Rafe

by Jo Raven

  I push up on tiptoe and kiss his mouth, then kiss my way down his corded neck to his chest.

  “Meg…” he whispers, and when I look up, I find his eyes dark and wide, fixed on me. He lifts a hand to my face, runs his thumb over my lips. Then he lets his hand drop and sags against the wall.

  Wetting the sponge in the warm spray, I press it to his flat stomach and draw it lower, over his semi-hard cock.

  He jerks, putting a hand on my shoulder to steady himself. He’s staring down where I’m dragging the sponge under his cock, over his balls, and he spreads his legs a little, giving me better access.

  Excitement courses through me, seeing how my touch affects him. He’s hardening again, the thick muscles in his thighs trembling as he fights the urge to move, to push into my hand.

  It’s obviously a losing battle, because suddenly he pushes off the wall and presses into me until the sponge falls from my hands and I end up against the opposite wall of the stall. His mouth covers mine, warm and rough, and I moan at his taste. Faintly salty and sweet, with the rusty tang of blood, and the dark spice that is Rafe.

  He grabs my wrists, lifts them over my head and crosses them, keeping them there one-handed as he keeps kissing me, nipping at my lips, licking inside my mouth. Every nip, every lick sends bolts of fire down my belly. Heat is gathering between my legs, and when he presses his hard-on between us, I can’t help moaning and writhing, rubbing on his body.

  He makes my blood sing and my head spin. I want to clutch at him, drag him even closer, but his grip on my wrists is like steel.

  He breaks the kiss, panting harshly.

  “Shit.” With his other hand he grabs my leg and curls it around his thigh. His hard-on drags on my belly, sending sparks of need up into my core. “Want you to come all over my cock.”

  Oh God. His words are so sexy I clench inside, hard. I want him so much I ache. I tug again against his hold and he releases me, only to grab my other leg and pull that one around his hip, lifting me completely off the floor.

  I yip and throw my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. He chuckles and lifts me higher, his hands sliding under my ass, impressive muscles shifting in his chest and arms.

  Whoa. He’s lifting me higher still, sliding me up against the wall. I slip my fingers into the soft hair at his nape and moan when he unerringly finds my breast with his mouth and sucks on my nipple.

  God, this is so hot. Then the head of his cock slides along my seam, back and forth, warm and wet, the barbell hard and cool, and I arch my neck, close my eyes, struggling to swallow the sounds he’s dragging out of me.

  “Rafe…” I mumble, “please.”

  He lets go of my nipple, pushes me harder against the wall, and begins to lower me.

  Inch by inch.

  On top of his cock.

  I bite my lip as he sinks into me, the flared head with the barbell breaching me, stretching me, followed by his hard length, the hoop on the underside dragging deliciously inside me.

  Too much. Too much anticipation, too much sensation, too much pleasure. Just right.

  I spasm around him, let out a startled cry, and come, contracting around his cock, again and again. My nails dig into the back of his neck as I ride him. His hands lift and lower me, drawing out the pleasure, until the last jolts and tremors fade.

  My panting breaths echo in the bathroom, mingling with his. It takes me a long moment to gather my wits again and realize he’s still holding me up, and that he’s still fully hard inside me. His cat-like eyes glimmer as he gazes at me, his mouth curving into a faint smile.

  “Holy shit,” he rasps. “That was beautiful.”

  Wasn’t I supposed to be the one distracting him with pleasure, taking his mind off the present? My brain is filled with static.

  Before I can formulate any words, the muscles in his arms bulge, his pecs bunch up, and he starts lifting me off him, ever so slowly. My eyes practically roll up in my head as his cock slips out of me, a long, slow drag that makes me shudder.

  He settles me on my feet, his hands moving up, clasping my waist, and his head drops forward. “God, I wanna fuck you until I come,” he whispers. “Need to come inside you.”

  “Yeah.” I reach behind him to turn off the water and press my breasts to his chest. “Want to feel you come inside me. Want to hear you shout as you come apart. Want to hold you when you do.”

  “Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ.” He bends, kisses me hard on the lips, then grabs me under the knees and picks me up. “Bed, now.”

