Rafe

by Jo Raven

  “Rafe.” I rock my hips, sliding on his covers. I reach up to cup my breasts, rubbing my palms over my aching nipples, skating on the edge of a mind-blowing orgasm.

  “Damn.” He pulls back, his gaze on my breasts, on my hands massaging them. “Damn! That’s sexy as fuck. Love it when you do shit like that. God, I need to be inside you.”

  “Yes,” I whimper, letting my hands fall. “Now.”

  He pushes down his pants and briefs, freeing that impressive erection, the piercings flashing silver in the dim light. Grabbing the condom from the bedside table, he tears it open with his teeth and rolls it on. He just sits like that for a moment, panting softly, gazing at me.

  “So goddamn perfect,” he mutters, and he pulls me onto his lap again, only this time we’re both naked and ready, slick with desire. “Want you on me, like this. Riding me.”

  Never knew words could turn me on so much. I lift on my knees and he guides his hard-on to my throbbing opening. Then he’s pulling me down, pushing into me, a burn, pressure, heat, until he’s fully seated inside me, stretching me. Filling me until I can’t take any more of him.

  His hands are on my hips, his face bowed. “Holy shit.” He pants. “You okay?”

  “Feels good.” He shifts and I groan, the burn of stretching turning into pleasure. “Like that.”

  He looks up at me, his eyes unfocused, the pupils blown huge. “Yeah.”

  He lifts me up, pulls me back down, until I start moving on my own, chasing after the wisps of sensation, the mounting pressure. I brace my hands on his broad shoulders and he draws me closer, so that my breasts drag on his chest, the tips burning and throbbing.

  He rocks his hips, slamming faster into me, harder, and the pressure is about to break me apart.

  “That’s it,” he breathes, slamming home again and again. “Come for me.”

  My nails dig into his shoulders, and I shudder, clenching around him.

  “Fuck, yeah. Let it go.” He groans, his teeth gritting, as he swells larger inside me. “I’ll catch you. I’m here for you.”

  “Oh God.” I contract around his cock, pleasure bursting in my belly, in my core, ricocheting through me. Another wave of pleasure rolls down my spine, and I shake, drowning in it. Never felt anything like it. “Crap.”

  “That’s it.” He’s still hard inside me, his strong body tense as I shake with the last ripples of pleasure. “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are you.” I gasp for breath, resting my head on his shoulder, and he holds me, still buried inside me, so that with every tiny shift of his body, tiny aftershocks rock me. “Inside and out.”

  “Hell no.” He twists and pulls me down with him so that we’re lying side by side, one of my legs thrown over his hip. He rocks inside me, and I catch my breath on a moan. “I’m a fuck-up. But I need you.”

  I stroke his cheek, not sure what to say, how to make him see himself as I see him, but then he rolls over me, thrusting deep, and all I can do is wrap my legs around him and hold on. He rocks into me, pulling back, plunging back in, muscles cording on his chest and arms. There’s a glint of fear in his eyes I don’t understand, a frenzy in his movements as he thrusts faster and faster, sweat slicking his body.

  “Rafe…” I whisper, reaching for his face. Why is he so worried I’ll leave him? He’s the one always running from me. Maybe I need to finally say it, tell him I love him.

  But the pressure is mounting again, distracting me, and he’s close now, I can feel it in the way his breath hitches and his movements falter. He snaps his hips one, two, three times and lets out a strangled sound as he comes, pulsing inside me.

  A moan escapes me as I tighten around him, in one more burst of pleasure that shoots up my spine until I arch off the mattress.

  He collapses on top of me, eyes closing, his harsh breathing echoing in the bedroom. He grunts as he slowly pushes off me and rolls to my side. “Come here.” Tugging me into his arms, he sighs, a content grin on his face.

  As I drift to sleep, warm and loose-limbed, I remember he said we had to talk. I vaguely remember the bad feeling I had earlier today, and I tell myself, Girl, see? You were wrong this time.

