Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.
It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.
Worse?
It was short.
Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.
The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.
“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.
Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.
“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.
Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.
‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’
“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.
They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.
Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.
Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.
(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.
Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.
The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)
Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.
Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.
Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.
“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”
He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”
To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.
None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.
Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.
Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.
Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.
“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.
A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.
“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”
Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction
“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”
“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!
“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”
As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.
Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.
“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”
It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”
Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.
Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.
(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)
The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.
It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.
Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.
Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.
“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”
He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.
Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.
(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)
“You know who doesn’t look scary?”
Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;
“Steve!”
Eddie’s left eye twitched.
‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.
Cartoon squawking and all.
“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”
So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.
“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”
Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.
There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.
Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.
One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.
(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”
“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)
“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.
“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!
“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”
He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.
“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”
A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.
“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”
This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.
Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!
He was right!
Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.
“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.
Because King Steve? Play D&D?
'Ha!'
“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”
“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.
Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.
Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)
The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.
As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.
“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.
"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”
Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table
Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”
The dick.
“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.
He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.
Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.
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watch and learn (part one)
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader
rating explicit 18+
content warning drug and alcohol use
summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.
» masterlist
*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
At first, you cut your neighbor some slack. Over freshman welcome week, you figured it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him to be quiet.
But it’s Thursday of week two, well past quiet hours, and the bass of his music is nearly making your bed shake.
You assumed the guy you’ve heard but haven’t seen yet would settle down once classes were underway. So much for that.
You have a lecture early tomorrow. It’s past midnight and his music and loud conversations are still drumming through your wall.
You’d call the resident advisor, but you’d rather talk to him yourself so not to risk any bad blood that could form from you snitching on him. You sigh, get out of bed, and decide to finally face him.
Rafe takes another hit of his joint, leaning back in his desk chair while three of his frat buddies talk about the past week of rushing.
He just got accepted into his top choice frat and he’s elated. And if he proves himself, he’ll be able to move into the Sigma Chi house next semester.
He probably will never get used to living in such a small room compared to the mansion he grew up in, but at least the frat house will be an upgrade.
“Dude, I think someone’s knocking,” Blake says, slapping Rafe’s knee.
“Oh, shit,” Rafe laughs, high out of his mind. He pauses the music and ambles out of the circle he’s been sitting in.
When he opens the door to see a girl in pajamas looking up at him, her arms crossed and her lips pinched, he’s taken aback for a second. Damn, you’re pretty.
“Hi,” you say, failing to force a smile at the man towering over you. The smell of weed hits you instantly. “I live next door. I wanted to ask if you could please keep it down?”
He grimaces as his unseen friends jeer behind him. You notice the Greek lettering on his t-shirt. A frat boy. Of course.
“You’re in trouble, Rafe!” one of them taunts.
He props a big arm against his doorframe, his blue eyes trailing down your body.
“Were we being loud?” he teases, purposely playing dumb. He’s obviously wasted. And is giving off strong fuckboy vibes.
“I have an early class tomorrow,” you try to explain. “Can you at least keep the music off?”
“What, you don’t like it?”
“Listen… Rafe, right?” you say. He nods, his grin still so fucking smug. You tell him your name. “I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s fun, but-”
“That’s kind of what you’re doing,” Rafe interrupts. The way your face screws up when you’re pissed off is too cute for him to stop fucking with you.
“Don’t you have a frat house you can do this at?” you finally snap, gesturing to his t-shirt.
“You telling me I can’t be in my own room?” Rafe says, annoyance starting to prick at his skin.
“Not if you’re gonna keep people up,” you say.
“Turn around.”
“What?” you snap.
“I wanna know if I can see the stick up your ass from here,” he says.
His friends explode in laughter and he looks back with a wide smile.
“I fucking hate frat boys,” you mutter more to yourself than to him. Rafe brings a hand up to his chest in mock offence. “And you’re not allowed to smoke in your room,” you add.
“You gonna tell on me?” He cocks his head, his hair falling over his forehead.
“Yeah, actually, I might.”
A man appears behind Rafe with a charming smile.
“Okay, okay,” he drawls to you, gesturing to dap Rafe up. “We should get going anyway.”
“Nah, man, you don’t have to,” Rafe says, immediately disappointed that his fun is ending.
