight.

“Fuck, me,” he mutters under his breath, dragging you closer, smiling against your lips before capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.

“Oh my god,” you whine.

“Pussy’s so perfect.”

His eyes lift to yours in a lust-ridden daze, muscles flexing as he works you over on his length. You bounce on his lap, wet slaps of sweat and slick filling with air around you mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep groans.

You grip the arm rests, circling your hips and he throws his head against the back of the chair to get a better look, his eyes drifting between your face and the bounce of your tits, falling to his lap where your pussy swallows him up each time you sink down.

His legs spread a little wider, feet resting on the ground, hips pitching to fuck up into your soaked hole. Your head throws back as you rise on your knees, letting him hit that perfect spot, the knot in your belly tightening, your body impossibly hot.

“Rafe,” you moan.

“Yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Been playin’ this shit over and over in my mind, pretty. Let me have it.”

You cry out as he pounds your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, as your pussy flutters around him. He looks up at you in a haze, lips parted, brows softening as your release wets his lap and thighs.

“Oh shit, that's my girl… That’s my baby,” he praises, making you gasp when he rolls you onto your back, not giving you a moment to breathe before he’s on you again.

He looks down at you with a smile, adjusting his hat, staring at the wet mess between your thighs. “Why the fuck would I ever wanna leave you, huh?” He asks as he pushes your legs against your chest, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders.

You whimper out a little breath as he taps his cock against your pussy, muscles jumping with each slap.

He pushes in slow, tilting closer to get as far as he can go, pressing a deep kiss to your trembling lips. “Gonna cum in your pussy,” he whispers, his voice breaking with pleasure. “M’so, so fuckin’ close.”

His face turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your ankle, right against the charm. His ab muscles clench as he rolls his lips, sweat sliding down his temple.

“I’m so deep,” he mumbles. You nod quickly, lip bitten between your teeth, hands gripping the arm rests tight.

“So fucking deep,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly. “Fuck me.”

He loses his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven as he snaps against your skin. His muscles quake, shoulders trembling, slamming into you in one heavy thrust.

His eyes pinch shut, head falling forward, cumming deep inside you with your name on his lips.

He lets your legs go but he doesn’t let you get far, snuggling into you again, kissing your forehead—then your nose and your lips.

“Goddamn,” he mumbles, lingering while your breathing slows together.

He sits down next to you, dragging you close, kissing you as he grabs your thigh, tugging it over the top of him—close not close enough.

“This,” he huffs out a deep breath through a smile, relaxing into the lounge chair. “This is what’s good for me.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, tilting your chin up for a kiss that he gladly steals. You rest your head on his shoulder, the warm summer breeze blowing against your skin, the soft music that you had playing while you were reading filling the space in between.

“You sent that picture to me on purpose,” he breathes.

A smile stretches on his lips when you don’t answer right away, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Holy shit, you did? Didn’t you?” He asks, tilting his neck to look you in the eyes and you shrug and smile.

“Thought it would get you home quicker.”

His hand comes down heavy on your thigh as he dips in, brushing his nose against yours, chuckling deeply against your lips before he kisses you.

“That’s my girl.”

you're on rafe's bed scrolling through your phone when he walks in with that stupid smirk, holding something between his fingers.

"what," you say without looking up.

"so... topper gave me these." the mattress dips as rafe sits, his weight pulling you slightly toward him. you glance up and see the tiny golden honey packets catch the light as he turns them between his fingers.

you actually laugh. "oh my god, rafe. are you serious?" you sit up straighter, grinning at him. "those don't even work. you know that right?"

"nah, i mean—"

"it's honey... it's literally just honey in some fancy ass packet. topper probably paid like thirty bucks for two dollars worth of honey because some instagram ad told him it would turn him into a porn star." you're fully laughing now, years of giving each other shit making this easy. you reach out and flick one of the packets in his hand. "you actually believe that shit?"

"listen—" rafe tries, but there's that smile tugging at his mouth because he knows you're gonna dog him for this. he shifts closer, his knee bumping against your leg.

"no, seriously, i need to know how much money topper wasted on honey packets." you push at his shoulder, invested in roasting him. "remember those gas station dick pills he got last summer?"

"alright, alright—" rafe's laughing too, shaking his head, catching your hand before you can push him again. his fingers wrap around your wrist for just a second before letting go. "you're not wrong."