  I’m Rafe’s, and I’ve never been happier in my life. Which is why I’m ignoring the warning bells in my head. I should know better by now, shouldn’t I? That nothing’s ever perfect and happiness doesn’t last.

  No matter how hard you wish for it.

  ***

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee is the first thing my senses register. Faint light seeps through the blinds, and I squint at it. I’m lying on my side. In Rafe’s king size bed.

  Alone.

  His pillow smells like him—wood smoke, warm metal, musk. Wintry mint. I push my face into its softness, inhale.

  Then pull back and glance around. Chances are, Rafe is standing at the door, watching me acting like a crazy woman with his pillow.

  Only he isn’t.

  I sit up, wincing a little at the soreness inside, and the slight ache has my insides clenching in anticipation and sliver of pleasure shoot up my back. My breasts feel heavy and swollen, my nipples tight.

  Oh lord… I suck in a breath, hold it, let it out slowly. This is crazy. Wanting someone so much.

  I look around for my clothes and locate my pants in a heap on the floor, my blouse and bra in the corner. No sign of my panties.

  Holy crap, I’m in Rafe’s room, and he asked me out, and I said yes.

  No way.

  I’m grinning like a lunatic as I gather up my clothes and pull them on. Ah, there are my panties—soaked and smelling like sex. Jesus…

  I ball them up, stuff them in my pocket, pull on socks and boots, and peek out of the room. Following the smell of coffee like a tangible thread, I cross the living room and find the kitchen. The door is open, giving me a glimpse of a narrow window and rows of cupboards. There’s a small table with two chairs, and Rafe is sitting in one of them, cradling a steaming mug.

  He’s wearing gray striped pajama pants, his short hair like sculpted gold in the morning light streaming through the window, his bare back a riot of colors.

  “Morning,” I say when it becomes clear he hasn’t noticed me, and he starts, the coffee sloshing in the mug.

  “Meg. Didn’t hear you.”

  “You were a thousand miles away.” I go inside, sit across from him. “Got more of that coffee?”

  “Here.” He slides the mug across to me, shoots me a quick smile, and gets up to grab another from the counter. “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah.” I study his long back and legs, his muscular ass that’s perfectly outlined through the thin fabric of his pants. Tension radiates from his frame, and I swallow hard. “You?”

  “It was okay.”

  Okay. Just okay. My chest tightens. “What’s wrong?”

  He pours coffee into a black mug and turns toward me, leaning his hip against the counter. He looks down into its depths and avoids my gaze.

  Distance stretches between us. We may be a few feet apart, but it’s as if miles are separating us this morning.

  “I need to tell you something,” he says.

  My stomach drops. The bad feeling is back. It’d been there all along, I know, but I managed to ignore it, pretend it wasn’t real.

  “So tell me.” I sip from the black coffee and feel sick. I put the mug down.

  “Meg… Do you trust me?”

  “I do, I…” Christ, what’s going on?

  He nods, turns to place the mug on the counter, and folds his arms over his chest. “I may have found him.”

  “Found who?” He’s totally lost me.

  “The guy who killed them.”

  My blood freezes. “The guy who killed your family? How?”

  He shrugs. “Told you I saw a tattoo on his arm that night. For a long time I wasn’t sure I did see it, but then I crossed paths with him, right here, in Madison, and he had the tattoo. It was him.”

  I realize my jaw is slack, my mouth hanging
open. “You just saw him walking by, on the street?”

  He puffs out a sigh, his eyes closing. “Yeah. He seems to be involved in the underground fighting club where Ash worked for a while. I need to get inside, find him.”

  Holy crap on a cracker. It’s all mafia and crime lords in those clubs. Oh shit… “Is that why you were beaten up the other day? Something to do with that?”

  He grimaces. “I was looking for a way into the fight club. Met with some assholes who beat me up instead of helping me, as they’d promised. But now I have an in.” He glances up, his eyes wide. “I could find him, Meg, after all this time.”

  My heart drops to my toes. “And what then? What will you do if you find him?”