“It’s late,” he says. The man nods at you with a smile.
“Blake,” he introduces himself to you. “Sorry about the noise.”
“Thank you,” you say through gritted teeth, wishing Rafe had half the manners his friend does. He shuffles past you, followed by two other guys who say their goodbyes to Rafe.
“Happy?” Rafe mutters, all the playfulness from his tone now gone.
“Thrilled,” you say, turning to get back to your room.
The next afternoon, you’re on the phone with your friend, Liv, as you make your way back to your dorm room after a full day of classes.
She’s trying to convince you to come to a party at a frat house tonight. You’re exhausted after a long day, but she’s right that you need some fun.
“I can’t be out long,” you say on the phone, pushing your key into the lock. “I’m tired. And honestly, already kind of stressed out over school.”
“Maybe you’ll meet a guy who’ll take your mind off things,” Liv suggests. You snort.
“The last guy I hooked up was such a disappointment,” you tell her. You try to twist your key. It won’t budge. “I almost faked my orgasm, then was like, it’s not even worth it.”
Liv laughs.
“They should know when they suck,” she says.
You wiggle your key, your fingers starting to hurt.
“Exactly,” you say. “Plus, he wanted to try this position and… I don’t know, I felt too nervous to do it. It was just a failure all around.”
Finally, your key twists and make it into your room, clueless to the fact that Rafe heard everything.
That night, you’re at the Sigma Chi house, two drinks in, when you spot your neighbor playing beer pong across the room. Shit. You’re sure this is his frat.
You already told Liv about your encounter with Rafe, so you nudge her and point him out.
“That’s my fuckboy neighbor,” you say.
“You didn’t mention how hot he is.”
“Wait until he opens his mouth,” you tell her, earning a laugh.
Honestly, Rafe does look good. He fills out his t-shirt so well, his backwards hat pushing his hair out of his handsome face.
Rafe glances around the crowded room and catches you staring at him. Even though you irritated him the first time you spoke last night, heat fills his body once he realizes your eyes are on him.
You quickly look away.
Despite how much of a tight-ass he thinks you are, he’s glad to see you tonight. What he overheard you say on the phone a few hours ago has been weighing on his mind. And his ego.
He finishes up his game of beer pong and the alcohol rushing through his system convinces him to find you and ask you what he’s been mulling over.
“Are you lost?” a voice says behind you.
You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s ducking down so you can hear him over the music. You glance back at Liv, who raises her eyebrows and turns away to give you privacy.
“Or do you actually know how to have fun?” he asks. You sigh as you glance back at him.
“I do, without the expense of people’s sleep,” you reply, a sarcastic smile on your face. “Crazy concept, right?”
“I figured it out,” he says. “Why you’re such a tight-ass.”
“I am not a tight-ass,” you reply.
“It’s ‘cause you can’t get off. I heard you,” he says. He sees embarrassment wash over your face. You know exactly what he’s referring to. “And I’m the loud one?”
You look away, regretting that you didn’t stop to think your voice would float into his dorm room. Fuck.
“Does that actually happen?” Rafe asks. “Girls fake orgasms?”
Your eyes dart up to meet his and you scoff a chuckle.
“Yes,” you say. “What, you didn’t know that?”
Rafe shakes his head. Admittedly, he’s been wondering if any girls faked cumming with him since he overheard you. It’s kind of a blow to his ego.
“Ouch,” you laugh, regaining your confidence. “Let me guess. You thought you had a perfect track record.”
“How can you tell that a girl’s faking it?”
You take a sip of your beer and he can’t help but notice the enticing way your lips look glossed with moisture.
“Every girl’s different,” you say. “But for the most part, you can… feel it. You know… down there.”
You’re glad you’re drunk for this conversation. You doubt you could have it sober.
“How?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“I’m not helping you with this,” you say. “Especially after you were such a dick to me.”
Rafe smirks, looking down. You notice he has really cute dimples. Shit. The fuckboy is charming you.
“Let’s start over,” he suggests. “I have an idea.”
“You can have those?” you ask.
