Rafe

by Jo Raven

  Bile rises in my throat. “And he wouldn’t stop beating her, even when I screamed and tried to pull him off her. He punched me, then pushed me and I hit the wall so hard I must have passed out for a bit. Next thing I know, he’s gone and Mom is lying in a pool of blood.” I swallow thickly. “I called an ambulance, but it was too late. The baby died. Mom barely made it.”

  “Oh crap.” When I look up, I find Dakota’s eyes huge. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you tell me this.”

  “It’s okay.” I try to smile but it’s more of a grimace. “I called the police and told on him. They put him in prison, Mom came out of hospital, and I left Philadelphia. Left Mom. Couldn’t live like that anymore. I was eighteen and a friend had a job for me here. It was good, until Carson came out of prison and tracked me down here, tried to kill me. If it wasn’t for Rafe and the guys…”

  I shudder.

  Dakota leans forward and puts her hand over mine. Sadness fills her eyes, and a healthy dose of anger. “That asshole is going to jail for a long, long time. Sorry you had to go through that.”

  “Thanks.” This time I dredge up a real smile for her. “But I’m here now. We’re here, and I can’t regret a thing, because otherwise I wouldn’t have met you guys. I wouldn’t have met Rafe.”

  “Ah.” She tsks and winks. “Not sure about that, girl. These things are fated. You and Rafe… You’re like yin and yang. You fit so well together.”

  Heat rises to my face and I bite my lip.

  “We do fit well together,” a rich male voice says from the kitchen door, and I jump, heart in my throat.

  Rafe is leaning on the doorjamb, barefoot, dressed only in a black tank top and thin sweatpants.

  My mouth goes dry. So much beautiful, inked skin on display, colors and shapes swirling down his muscled arms and on his shoulders.

  “Rafe.” Dakota pushes back her chair and goes to him, puts her arms around him and presses her cheek to his chest. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, you hear me?”

  He pats her head, wraps one arm around her slender back, and I hope she’s not pressing too hard on his ribs. “Good day to you, too, Koko. How’s Zen-man?”

  “Okay,” she says, her voice muffled. “Moody, brooding and pissed at the world. He needs to see you, I think. To reassure himself you’re okay.”

  “I’ll pass by Damage tomorrow.” Rafe looks at me over her wild dark head, his gaze going to my mouth and then down to my cleavage. Heat rises to my face, and his mouth twists in a crooked smile. “Tell him that. Tell him I’m fine.”

  “I will.” Her voice is thick. She pulls back reluctantly, glaring at him. “Dammit, you asshole. You’re like my brother, you know that, right? So stop trying to throw your fucking life away. We love you. Remember that.”

  A laugh escapes me.

  Rafe lifts a brow. “You kiss Zane with that mouth?”

  “And he loves it.” She smirks, wipes at her eyes, and turns to nod at me. “Thanks for the coffee, Meg. I’ll send someone to get the drum set later. I should be outta here.” She points at Rafe. “Take care of grumpy bear for me, will you?”

  “Grumpy bear?” Rafe repeats, frowning. “Seriously?”

  Dakota laughs, shakes her head. Then she wiggles her fingers at us and rushes out. The apartment door clicks shut behind her, and we’re left alone.

  Rafe’s mouth is hanging open, and it’s so funny I snicker. “Where did she go to? What did I do? A guy gets out of bed for the first time in days, finds two girls in his kitchen, and after only,” he checks the clock on the wall, “fifty-five seconds, one of the girls has already run out screaming.”

  “She didn’t scream,” I remind him. “And how can you tell the seconds on that clock?”

  “I’m sure she was screaming inside.” He lifts one arm to rub the back of his neck, and I lick my lips as muscles bulge and tattoos shift in a mesmerizing dance. “What about you? Will you run, too?”

  I open my mouth to say I just might, but there’s a vulnerability in his amber eyes that stops me. He’s not joking anymore. And even though we’ve been over this, it’s obvious he still doesn’t believe it.

  It stings a little, to think he doesn’t trust my reassurances. After all, I didn’t run, and I’ve been here, by his side, all these days when he drifted in and out of sleep.

  But this is Rafe, the guy who doesn’t believe he deserves happiness or anything good in life, who doesn’t think his life is worth much.

  “I don’t plan on running,” I inform him and watch his eyes brighten. “I’ll keep saying it until it gets through that thick skull of yours.”

  He puts a hand to his chest and pouts. “Why is everyone so mean to me today?”

  God, this boy. This funny, relaxed boy, so different from the Rafe of these past months, who was silent and tense, his nerves so taut he’d twang if you touched him. I loved the intense, stressed Rafe and wanted to break through his defenses. Break his shell.

  And I love this joking, more mellow version of him even more, because this is who he really is underneath it all. Putting him back together may take time, and that’s fine. He’s worth every second of it.