"i'm never wrong about topper being an idiot." you settle back against his pillows, satisfied, tucking your legs underneath you. "remember when he tried to convince us that eating raw garlic would make him better at golf? and then his breath just smelled like shit the whole time?"

"yeah, and you kicked him out of the car," rafe says, grinning, leaning back on one hand so he's angled toward you.

"because he made it smell so fucking bad. and you know what— now you're an idiot too for even believing this."

"yeah, but—" rafe pauses, something shifting in his eyes. he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the packets still dangling from his fingers. "i mean... c'mon. if it doesn't work, then nothin' happens, right? like literally nothin'. we'd just be sittin' here exactly like we are now."

you narrow your eyes at him. "that's your argument?"

"i'm just sayin'..." he shrugs, still holding up one of the packets, close enough now that you can see the gold foil catching the light. "if it's bullshit... then it's bullshit and we laugh about how dumb topper is. but if it's not..." he trails off, that smirk getting wider as he tilts his head.

"it is bullshit."

"probably," rafe agrees, way too casual, shifting his weight so he's sitting fully on the bed now, one leg bent, facing you. "but... what's the actual harm? you gonna tell me you're scared of honey?"

"i'm not scared of honey, i'm just not gonna waste my time on some stupid—"

"so then try it. humor me," his voice is smooth and logical, like he's not actively trying to peer pressure you into this. he holds one of the packets out toward you, close enough that you'd only have to reach a few inches to take it. "seriously. worst case scenario? nothin' happens and you get to say 'i told you so' for the rest of the night. and you love that shit."

and you hate that he's right. you hate that that actually makes sense, because if it doesn't work then literally nothing happens. it's just honey. and you do love being right.

"this is so fucking dumb," you mutter, but you're already grinning because this is exactly the kind of stupid shit you two always end up doing together. you reach out and snatch the packet from his hand.

"yeah, probably." rafe's already tearing open a packet, squeezing the honey into his mouth like it's nothing. he swallows, then looks at you with this expectant expression, leaning in slightly. "c'monnn. prove me wrong."

"i will." you tear open your packet, very aware of how close he is, how he's watching you. the honey is sweet on your tongue, sticky as you swallow it down and look at him. "it's not gonna work."

"we'll see," rafe says, settling back against the headboard next to you, his arm brushing yours as he gets comfortable, but his eyes are still on you.

"yeah, we will," you say, going back to your phone. "and when nothing happens, you're buying me food for a week as an apology for wasting my time."

"deal," rafe says, and there's something in his voice that makes you think he's not worried about losing that bet at all.

twenty minutes later the heat starts low in your belly and spreads outward until your skin feels too tight and every nerve ending is awake. you shift and the seam of your shorts catches against you in a way that makes your breath hitch—suddenly you're aware of how wet you're getting, the fabric sticking to you, and every tiny movement makes it worse.

your thighs press together without you meaning to and the pressure sends a pulse of need straight through your core that's so intense you have to bite the inside of your cheek. you try to focus on your phone but the words blur together and all you can think about is the throbbing between your legs, the way your pussy is clenching around nothing, how the cotton of your shirt feels too rough against your nipples.

"you good?"

your phone nearly slips from your hands when he speaks and for a second you can't catch your breath.

"yeah, i'm fine." but your voice sounds all wrong—strained and slightly pitched up in a way that gives you away immediately.

he's silent for a moment but you can feel him looking and it makes your skin prickle with awareness, makes the heat worse.

"you sure?" there's amusement threading through his voice now, low and knowing. "i could've sworn you said it was bullshit."

"it is." you try to sound convincing but you're pressing your thighs together again and you know he can see it, can probably see the flush spreading down your neck. "it's definitely not working."

"yeah? then why are you squirmin' like that?"

your entire body goes rigid.

"i'm not squirming."

"you keep pressin' your legs together..."

"oh my god, shutupshutupshutup."

then his hand lands on your thigh and the touch burns through the thin fabric of your shorts, making your breath catch immediately, and you realize you're in trouble because just that simple contact makes you want to spread your legs and beg.

"relax, alright?" his thumb strokes back and forth and each pass makes the ache between your legs worse, makes you wetter. "just checkin' somethin'."

"checking what?"

"how full of shit you are."

his hand slides higher and your pussy throbs so hard you gasp—you can't help it, can't control the way your body responds to him. he stops with his palm resting on your inner thigh, his fingers so close to where you're dripping that you want to grab his wrist and shove his hand where you need it.