“I heard you say you were nervous trying a new position,” Rafe says, ignoring your chide. You look down in unease again.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says. You look at him again, speechless over how forward he is. “We can help each other. You show me how to make a girl cum and how to know I actually did it. And I’ll let you practice whatever you want with me until you feel confident.”
You freeze for a second. Is he seriously suggesting you two fuck… to get better at fucking?
“Oh, you’ll let me?” you say, his proposal admittedly making your stomach numb with anticipation. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” Rafe says with a shrug. You realize he’s being totally and unabashedly serious. “What? Do you need time to think about it?”
You take another sip of your drink, the cold beer spilling down your throat.
He is insane. But he’s also attractive. Charming. Confident. Would it be so crazy to start hooking up with him?
You’d have the guarantee of an orgasm, without wondering if the guy you’re with cares enough about getting you there, and you’d get practice so you don’t feel as insecure next time you’re with a guy you actually like.
“I’m in, only if you promise to actually respect quiet hours from now on,” you finally say.
“Great sex isn’t a good enough deal?”
“Who’s to say it’ll be great?”
“So, I have to tiptoe around my own room,” he says, his temper flaring.
“If you consider not blasting music at night tiptoeing, then yeah,” you retort.
If Rafe wasn’t sure of it before, he is now: you’re hot when you’re pissed off.
“Fine,” he relents. He’ll probably be moving out next semester anyway. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens a new conversation. “Text yourself so I have your number.“
You hand him your cup in exchange for his phone. You send an eggplant emoji to your number. He takes a sip of your drink and you scowl.
“Are you that selfish in bed, too?” you say.
“You can let me know,” he quips. You roll your eyes at him and take your drink, giving him his phone back. Rafe chuckles when he sees the emoji you sent yourself.
“I will,” you promise. “I’ll call you out on everything you do wrong. If you can take it.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tonight?”
Wow. He’s eager. It’s kind of thrilling that he wants you this badly.
“Maybe,” you say. “If I’m not too tired when I get home, I’ll text you.”
Rafe’s chest tightens with excitement. His hot, mouthy neighbor is actually doing this with him.
“Sure.” Rafe juts out his bottom lip, nodding, as if this conversation is completely normal. He’s so casual about it. This feels unreal.
You give him a small smile. Probably the first genuine one you’ve offered him. Okay. You can admit to yourself that you’re looking forward to hooking up with him.
You stay at the frat house for another hour, hanging out with Liv and a few other friends you made, before you make it to your dorm just before midnight.
After changing into pajamas, and the nicest set of bra and panties that you own, you text Rafe: i’m home if you want to come over.
About ten minutes later, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to see Rafe standing with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his gray sweatpants.
You’re sure he knows how good he looks when you notice the outline of his length. He did this on purpose.
“Eager,” you say. “Were you already home?”
“I was quiet, huh?” he boasts, stepping into your room. He takes a second to soak in your space, eyes travelling over the way you’ve decorated.
“What the fuck? Your room’s bigger than mine,” he says.
“They’re all the same size.” You settle on your bed, glad he’s so comfortable about this, not making it awkward at all. Truthfully, the beer has worn off, and you’re kind of freaked out.
But this is what you’re doing this for. So you can stop being so nervous about sex.
“I’ll show you my room and you’ll see for yourself,” Rafe says. You watch him pace across your space to study the photos on your wall.
His eyes travel over the snapshots of you with your family and friends, your smile bright and pretty in every image.
With Rafe’s back turned to you, you take in the way his broad shoulders stretch out his white t-shirt. By the slight curve in his back, you can tell he’s not just lean, but muscular, too.
“How long are you expecting this… arrangement to go on for?” you ask.
“Until we’re both satisfied,” he says confidently, turning to meet your eyes.
“So, you’re aware you won’t be coming out of this with a girlfriend, right?” you assert.
While Rafe is attractive and charming, he’s also rude and narcissistic. You don’t want him to think you’re interested in him in that way. This isn’t a romance.
“Oh, yeah,” he huffs. “I’m not gonna be in college tied down to one chick.”
You scoff. Yup. Definitely no romance here.
“Maybe don’t call a girl a chick,” you say. “At least not to her face.”