  He clenches his jaw. “Make him confess, otherwise the police aren’t gonna believe me. My only chance is to catch him off guard, make him talk.” He frowns. “It’s the only way. I need to do this before I put the past behind me. Knowing he’s out there, and not knowing why he did it…it’s been like a festering wound.”

  Dear God.

  “You’re hurt,” I whisper. “Your ribs are bruised, and god knows what else. And now you’re going into a cage to fight to the death.” There’s a bitter taste in my mouth, and it’s not from the coffee. “Do you realize how dangerous this is?”

  “Yeah, I know.” A spark burns in their center of his eyes. “I told the guys. You were right that I should. They’re not happy with this, but they’ll keep watch outside, ready to notify the police if I have news.”

  Holy crap. “If I say not to do it, will it make any difference?”

  When he doesn’t reply, I grip the edge of the table.

  God. “It’s all set then? This is it?” I can’t believe this is happening. I’m dizzy with fear. “Is that why you asked me to trust you? That was a low blow, asking me to trust you before telling me what you were about to do.”

  “I know.” He swallows, dips his chin to his chest. “I just…” He winces. “I was afraid you’d leave.”

  “You were right to be afraid.”

  He shivers. “I told you. That you need a nice guy, not someone like me.”

  “Dammit, Rafe.” I push the chair back and shoot to my feet. “That’s such bullshit.”

  I want to yell at him, beat him with my fists. He’s about to head off to a place of death and terrible danger, alone, to find his family’s murderer. He promised to be there for me, to keep me safe, and now I’m afraid for his life.

  At the same time I understand his need to do it, to find answers in a world where you have to take things in your own hands or never see justice. I’m aware of his courage. Not just for taking this one on, but for living day to day with the burden on his shoulders, the guilt of surviving the carnage.

  Knowing the murderer is out there has to be maddening. Harrowing. Gut-wrenching. And now he has the possibility to catch him and understand why it happened.

  But I don’t know if I can take it.

  “Meg… I’ll come back. I promise.” He’s standing there, brows drawn together, hands clenched at his sides. “Will you wait for me?”

  “You can’t promise anything,” I whisper and back away, toward the door. I need to get out of here. “And I can’t promise you anything, either.”

  “Don’t say that.” His nostrils flare. He staggers back until he hits the counter and grips the edge to steady himself. “Please, Meg.”

  “You need to find a balance,” I whisper. “Between the past and the present. Between what you fear and what you wish for. I love you, Rafe.”

  His eyes widen. “You do?”

  Shit.

  Not rushing back to him, not putting my arms around him has to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I’m not sure how I feel right now. Not sure I can stand here and pretend I’m not scared of anything happening to him, that I’m not pissed as hell at him for putting me through this.

  I don’t want to live in fear anymore. All my life I was afraid I’d be beaten to death by Mom’s boyfriends, and even more that she’d be beaten to death. Which is why I have trouble making friends. At any time, I’m scared they’ll vanish from my life. As for men… Greg was safe. Boring but safe.

  But I chose Rafe, and here I am, right where I thought I’d never be again. Caught in the crossfire.

  As I step out of the kitchen and head for the apartment door, I think I hear Rafe following. I think I hear him call out my name.

  I grab my jacket and purse from the sofa and let myself out, welcoming the cold.

  PART III

  Shred me up, cut me to pieces

  Break me down to ash and rubble

  Shatter me, bury my bones

  Wait by my grave.

  I’ll be back, banging the drum

  I reach for you, here I come

  I’ll abandon the past

  lay my ghosts to rest

  find a new path

  I’ll be back

  Sweep away the cold earth

  Brush back the sand

  Unbury me, reveal me

  Pull me out of the grave.

  I’m back, banging the drum

  I had no hope, yet here I come

  Done with the past,

  I look ahead and I see you

  You shine so bright

  And I’m back.

  ‘Resurrection’ by Rafe Vestri

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rafe

  “Rafe,” Colt says over the phone, his voice crackling. “Chickened out yet?”

  “Fuck you.” I pull a frozen meal out of the fridge and stick it into the microwave. “Tonight at nine, right?”