"rafe—"

"whattt," he mutters, all innocence, but you can hear the smugness underneath. "thought it wasn't workin'."

"it's not." but you're shaking and your voice is barely there.

his thumb strokes your inner thigh again and you feel his breath against your ear, warm and close. "but you're breathin' all hard..." his fingers brush the edge of your shorts and you can't stop the whimper that escapes because you need more, need him to touch you properly or you're going to lose your mind.

"shut up."

his fingers trace the hem and it feels like you're going to die if he doesn't touch you properly, if he keeps teasing like this. "you want me to stop?"

"no." it comes out immediately and you want to take it back but then his hand slides up and cups you through your shorts and the pressure makes your hips jerk forward into his palm without permission.

"jesus—you're fuckin' drenched."

you are—you can feel how wet you are, how the fabric is clinging to you, and when he presses harder you feel the slickness spread and it should embarrass you but all you can think about is getting his hand closer.

then he's yanking you toward him and suddenly you're straddling his lap and his cock is right there beneath you, thick and hard and pressing up against your pussy through too many layers of fabric. you grind down without thinking and the friction makes you gasp because it's not enough but it's something.

his hands grip your hips and guide you to move against him again and the drag of his cock against your clit through your shorts makes your head fall back, makes you chase that pressure desperately.

"look at you." his voice is strained, rougher than before. "still waitin' for you to admit it was legit."

"shut up." you grind against him harder, chasing the pressure, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise but you don't care because you need more.

his hand slides up your back into your hair and tugs and the sharp pull makes you gasp. his other hand moves between your bodies and presses against you through your shorts and you're so sensitive that even that makes you whimper, makes your hips roll forward seeking more contact.

"please..." you hear yourself say it and you don't even care anymore.

"please what?" he's enjoying this but his voice is rough, barely controlled. "what d'you want?"

"please touch me."

he pulls your shirt off and then your shorts and suddenly the air hits your wet pussy and you're exposed and aching and vulnerable. his hand slides between your legs and his fingers stroke through your folds and you shudder at the contact, at finally feeling his skin against you.

"jesus—" his voice cracks and you look down to see him staring between your legs like he's never seen anything like it. "you're fuckin' drenched."

his fingers run through the wetness and when he pulls his hand back you can see how they're coated, strings of it connecting his fingers to you, and he stares at it like he's mesmerized. the sight makes you clench around nothing, makes you need him inside you.

"look at this mess—" then his fingers find your clit and you stop breathing because the pressure is perfect and you're grinding into his hand desperately, chasing the sensation.

you're making these sounds you can't control—gasping and moaning—and you don't even care anymore because his fingers feel so good and you're so close already.

"there you go." his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants and you can see how hard he is, can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. "listen to yourself—"

then his fingers slow down and barely touch you and you whine at the loss, at the sudden absence of pressure.

"what was that thing you said?" his voice is rough and his hips jerk forward into his own hand like he can't help it. "about instagram ads?"

"rafe please—"

his fingers push inside you—two at once—and you clench around them immediately, your pussy trying to pull them deeper because you need more. he curls them and presses against that spot and your entire body jerks forward, a sharp cry tearing out of you.

"shit—you're so tight—" his hand is shaking where he's gripping your hip and you can feel how affected he is, how much he wants this.

he does it again and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. his thumb finds your clit while his fingers work inside you and you can't help but moan at the combination, at how good it feels to finally have him touching you like this.

"you want more?"

"ohmy—pleaseyes—"

"c'mon, ask me nice."

"pleaseplease i need more—"

"yeah? need what?"

"your mouth." it comes out desperate and broken. "need your mouth on me."

he groans and the sound is all raw and broken like just hearing you say the words is fueling him, like he's been waiting to hear it. he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean and watching his eyes roll back makes something flip in your stomach because he looks needy for it already.

then he's pushing you down onto your back and the sheets are cool for half a second before his hands are spreading your thighs wide and his mouth is on you and—

your back arches off the bed before you can stop it. a sharp gasp tears out of you and your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight because you need something to hold onto. the groan he makes vibrates straight through your clit and you whimper, your hips bucking up involuntarily.

his tongue pushes inside you and you weren't expecting that—weren't expecting the wet heat of it or how deep he'd go or the obscene sound it makes when he does. your hips jerk up and he groans again, louder this time, like he's the one being overwhelmed.