“Right,” Rafe says with an easy laugh. He slowly steps towards you, his eyelids heavy as he looks down at you. “You have nice tits.”
You feel your skin burn, looking down at your chest in your tank-top. Rafe hardens the longer he looks at you.
“How sweet,” you say flatly.
Rafe smirks and sits down next to you, getting right to business as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm and surprisingly soft. He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and smells like aftershave.
He’s a good kisser. But you expected as much. By his confidence and the fact that he prepositioned you the way he did, you can tell he’s experienced with girls.
You feel his hand slide up your body and squeeze your breast. You sit back, disjointing your lips.
“Slow down,” you tell him. “Do you always go right into groping a girl like this?”
“Yeah?” His brows furrow.
“Okay, some might like it,” you say. “But most want foreplay. You have to give me some time to get turned on.”
“Aren’t you already?” he asks. “We’re kissing.”
“We’ve been at it for like, a second, Rafe. Just because you’re…” You look down at the tent in his sweatpants. “Ready, it doesn’t mean I am.”
“So, what should I do?” he asks.
“Just… don’t rush,” you say.
Rafe nods and leans into kiss you again, his hand cupping your waist this time. He doesn’t usually like kissing that much, typically wanting to jump right into sex, but the way your tongue runs over his is actually sort of nice.
A few moments later, his fingers dip to pull your top off. When Rafe sees you in your bra, he swallows hard. Why does he feel like this is his first time seeing a half-naked woman?
Probably because he’s being graded, he realizes.
“Wow,” he breathes. You look down, scratching your neck. “Damn, you do get nervous.”
“What?” you say.
“When a guy says wow, take the compliment,” he states.
You shyly shake your head and pull him in for another kiss to brush past the moment. He catches on, pushing you back.
“I’m teaching you shit, too, remember?” he mutters. “Don’t be shy. You’re hot.”
“Alright,” you groan, tugging at his shirt. “Take this off.”
He smirks and obeys, hoping he at least partly got through to you.
When your eyes roam Rafe’s bare torso, your heart pounds harder.
You continue making out, and he eventually slowly unhooks your bra. He peels it off and slowly cups your breast, fondling and gently squeezing.
“Is this too hard?” he asks.
“No, it’s - it’s good,” you sigh. You remind yourself this is supposed to be instructional. “You should… um…”
“What?” he asks against your lips. “Stop being shy.”
“Play with my nipples,” you say, cheeks burning. “Some girls like that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He looks down at your chest and softly pinches you, then rubs his thumb back and forth. “Good.”
Rafe is entirely hard now, your praise making him ache to be inside you. But he’s here to learn. He needs to go slower.
He dips to put his mouth on your chest, his lips locking around your nipple. You let out a shaky moan and he knows he’s doing something right.
Big hands gently press against your hips to push you onto your back. You settle on your firm bed, hands roaming over his smooth back.
He shifts to give your other breast the same amount of attention, coating your nipple in his warm spit. You bite your lip, feeling your stomach tighten in arousal.
“Can I go down on you?” he rasps.
You meet his eyes. Rafe realizes just how pleased you look already. It’s really gratifying.
“Yeah,” you whisper. He eagerly pulls down your bottoms and panties in one move, losing his breath when his eyes take you in.
“Goddamn.” His voice is strained. You’re already glistening and he wants to put his mouth on you immediately.
“Go slow there, too,” you say. “Kiss my thighs first.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding urgently. It’s satisfying seeing him listen to you like this, considering he doesn’t seem to care for rules.
Your thighs are so damn soft against his mouth. He peppers kisses up your skin. It’s taking all his willpower not to start eating you out right now.
Your breaths are shallow as he leaves languid, tender kisses on you. You feel his fingers stretch your lips apart and hear him sharply inhale.
“Now?” he asks impatiently.
“Yeah. Lick everywhere,” you say, “but pay the most attention to my clit. You know where it is, right?”
“I’m not that fucking helpless,” he mutters. You can’t help but laugh.
He lowers his mouth onto you and you tremble immediately. He laps at you for a few seconds, a groan escaping his lips.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You taste really fucking good.”
“Do you always talk like that?” you ask.
“Yeah, is it okay?” Rafe says, suddenly tense.