  “What’s that look?” He lifts his chin at me, challenging. Those sexy dimples make their appearance as he grins. “What’s on your mind?”

  “You.” Standing up, I step up to him, so close our chests touch, and inhale his musky male scent. “Been thinking about you.”

  “What about me?” he murmurs, his voice dropping, his eyes going dark and deep. His hands move up, to my waist, warm and strong.

  “How glad I am you’re here. That you feel better.” I swallow hard. “That you didn’t give up. That you came back to me.”

  He breathes out quietly. “I’ll always come back to you.” He’s hardening against me, and he shifts, spreading his legs, pressing more snugly between mine. “So, about babies,” he drawls, and grinds his hard-on against me.

  “What are you doing?” I laugh, then gasp when he bends his head and kisses me, an open-mouthed kiss, with teeth and tongue and all. When he finally pulls back, I’m panting with need, my breasts achy and throbbing, my insides on fire.

  “As I said, about babies.” He licks his lips, and he might as well be speaking Chinese. My brain is a blank, my gaze caught on his mouth, his dimples, the gold of his eyes.

  “What about them?” Finally his words register and I blink. “Okay, wait a sec. How much did you hear from my discussion with Dakota?”

  “Heard enough. We’re going to talk about babies. Making babies. Raising babies.”

  “We are?” Warmth fills my chest, and my eyes sting even as I want to laugh.

  “Yeah. And then we’re gonna meet Ash and Audrey’s baby.”

  I start to draw back. “Rafe…”

  “Listen.” He keeps me there, pressed to him. His gaze is dead serious. “You’re the reason I’m still here. You held me when I was falling apart, gave me strength to fight. I never told you, but that night at the fight club…” He clenches his jaw. “I came close to giving up, let my opponent finish me. Couldn’t think of a single reason not to let him kill me.”

  “No.” I jerk in his hold, try to break away, but he doesn’t let me. He crushes me to his chest, wraps his arms around me.

  “But I didn’t,” he says. “Because I remembered one very good reason to keep on living. One person I really wanted to live for. And that’s you. You, Meg. And I thought I was crazy, because I have great friends I should be living for, and the shop, and the future. But sharing that future with you…” He kisses the top of my head. “That’s what made me get up and fight back. I fought for you.”

  I cling to him, my eyes streaming. “Love you so much.”

  “Love you, too, sugar. Which is why I wanna help you deal with your demons, too.” He grips my shoulders and tugs until I move back and look up at him. His eyes sparkle, and his grin turns wolfish. “And apart from that, I can’t wait to practice baby making with you. Personally, I think
we need a lot of practice.”

  ***

  Raf the kitten tries to get us to pet him as we stumble out of the kitchen, and stalks away when we pay him no attention. I bet he’ll pee on the bed in revenge, but I don’t care right now.

  Rafe tugs me toward the bedroom, but before we reach it, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me until I see stars. We never make it to the bedroom. Instead, he tumbles me onto the couch and leans over me, his arousal pressing into my hip.

  “You smell so good,” he breathes, nuzzling my neck, one hand trailing over my breasts, leaving trails of fire. “God, been dreaming about touching you again.”

  He tears my blouse off, and before I know it he has my bra off and the tip of one breast in his hot mouth. I call out his name, and he pulls back, working on taking off my pajama bottoms and panties, leaving me bare on his sofa. His hands are all over me, cupping my breasts, wrapping around my ribcage, his mouth following close.

  Frantic. Desperate.

  No. I push on his shoulders until he looks up, a question in his amber eyes.

  “Wait,” I whisper. I grab the hem of his tank top and pull until he sits back, panting, and lets me get it off him. My mind shuts down for a moment at his beauty.

  “What’s wrong?” He reaches again for me, and I shake my head.

  “Please, let me.” I’m excited like a kid with a Christmas present. “I want to play with you.”

  His gaze collides with mine, and he groans when I sit up and grab the front of his pants. He leans back against the cushions, his chest rising and falling fast. I carefully pull the pants down, dragging his briefs along.

  “Oh damn,” he mutters when his cock rises, slapping lightly against his stomach, leaving trails of moisture. “Shit.”

  “Wow, you…” I bite my lip. “I want…”

  Nope. No words. My mind’s stuck, because good lord, this boy is ridiculously hot. Absurdly hot. Nobody in real life should look that sexy. Jesus.

  His stomach muscles contract, abs tightening, pecs shifting as he leans further back, splaying his muscled legs. The huge bruise in his side darkens his glorious ink. His erection bobs, long and thick and wet, the piercings glinting. His balls are drawn up, large and heavy.

  He’s breathing hard, eyes hooded, sitting still as a statue. Waiting.

  I want to take him in my mouth again, taste his saltiness, make him writhe. But above all, I want to feel him inside me, come undone with him, look into his eyes when it happens.

  Slow down. This is about him, not me.