you look down and oh god—

his face is buried between your legs, his jaw working as his tongue moves inside you, and his chin is already shiny and dripping with you. when his eyes flick up to meet yours there's something feral in them, something you've never seen before. this isn't calm, collected rafe who always has a smirk and a comeback ready. this is rafe completely undone, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black, his mouth slack and wet and desperate as he stares at you like he's starving.

but that's not what makes you forget how to breathe.

his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants, his hips grinding forward into his own hand in these short, desperate thrusts, and you can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric—thick and hard and so obvious it's obscene. there's already a wet spot forming where he's leaking through and you can't stop staring, can't stop noticing how his shoulders are trembling, how his free hand is gripping your thigh so hard you know there'll be bruises, how his breathing is ragged and uneven against your pussy.

rafe was always so controlled, always the one with the upper hand, the one who stayed calm no matter what. but right now he looks frantic, completely gone, and it's because of you.

you want to touch him, want to wrap your hand around his cock and feel the weight of him and taste him and watch him fall apart under your mouth the way you're falling apart under his.

then his tongue drags up through your folds so slow like he's savoring the taste and the thought dissolves into nothing.

"oh—" you gasp and your hips buck up, seeking more. "oh god—"

he does it again—licks you from your entrance all the way up to your clit and then circles it with his tongue, teasing—and you whimper. your hands tighten in his hair and you pull him closer without meaning to and he groans like that's exactly what he wanted, like he needs you to use him.

"you taste—" he pulls back just enough to breathe and his voice is completely shot, wrecked in a way you've never heard before. his hand is still working himself, his hips still jerking forward. "so fuckin' good—"

then his mouth is back on you and his fingers push inside—two, then three—and the stretch makes you cry out because he's not gentle, he's messy and desperate, his tongue lapping at your clit while his fingers curl inside you. the wet sounds should embarrass you but you're too far gone to care, too focused on the way he's devouring you.

"listen to that—" his voice is muffled against you and you can feel his lips moving, can feel the vibration. "so fuckin' messy—"

his hand is still working himself and his hips are still grinding forward and you can see how badly he's shaking, can see his jaw tighten and his eyes squeeze shut for a second like he's trying to hold himself together. when they open again and lock on yours they're needy and pleading and desperate.

he's looking at you like he's memorizing you—his gaze drags up from where his mouth is on you, over your stomach, your tits, your mouth. he's staring at your face like he needs to see every reaction, every gasp, every time your eyes flutter closed, and the intensity of it makes your breath catch.

"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get the words out. "oh my god—"

he pulls back just enough to breathe and his chin is dripping, his lips swollen and shiny and his pupils are so blown you can barely see the blue. "y'gonna cum for me?"

then his mouth seals around your clit and sucks hard and his fingers curl inside you and press against that spot and everything goes white.

"yes—fuck—yes—"

it hits you and your entire body convulses, your hands gripping his hair so tight it has to hurt but you're pulling him closer as your hips buck up against his face. you're sobbing his name and he doesn't pull away—he keeps his mouth on you through all of it, drawing it out, groaning against you like he can't get enough, his hips still grinding into his hand like watching you come is almost enough to make him lose it too.

when he finally pulls back his face is a mess—his chin is shiny and dripping, his lips swollen and red. his hand leaves his cock and you can see how hard he is, the outline obscene against his sweatpants, a wet spot spreading where he's leaking, and suddenly you need to taste him, need to make him fall apart the way he just made you fall apart.

"my turn."

you're pushing him before he can react and he's so surprised he lets you flip him onto his back, his eyes going wide as you move down his body, your hands already reaching for his sweatpants.

"wait—"

"shut up." you yank his sweatpants down and his cock springs free and jesus christ—it's thick and flushed dark, curving up toward his stomach, pre-cum dripping steadily from the slit. you watch it drip down his shaft and your mouth waters because you need to taste him.

"fuck—" his voice cracks when your hand wraps around him and he's so hard, so hot in your palm, and when you stroke up his entire body jerks like he's been electrocuted. "oh fuck—"

you lean down and lick the pre-cum from his tip and the taste of him—salty and clean and him—makes you moan. his hips buck up and he whimpers, the sound high and broken.

"shit—wait—i can't—"

"yeah you can." you lick up his shaft, following the trail of pre-cum, and his hands fly to the sheets and grip tight, his knuckles going white.

you wrap your lips around the head and suck and the sound he makes is this half moan, half growl that goes straight between your legs. you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his cock throbs on your tongue, leaking more pre-cum.