  He’s striding out of the bathroom, dripping all over the floor, before I even have a chance to blink.

  “Your ribs,” I protest as he enters the bedroom. “Put me down.”

  “I’m okay.” He starts leaning over the bed, then winces. I wiggle out of his hold and he lets me slide down, biting on the inside of his cheek. “Dammit.”

  Worried, I step back to have a better look at his side, but he’s having none of that. He kisses me quickly, licks at my lips, then nudges me until I sprawl on the bed.

  “Don’t move,” he growls and strides of out the room, only to return a moment later, holding something in his hand. He throws it on the bed by my side. A condom.

  The next second he’s kneeling between my legs, and oh holy God, he’s stroking himself.

  Mesmerized, I watch those long fingers curl around his shaft and pump in slow strokes. His fist moves up and down, lingering on the upstroke, until his breath hitches, then sliding down again. He toys with the hoop on the underside, tugging on it, his balls hanging full and heavy beneath.

  Dear baby Jesus. I can’t just sit here, not touching. Can’t wait anymore for him to be back inside me.

  I reach for the condom, tear the package open and put my hand over his. He stills, eyes darkening as they dip down. I place the condom on him, and he’s so wet we roll it together over the flared head and down his shaft easily, in spite of the piercings.

  His mouth goes slack, eye fluttering shut as we both hold on to his hard-on, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. His need is so overwhelming, so intense—not just the need to come, but to let go, forget the bad, remember the good. Be gentled.

  Though he doesn’t seem in a gentle mood right now. He grabs my face and kisses me hard, pushing me down until I’m on my back. He presses between my legs, thick and heavy, and plants his hands on either side of my head.

  His face is bent over mine. His hair catches the light from the open bathroom door behind him, turning into a golden cloud—and then he enters me in one deep, long thrust that knocks the air from my lungs.

  “God, you’re so tight,” he breathes, throbbing inside me. “So goddamn tight and hot. Holy shit, you feel so good.”

  I arch up, raise myself on my elbows to kiss him, and the angle shifts, so we both gasp. Lightning pleasure runs up my spine.

  “God, Rafe,” I murmur and grip his hip. His thick cock slips deeper, the piercings massaging my inner walls, and I choke on a cry.

  He grunts, his teeth gritting. “Fuck, so close. Shit.” He pulls out a bit, thrusts back in and groans out loud. “Hot damn.”

  He does it again, his hips rocking faster, mine rising to meet him as the pressure starts rising again. Our bodies slide against each other, slick with water and sweat. His hard muscles rub on my breasts, on my sensitive nipples, and I whisper his name.

  Small pinpricks of pleasure start inside me, and I tighten around his girth. “Oh God.” I can barely catch my breath, it feels so good. “Harder.”

  He pushes my shoulders down and slams into me, hips pistoning, in and out, harder, faster. I hitch one leg over his hip, drawing him as deep as I can, and I scream as the pressure crests and pulls me under in a giant wave.

  I’m shuddering, shaking, rolling with the pleasure, when he loses control. He snaps his hips, driving home one last time, and lets out a hoarse shout. I feel his cock swell inside me, impossibly big, feel it twitch, then jerk in great pulses that trigger spasms of fiery pleas
ure so deep inside me I black out for a second.

  Wow. Shit.

  He slumps on top of me, still nestled inside me, eyes closed, face lax. I wonder if he’s passed out, like the first time I jerked him off, so many nights ago, but when I nudge him after a while, he rolls off. He reaches down and pulls off the condom, ties it up, and I take it from his hand.

  “Just rest.”

  He rolls on his side and throws an arm over his eyes. When I return from disposing the condom in the bathroom, I turn down the lights, leaving only the small lamp on my bedside table on. The dim light gilds the strong lines of his body, the muscled, inked expanse of his back. The scar there is much bigger and messier than the one in the front, its ridges and knots visible under the tattoos.

  I climb onto my narrow bed, not sure how we’ll fit there, but he reaches for me, snags my hip and pulls me in tight. His arm slips around my back and I’m held to his chest, my head tucked under his chin.

  “You’ll take this day off,” I murmur against his warm skin. “No worrying and beating yourself up and trying to do this all on your own. Tomorrow we’ll figure this out. Together.”

