“Rafe.” His name tears out of me—plea, command, confession. “Please.”
He doesn’t slow. He stretches me, opens me, relentless and focused, like this is the only thing that exists. Like this is oxygen.
“I’m ready, Rafe. Please, fuck me. I need you.”
Our gazes lock. The heat in his eyes, the love threaded through it, steals the air from my lungs. Rafe nods once, gathers more lube, and shifts, lining us up with careful intent.
“Lift your legs, baby,” he says, voice roughened to gravel.
I do, thighs rising without hesitation, open and exposed beneath him. His focus drops between us, and I feel it—the slow drag of him at my entrance, the teasing pressure that makes my breath hitch and my stomach tighten. I bite my lip as he presses forward.
He doesn’t rush. He slides in inch by inch, steady and controlled. The stretch pulls a guttural “Fuck” from my chest, my hands flying to him, gripping tight, urging him closer, deeper, until he’s fully seated and we’re flush, no space left between us.
“Fuck, you’re taking me so good, baby.”
I nod, breath shaking out of me as I adjust, the burn sharp and perfect. My body opens for him, remembers him.
“You with me?” he asks, voice strained, muscles trembling with restraint.
“Yes.” I press up into him. “Fuck me, Rafe.”
That’s all it takes. He moves—hard, fast, purposeful. Every thrust lands deep, driving the air from my lungs, pulling me with him. His eyes keep finding mine, holding there, like this is more than heat, more than need—like he’s trying to memorize me the same way I’m memorizing him.
I cling to him, wanting this to brand itself into both of us, something we can’t lose no matter what comes next.
“Ollie, fuck. I need your mouth.”
He shifts, just enough. I follow, closing the space, and our lips meet.
The kiss is not gentle. It’s desperate, open-mouthed, breath shared and stolen in the same second. Teeth knock, noses bump, neither of us caring. His hand slides into my hair, anchoring me, and I taste salt and heat and him. Every exhale turns into a sound against my mouth, every movement pulling us tighter together, like we’re trying to fuse instead of just touch.
It’s messy and hungry, crammed with everything we never say out loud.
He breaks the kiss, eyes bright. “You are fucking perfect.”
“I love you,” I breathe as he drives into me.
He kisses me again, softer for a heartbeat before pulling back. “I love you. So fucking much.”
Emotion claws up my throat, sudden and fierce. It’s been too long. I swallow it down with a gasp as his hips snap forward.
“Jack yourself, baby. I’m not going to last.”
I nod, slipping my hand between us. He shifts to his knees and hauls me with him effortlessly. I love that he can. I love even more that he’s this desperate.
He grabs my hand, wraps it around my cock, strokes once, twice.
I’m already gone.
My vision blurs, my body clenching around him. Rafe groans, losing rhythm as pleasure takes over. The relentless brush inside me shatters what little control I have left. My head falls back, a broken sound tearing out of me as release hits, heat spilling between us.
He follows a heartbeat later, a rough curse falling from his mouth as he stills, buried deep, trembling.
Aftershocks roll through me, breath dragging in and out. It takes effort to focus. He’s looking down at me, chest heaving, gaze raw and open.
The world doesn’t rush back. It seeps in slowly, like morning light, as he eases out and leans down to press a slow, tender kiss to my mouth.
We lie tangled together, limbs heavy, skin warm, breath still uneven. Rafe is half sprawled across my chest, his head tucked under my jaw like it’s always belonged there. His strands tickle my throat. My hand rests on his back, fingers tracing small circles without thinking.