"shit—" his voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "fuckin' love your mouth—"

you pull off with a wet pop and stroke him with your hand, watching more pre-cum leak from the tip, watching the way his abs flex and his hips jerk up seeking more. "god, you're so easy."

"yeah? so fuckin' what."

you take him deep again, as far as you can, and his hips thrust up involuntarily, pushing him deeper. you gag slightly but don't pull off, just relax your throat and take him deeper, and his hands fly to your hair.

"fuck—sorry—i'm sorry—" but he's not pulling you off, his fingers are tangling in your hair and holding you there and you moan around him because you want this, want him to lose control.

you pull off, spit connecting your lips to his cock, and pump him with your hand—fast and tight and slick. you take him deep again and this time when his hips thrust up you meet him, taking him into your throat. the groan he makes is almost anguished, desperate and raw, and you set a rhythm, bobbing your head, taking him as deep as you can while his hips start moving, fucking up into your mouth in shallow thrusts.

"oh fuck—oh fuck—" his voice is breaking, cracking on every word.

but then his hands are pulling you off and he's gasping, his chest heaving. "fuck—wait—i'm gonna—"

"that's the point."

"no—" he's pulling you up his body and his hands are shaking, trembling as they grip you. "not yet—need to fuck you."

his cock is pressed between your bodies, hot and slick and throbbing, and you can feel more pre-cum leaking onto your stomach. you grind against him and he groans, the sound pained.

"god—" you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him and stroke, feeling how hard he is, how much he's leaking. "you're shaking."

"yeah—" his voice breaks and his hips jerk up into your hand. "yeah i'm fuckin' shakin'—you have no idea—"

you position him at your entrance and sink down slowly and the stretch makes you both moan because he's so thick, filling you so completely, and from this angle he's so deep you can feel him everywhere.

"oh fuck—" his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and his entire body is trembling beneath you. "oh fuck you're tight—so. fuckin'. wet—"

you start moving and the slide of him inside you is perfect—you can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs when you clench around him. you brace your hands on his chest and his heart is slamming against your palms, fast and erratic and out of control.

"look at you," you manage, even though you can barely breathe. "thought you were gonna be in control."

he thrusts up hard and the argument dies in your throat, replaced by a gasp.

"yeah?" his voice is strained, barely there. "you were sayin'?"

but you can see the flush spreading down his neck, the way his shoulders are tensed like he's holding himself back, and you know he's just as ruined as you are.

you ride him harder, faster, chasing the feeling building in your core. the wet sounds are so fucking obscene—slap slap slap, squelch squelch squelch—and you can feel your arousal dripping down his shaft, coating his balls, making everything slick and messy.

"fuckkkk—" he's watching where you're joined and his voice breaks, his jaw completely slack as he stares. you grind down in a circle and he whimpers, the sound all high and broken. "topper's never gonna believe this shit." he laughs—breathless and broken—and you feel it vibrate through his chest.

"are you seriously thinking about topper right now?"

"tryin' not to." you clench around him and watch his head tip back, his throat exposed, a groan tearing out of him that sounds almost pained. "but shit—you owe him a fuckin' thank you card."

the angle drives him so deep you feel it in your stomach and suddenly you're not thinking about topper anymore—you're thinking about the drag of his cock inside you, the wet sounds that match your rhythm, how his fingers are digging into your hips hard enough to leave purple marks.

his hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit and the pressure makes your movements stutter, makes you lose your rhythm because you can't focus on anything except the fullness of him stretching you and the tight heat building low in your belly.

"oh my god—"

"there you go." he mutters, voice all low and shaky, and you can see sweat dripping down his temples, can see his abs flexing with every thrust up into you. "'s what i wanna see."

you grind down and take him deeper and his hips jerk up to meet you and you're both slick with sweat now, your bodies sliding together. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can feel his other hand find your breast and squeeze, his palm damp against your skin.

"so full—" you gasp it out because you can barely form words. "can feel you everywhere—"

"yeah?" he thrusts up harder and you watch his biceps flex as he grips you tighter, watch the way his muscles coil. "y'like feelin' how deep i am?"

"yes—fuck yes—"

you roll your hips and he whimpers and you realize you're the one making him sound like that, you're the one unraveling him. his composure is completely gone—he's gripping you like he's drowning, his fingers digging in, and there's something raw in the way he's looking at you. pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open.