  He breathes out, ruffling my hair, and throws a leg over mine, pressing as much of himself on me as possible.

  “Meg…” he rasps.

  I glance up at his hooded eyes. “Yeah?”

  “I took care of the stalker.” He sighs. “He wasn’t after you. He wanted Raylin. Told him to fuck off.”

  My throat closes. My chest clenches. He did that for me. Put himself in danger to make sure I was safe. “Thank you.”

  “Love you, Meg,” he whispers, and his breathing evens out as he falls into sleep.

  Leaving me wide awake, stunned. Wondering if he even realized he spoke those words, if he means them, and if he’ll remember any of this tomorrow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rafe

  Blood. Darkness. Screams. Wandering through dim corridors with flickering lights. Skulls grinning in niches and corners. My feet splashing in crimson, the carpets drenched with it.

  I fall. Get up. Then fall again. Drag myself through the blood. A howl is building in my throat, but it won’t come out. It’s choking me. Can’t breathe. I’m shaking. The floor is shaking. The world is breaking at the seams.

  “Rafe? Wake up. You’re okay.” Hands touching my face. A woman’s voice. Meg, my mind provides the name, the face. Meg. “Just a dream.”

  “A memory,” I whisper and curl around her, inhale her sweet scent.

  “You’re safe here,” she says. “Rest.”

  The blood fades, the grinning skulls are swallowed into the night and I can breathe again. The darkness is now warm and smells of her. She strokes a hand over my eyes, threads her fingers in my hair, and I sink back into sleep, real, soft, dreamless sleep.

  Meg…

  At some point, voices filter through the velvet black I’m lost in, and I have a feeling I should wake up, move. They’re familiar, though, nothing to fear here, and I’m too far gone.

  They return later, closer than before. Steps sound, soft and careful.

  “He’s been out since this morning,” her satiny voice says. “He said he hasn’t slept in days. Don’t wake him.”

  “Damn, he looks like roadkill. That shiner is turning black and blue. Gonna be so fucking pretty by tomorrow.” The man snorts.

  I know his voice, but my lids are so damn heavy I can’t lift them.

  “Has he taken anything?” A silence follows, then he sighs. “Any drugs? Pills?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, her voice strained. “It never crossed my mind. Crap.”

  “Hey, Rafe.” A hand is shaking me roughly, and I struggle to open my eyes. “Hey, wake up. Did you take anything?” Another hard shake. “Did you take drugs, pills, shoot up anything I should know about? Dammit, fucker, answer me.”

  Hell. Zane. It’s Zane shaking me, yelling in my fucking ear like I’m deaf.

  I slit my eyes open, wincing at the vicious stab of light. “The fuck, Z-man?”

  “He’s awake!” Zane lifts a pierced brow. “Rise and shine. It’s only late afternoon.”

  “Fuck you.” I blink crusty lashes. My head aches.

  “Still haven’t answered me.” He’s squatting by the side of the bed, dark eyes regarding me solemnly. “Drugs? Sleeping pills? Anything I should worry about?”

  “You know I’ve been clean for years.” My eyes are closing, and it’s hard to keep them open. “Haven’t touched the stuff. No pills, no nothing. Satisfied?”

  “Depends.” A pause. “Did you try to step in front of a car, man?”

  I frown. All these questions… “Thought about it,” I mutter, my voice muffled by the pillow. “Changed my mind. Wanted to see Meg.”

  “Damn…” Zane produces a funny sound, a cross between a groan and a sigh. He taps the mattress by my head. “Go back to sleep, and then we’ll talk. Got some news for you. Oh and, happy birthday, fucker.”

  Yeah whatever. I’m already drifting under, but I need…

  “Meg?” I fight the drowsiness, open my eyes and twist on the bed, trying to locate her. “Where…?”

  “Right here,” she says, climbing on the bed next to me, tangling her fingers in my hair. Don’t know why it’s so soothing when she does that. “Everything’s okay.”

  And I don’t know why I believe her, trust she can make everything okay when no matter how hard I try everything keeps crashing down—but I do.

  Goddammit, I do.