  “Right.”

  A beat of silence. I hate the silence, because I can hear myself think, and all I can think of is Meg and how she left. How fear flashed in her eyes, how her face paled when she heard of my plans. How sadness twisted her beautiful mouth.

  “I love you.”

  Dammit. She has my heart. Doesn’t she know?

  But maybe it’s too late now. I told her I’ll be there for her, and then showed her that dealing with my past is more important than her. No wonder she walked out without another word. All those words and nothing to show for them.

  Fuck, her absence hurts like a broken bone.

  I nuke my meal and turn to the window. Night is falling. “So what did you want to tell me? Decided what you want in return for helping me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s it gonna be?” I glance at the plastic-wrapped dinner and my stomach roils. “What can I do you for?”

  “Yeah, well, here’s the thing.” A pause during which I poke at the plastic wrap and rip it, burning my fingers and not caring one bit. “You’re friends with Asher Devlin.”

  I still. Not sure why I wasn’t expecting this. After all, Ash fought in the club before, though what Colt expects to get out of that is anybody’s guess.

  “Go on.” I peel off the wrap and grab a fork. I should eat, or I’ll never have the energy to fight. “Spill.”

  “Johnny Cooper, the boss at the fight club, likes Asher. Johnny was friends with Asher’s daddy, Jake Devlin, back in their boxing days. I bet if Asher asks a small favor of him, Johnny won’t refuse.”

  I freeze, my fork in the air. “Leave Ash out of this.”

  Colt tsks. “Not asking him to get involved. Only to ask Johnny one question.”

  “No way.”

  “Listen, man.” Colt grunts. “This is a matter of life or death to me, okay? It’s why I’m helping you out, even if it costs me, and it’s why I’m asking. I’m not doing it lightly.” He sounds like he’s grinding his teeth together. “Please, Rafe. Going into the club is important to you, I get it. And I am getting you inside. Please help me out.”

  Dammit. “If anything happens to Asher, his girlfriend or any of my friends because of this…” Shit, I don’t wanna even think about it.

  “Nothing will happen to your friends. It’s just a question. Nothing more. I swear.”

  “A
question about a person. Someone you’re looking for. So you said.”

  “That’s right. Will you tell him to ask?”

  I sink down in a kitchen chair. No way am I putting Ash or anyone else in danger. Especially now with the baby on the way. No fucking way.

  “You sure it’s safe?”

  “Positive.”

  Shit. “So who are you looking for?”

  “A girl.” The line breaks up a little, then Colt is back. “Her name’s Mara. Mara Abelli, though she may be going by another name now. Still…worth a shot.” He sighs. “It’s better than nothing.”

  I chew on that. “Just this? Ask Johnny if he knows of a Mara Abelli?”

  “Yeah. That’s it. And an address, if possible.”

  “And who is this Mara Abelli?”

  “That’s none of your fucking business.”

  “You made it my fucking business,” I snap. “If I’m getting my friends involved, I wanna know what for.”

  He says nothing for a few long seconds. Then he grunts. “Do you want in or not, Rafe? You’re the one who owes me, remember? Tell your friend to ask Johnny about Mara, or forget the fight club. Got it?”

  Dammit. “Okay, man. You’re on.”

  “Good.” The relief is audible in his voice. “Get your head on straight, wear good running shoes and shorts, and a hoodie if you have one. I have tape. See you in the cages.”

  Still chewing over the fact I’ve agreed to involve Asher in this mess of mine, I frown as the words seep in. “You fight, too?”

  “Yeah. It was the only way to get into the club. Hey…” He clears his throat. “You’ve done this before, right? Fought in this kinda place?”

  “No, never have,” I say and disconnect the call.

  It’s all new to me. The fight club. The underground.

  This desire. This need. This unbearable hope that got smashed to pieces.

  Can’t bear to give Megan up. But I have to and it hurts like an open wound. It burns me up from the inside. Nothing can scare me more than losing her. Not even dying in the underground cages of the club.

  So I’m ready to fight.

  ***