"you're so fuckin' tight." his hands grip your ass now and his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, hard enough to sting. "you keep squeezin' me like that and i'm gonna—gonna cum."

"already?"

"shut up—you're the one who's—look at you—you can barely—" his voice breaks when you clench around him again and his jaw goes slack, his eyes rolling back. he's right though—you're gasping and your movements are getting frantic and his fingers find your clit again and suddenly you're close, so close you can feel it building.

"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get his name out. "i'm gonna—"

"yeah?" his hips are bucking up desperately now and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel how close he is too. "do it—wanna feel you—need to feel it—"

his fingers work your clit in tight circles and you come so hard you're seeing stars, clenching around him in waves, your body convulsing as his hips buck up against you, prolonging it.

you're still moving, still riding him through it because you can't stop, and he's falling apart beneath you—his grip on you tightening, his breathing ragged. then his hands are gripping your hips hard and he's flipping you and you barely process the change before you're on your stomach and he's entering you from behind in one brutal thrust that makes you scream into the sheets.

"fuck—"

his arm hooks around your neck and he's pulling you back against his chest, fucking into you so hard you can barely think, can barely breathe. his forearm is solid against your throat, the weight of it holding you exactly where he wants you, and his other hand finds your clit and rubs tight circles. you're squirming against him, trying to escape the intensity but he's holding you so tight you can hardly move.

the sounds are so nasty—the wet slapping, the squelch with every thrust, your moans and his grunts mixing together.

"rafe—" you're gasping, barely able to form words. "it's too much—"

his hips snap forward hard and you feel his teeth graze your shoulder before biting down, his fingers pressing harder on your clit. "nah—c'mon you can take it."

"fuck—pleasepleaseplease—"

his next thrust goes so deep you can't breathe and your body goes rigid for a second before your back arches involuntarily, your ass pressing back into him hard enough that he groans. the angle sends everything white-hot through you and your thighs clench.

"ah—ah—fuck—" the sounds punch out of you with every thrust and you can't stop them. he sounds so fucking good right now. the way he's rutting into you like he's been wanting to do this, like he's finally letting himself have you, makes you even wetter.

"every. last. inch." his voice is low and rough in your ear. "just like this—"

"that's it—" his arm flexes around your neck and pulls you tighter against his chest. you can feel his collarbone digging into your shoulder blade, the solid heat of him pressed against every inch of your back. "fuck yourself back on my cock."

you do it without thinking, meeting his thrusts, and the angle makes him go even deeper. "oh god—fuck—you're so fucking deep—" your thighs are shaking.

"you like this?" his breath is hot against your ear and his voice is wrecked, barely controlled. "like me fuckin' you like this?"

"yesyesyes—" it comes out broken between thrusts.

"yeah?" he thrusts harder and you can hear how wet you are with every movement, can hear the obscene squelch. "listen to that—so fuckin' messy—drippin' all over me—"

your nails dig into his forearm and you feel the flex of muscle beneath your fingers, the way his tendons shift with every movement. his hips slow and grind deep instead of thrusting and you feel every inch of him, the pressure maddening, his cock dragging against that spongy spot inside you with every slow roll of his body.

"tell me i was right." his voice drops lower, more guttural, and his rhythm falters before he regains control and fucks into you with renewed desperation. you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his whole body is coiled tight.

"i—" you sob it and tears stream down your face because it's too much, because you can't think. "fuck—"

"say it." his hips slam forward hard enough to push you into the mattress. "say it. need to hear you say it."

"i was wrong—" you sob it out, your voice breaking. "okay? i was wrong—"

"that's not what i said." his arm flexes around your throat and his hips grind deep, so deep you feel it everywhere. "tell me i was right."

"god—fuck, you were right." you're clenching around him with every thrust, your body betraying you. "you were right about everything—"

"yeah i fuckin' was—" he groans against your neck and his control finally cracks, his hips snapping forward brutally now, chasing his release, his rhythm completely gone. you feel his arm tighten around your neck as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust and the angle shifts and suddenly he's hitting so deep you see stars. "you gonna remember that? gonna remember how good i fuck you?"

"yes—yes i'll remember—i'll never—forget it."

and just like that you're coming again, clenching around him so tight it's almost painful, gushing around him and soaking everything. and even still he's fucking you through it, his arm around your neck holding you in place.