  ***

  More voices. I groan into the pillow. What’s this, a fucking party? And why wasn’t I invited?

  Or was I invited and passed out drunk? Happened once or twice, and fuck, that shit isn’t pleasant.

  It’d explain why I’m lying on my stomach in bed, my head pounding like a Deathmoth concert rehearsal.

  The covers are pulled up all the way to my shoulders, and I’m naked underneath them. Not my bed. The pillow smells like flowers and sugar, probably the reason I’m hard as a rock, because this scent…

  Shit. I sit up, pushing the covers away, my stomach roiling. I kneel on the mattress and rub my hands over my gritty eyes. I’m in Meg’s bed, in her apartment. Images from this morning—or yesterday?—flash through my mind.

  The phone call that was the last straw. Then breaking stuff in my apartment—destroying my drums, crashing into furniture. Ow, dammit. Is that why everything hurts? Wandering the streets, almost stepping in front of a car…

  Holy fuck. I run my hands through my hair, scratch my scalp, trying to ease the pain in my head.

  Then Meg was there, and we came up to her apartment, and fucking hell, was that hot. My cock hardens more at the memory of her going down on me in the bathroom, then washing me in the shower, me fucking her against the wall. God, the way she came over my dick. This girl’s a goddess.

  Fucking her on her bed, sinking inside her so deep I never wanted to leave. Going off like a freight train off the rails.

  Christ. That’s my last memory.

  Or not… Wait a sec. She said something about figuring this shit out together. She did say that, didn’t she? I have vague memories of her holding me, waking me up from nightmares, being there with me as I slept, her body soft and warm.

  I glance around her bedroom, take in the tiny closet, the thin carpet, the three pairs of shoes sitting under the window. It’s like she never settled down, always ready to leave, return to Philly or move farther away.

  Fuck, why is my heart pounding like that when I think of her going away? I get up from the bed so fast I reel, dizzy. Where is she? Need to find her, need to talk to her.

  Where are my clothes?

  I locate them, neatly folded on a chair by the door. As I pull on my jeans, socks and boots and grab my T-shirt and sweater, I hear the voices again. They’re coming from the living room.

  I pause in the act of putting on my T-shirt and sweater, frowning in confusion. It sounds like Zane, Dylan, and…Dakota? Crap, Tyler, too.
Am I imagining things? What’s going on?

  Following the voices, I step out of the room and turn left. I pause at the entrance of the living room and blink.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  They’re all sitting there, crowding the small room. Dakota and Erin sit on the battered sofa, petting Meg’s ginger kitten—Raf—while Zane and Tyler sit on two kitchen chairs. Dylan is lounging by the window, holding a steaming mug.

  What are they doing here? Can’t fit them into the picture. This is Meg’s apartment. We never meet here.

  Wait. Is this some weird dream?

  A smell of sugar hits my nostrils and I see a plate with cake slices on the low table. My stomach growls loudly. Shit, I can’t remember the last time I ate.

  Everyone’s gaze snaps around to me. The kitten meows and leaps to the floor, heading toward me, then suddenly it stops and hisses.

  What?

  “Rafe!” Erin jumps to her feet but stops short, her dark brows arching. “Oh God, what happened to your face?”

  “Nothing.” I touch my swollen jaw gingerly, and the fight in the alley flashes through my memory.

  Zane strides over, a huge grin on his face. What the fuck’s up with that? “Fucker. Good morning.”

  “What’re you so pleased about?” The pounding in my head is increasing, and my bladder’s screaming at me.

  Still grinning manically, he claps me on the back and I flinch and jerk away.

  “What the hell happened?” His eyes narrow and he’s about to lift my damn T-shirt, to check me.

  “Nothing happened.” I pull away. First things first. “Where’s Meg?”

  “Here.” She appears at the door of the kitchenette, cradling a mug. “For you.”

  I stare at it, then back at her. She looks good enough to eat, dressed in a flared black skirt and a white blouse that hugs her curves and makes her tanned skin glow.

  Can’t they all go home so I can grab my girl, shove her against the wall and bury my face between her legs, eat her up until she screams…then sink into her, make her come so hard she never wants to leave.