“It’s amazing,” you admit. “Keep doing it.”
“Yeah?” he says with a smile. He points his tongue over your clit, wriggling it over your flesh.
“That’s good,” you tell him. “Make your tongue flat, too. Switch between the two.”
You feel him nod against you, avidly taking every tip.
“And suck a little,” you tell him. Rafe didn’t think he’d like being bossed around, but the way you’re telling him what feels good and making him better at eating pussy is rewarding.
He starts to suck at your clit and the way you moan tells him everything he needs to know. He sucks harder and your breath gets shaky.
Rafe is desperate to see how the inside of you feels, even if it’s just with his fingers. He shifts to slowly dip a finger in your cunt and glances up to look at you.
“Can I finger you?” he says.
“Yes,” you nod. “It’s good to ask. Start with one.”
He slowly sinks into you, stopping at his knuckle. You’re so tight.
“Shit, baby,” Rafe whispers. “I know you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good.”
Your head is spinning. You’ve never had a man talk to you like this before. This is what you’ve been missing out on, hooking up with guys who didn’t care about your pleasure? It feels unfair.
He adds a finger, curling into you and feeling you clench around him as he continues to work your clit. You look down to enjoy the sight of his head between your legs, the tips of soft dirty blonde hair tickling your skin.
It’s intoxicating, being taken care of the way you want to be.
Rafe’s jaw starts to get sore, but your noises give him the drive to keep going. Eventually, your thighs press against your ears.
“I’m gonna cum,” you mumble. “Don’t stop.” Rafe’s stomach twists with excitement, fully alert and eager to take mental notes.
Your breath stops, your muscles tense, and your walls flutter around him as you meet your peak. Sparks of pleasure fire throughout your body and you tug at the roots of his hair.
He keeps sucking and licking and pumping his fingers until you shuffle beneath him, overstimulated.
“Okay,” you sigh. “Good, that’s good.”
Rafe sits up, his lips wet with your arousal. You look happy, yet somehow kind of guilty. He makes a mental note to figure out how to make you unashamed for having a sex drive.
The way you’re panting is making him so fucking turned on that it hurts.
“I need to fuck you,” he says.
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, hoping he’d say that. “Do you have something?”
He nods, pulling a condom wrapper out of his pocket. He takes his pants and boxers off at the same time and he springs out.
You never thought you’d think a cock could be perfect, but there’s no other way to describe it.
He leans over you, looking down as he lines himself up and slowly sinks into you. You watch him shut his eyes with pleasure, but when he opens them again, you look down at his body.
“So shy,” Rafe teases, his voice thick. “Make eye contact.”
You listen to him, meeting his eyes. It adds an entirely new level of pleasure and vulnerability, looking at each other while he starts to rock in and out of you.
He starts to thrust faster, revelling in the way your tits are bouncing with his force. His strokes are deep and powerful and you whimper over how nice it feels.
His balls feel tight already. He never cums this fast. There’s something about you that’s making his body react like this. But knowing you already orgasmed, he doesn’t let himself overthink it.
“Feels good?” Rafe asks with amusement in his tone. You moan in response. At least he doesn’t need to improve on this part.
He goes harder, losing his rhythm as he reaches his climax, trembling over you. The way he breathes through it is so unbelievably hot to you.
Once Rafe slows down, he collapses on top of you, his chest pressed against yours.
“How was that?” he mumbles.
“I don’t think your ego needs to get any bigger,” you say breathlessly. “But that was good.”
“Just good?”
You laugh. Okay, it was fucking mind-blowing. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“Yup,” you say, patting his shoulder. “Let me up.”
“What - what could I have done better?” he asks, sitting up off of you, pulling out. “I listened to everything you said. I swear, I never cum that fast.”
You smirk. He’s desperate for the praise.
“Fine,” you say. “It was amazing, okay? Don’t let it get to your head, frat boy.”
It definitely gets to his head. You can tell by the way he’s smiling.
“What position did that guy want you to try? Wanna do it?” he asks. You shake your head in disbelief. He could probably go all night.
“Next time,” you say, exhausted, your muscles weak.
Rafe’s disappointed, but he doesn’t show it.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Next time.”
part two
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