"keep fuckin' takin' it—"

"i'm taking it—" you sob, tears streaming down your face. "fuck i'm taking it—"

his rhythm is erratic now and desperate and you can feel him getting harder inside you, the way his cock swells right before he comes, and you want it, need to feel him come inside you.

"wanna feel you—wanna feel you come inside me—"

then he's pulling out suddenly and flipping you again and you're on your back and he's on top and he's slamming back inside in one brutal thrust that makes you both cry out.

"look at me." his hand grips your jaw and forces you to meet his eyes and there's something desperate in them, something that feels vulnerable and unlike anything you've ever seen on his face. your heart clenches at the sight of it and you don't look away, not for a second. "need to see you."

he's pushing deep, deeper than before, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"fuck—" his voice breaks and cracks. "fuck i'm gonna—i'm—"

then he's spilling inside you, his entire body locking up. you feel it—the first pulse of his cock, then another, then another. the heat of his cum flooding inside you, filling you, and it's so much. he's groaning your name against your neck—a sound that's almost anguished—and you can feel every pulse as he empties himself inside you, his hips jerking forward with each spasm like he can't help it, like his body is trying to get deeper even though there's nowhere left to go.

the sensation triggers something in you and suddenly you're coming again, clenching around him, milking him, taking every drop. you're sobbing as you come and rafe is holding you so tight, his arms wrapped around you, his fingers digging into your back.

you can feel his cum inside you, hot and thick, can feel it leaking out around his cock because there's so much. your pussy clenches again and he whimpers against your neck, the sound vulnerable and raw.

his movements slow and become gentle but you can still feel him throbbing inside you and the aftershocks running through both of you. his full weight settles on you and you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your chest—fast and erratic. sweat is cooling on your skin but inside you're still burning, still feeling the heat of him.

"je—" his voice is rough, barely there. "jesus fucking christ—"

he stops like there's something he was about to say and swallowed it. his face is buried in your neck and his arms are wrapped around you so tight you can barely breathe. you can feel his pulse against your collarbone where his throat presses into you.

you wonder what he was going to say.

you're both gasping for air and your legs are still wrapped around his waist, holding him close.

he's not pulling out—he's staying inside you and softening but still there, still connected. his full weight is pressing you into the bed and you can feel his cum leaking out around him, dripping down your thighs, making everything even messier. the sheets beneath you are soaked.

you can feel the honey packet still working through your system—the warmth that hasn't faded, the need is still there simmering under your skin.

you shift slightly and you feel him getting hard again almost immediately. he groans against your neck and the sound is surprised and almost pained.

"oh my god. already?"

your hips roll without meaning to and you feel him thickening inside you and he shudders, his arms tightening around you. you can feel the tension returning to his shoulders, the way his muscles coil.

"yeah."

you clench around his hardening cock and he makes this sound—half groan, half whimper.

he pulls back just enough to look at you and his hips press forward—a slow thrust that's all the way in that makes your breath catch. there's this look on his face, something softer than before like something changed between you. his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead and there's a flush spreading down his neck.

"told you."

but the teasing sounds different now—less about winning, more about something else. something you're not quite ready to admit yet.

you want to argue but he's grinding into you in slow circles that make your eyes flutter closed and your body is already desperate for more.

"oh fuck you."

but you're smiling. your legs wrap around his waist and pull him deeper and he laughs—soft and ragged—before his mouth finds yours.

he's kissing you—actually kissing you for the first time tonight. his lips are softer than you expected and he tastes like sweat and a little sweet from the honey. his tongue licks into your mouth, messy and urgent and perfect, the warmth of it making you melt into him. you're already grinding up into him and your hands are in his hair pulling him closer.

his hips start building a real rhythm again, slow at first but building, and you're so sensitive that every thrust makes you whimper into his mouth. his hand slides between your bodies, his fingers gently beginning to work your clit and you gasp into his mouth.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice low and rough.

"gonna fuck you all night."

𝐚/𝐧: i hope you guys like this one!! i'm ngl i'm kinda scared this one's gonna flop because i know people usually aren't as into the best friends to lovers trope as they are older!bf. i usually write things that have some kind of taboo element, and i really enjoy writing power imbalances and other weird shit like that, so this was definitely a step out of my comfort zone. i kept trying to figure out a best friends premise that didn't feel generic or boring, and i wanted to write a version of canon rafe that felt a little different without making him feel out of character. i hope you guys enjoy this version of him :) sometimes i like imagining season one rafe if he wasn't actively losing his shit lol.