  “Lie back,” I hear myself say. “Fold your arms behind your head.”

  One golden brow lifts, and those bright eyes widen. He didn’t expect this, I bet.

  Neither did I. He makes me want things I never wanted before.

  His mouth twists into a lazy half smile. He lies back on the pillows, folds his thick arms behind his head and spreads his legs wider. Inviting me closer. Trusting me.

  But although the view is mouthwatering, his cock is not all I’m interested in. I’ve been dying to kiss my way down that ripped chest since I first saw it, and those dimples are very, very lickable.

  Never drooled over a man before, but I bet I’m drooling now, as I crawl between his legs and straddle his hips. The base of his cock is trapped underneath me, its solid mass making me catch my breath where it presses between my folds. I hear him gasp as well as I shift on top of him, and his hard-on trembles against his stomach and twitches, leaking on his smooth skin.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, looking down at himself, his arms shaking under his head, biceps bulging. Every muscle, every dip and ridge on his chest stands out sharply as he struggles not to move. So handsome. Spectacular.

  Heart-stopping.

  I shift onto all fours, planting my hands on either side of him, sliding my breasts over his pecs, and he hisses, his cock jumping where it’s crushed between us.

  “Shit,” he mutters, teeth grinding, “I can’t hold—”

  I silence him with an open-mouthed kiss and he presses up into me, moaning. I love that, that he’s unable to stop himself, that he’s so close. His tongue dances with mine, and I slide up and down his erection.

  He lets out a muffled cry as I keep kissing him, his hips rocking, lifting me up.

  I break the kiss, look up at his flushed face and smile. “No moving. And no coming.”

  He groans, then grins and licks his lips. “I’m in your hands.”

  God… That grin should be outlawed, and those dimples… Unable to resist any longer, I lean in and I do what I’ve wanted to do since I met him: I lick his dimples with the tip of my tongue, one by one, taste the salt of his sweat and the sweetness of him.

  He laughs, his chest shaking with it, jostling me. “Tickles. Ow, my ribs.”

  “I’ll tickle you more when you’re better.”

  I sit up, rubbing on his hard-on, and he gasps, not laughing anymore. “Shit, you’re killing me, girl. Christ.”

  “No moving.”

  He stills, his cock throbbing underneath me. “I want to touch you.”

  “Not yet.” I wink at him and bend over, kissing the jagged scar on his shoulder. “I want you to say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “That you deserve this.”

  “What…?” He’s staring at me, brows arched.

  “Say, I deserve to come.”

  “Oh shit. What are you talking about?”

  “Your pleasure.”

  Never been so bold in my life, but he’s panting harder now, his eyes darkening, obviously liking me taking control, and god, it’s hot.

  “Do you know you’re beautiful?” I whisper as I kiss my way across his pecs, over the swirling colors of his tattoos. “In every way.”

  “No, I’m not—God!” He gasps as I graze his small nipples with my teeth and lick a path down his stomach, my breath washing over the wet head of his cock. “Yes…”

  I blow softly, and he shudders. Precum leaks steadily from the small slit.

  “You’re a survivor, a fighter.” I blow again, watch him strain, his back arching. “You’re kind and compassionate. You’re the nicest person I know. You deserve all the pleasure in the world.”

  He snorts, the muscles in his chest jumping. “I’m… I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. And I’ll hear you say it, or I won’t let you come.” I wink at him and scoot back until I’m off him, kneeling between his legs.

  “You serious?”

  “Yep.”

  “Meg…”

  “You’re gorgeous. Inside and out.” My heart’s full to bursting, because it is true, and he just won’t see it. “Say, I deserve to come.”

  “That’s,” he gasps when I give his cock an experimental lick, “that’s…”

  No idea what he was about to say, because I take him in my mouth and he never finishes his sentence. The salty-sweetness of him is surprising, like the first time I tasted him, and just as exciting.

  “Oh fuck…” He shakes, and his hips roll. The taste in my mouth intensifies. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

  I pull back, release him from my mouth. “Not until you say you deserve it.”

  He blinks at me, his eyes dazed, his jaw clenched. “I…”

  I almost take pity on him. He’s been through a lot, and now that he’s ready to let go, I’m placing conditions.

  But I read somewhere that you have to say something, over and over again, if you want to believe it. And I want him to believe it.

  “Say it, Rafe.” I give his cock one long lick that has him writhing. “Say, I deserve pleasure. I deserve to be happy.”

  “Fuck. Fuck.” His abs are clenched so hard you can count them. “Meg.”

  “Say it.”

  “I deserve it,” he blurts out, his head falling back on the pillows. “I deserve to come. To be happy.”

  I grin, then take him back in my mouth, swallow him to the root, and he howls as he comes in long shuddering spasms, pouring down my throat. Salty,
bitter, sweet. Too much, and I pull back, work him with my hand, watch the ropes of cum land on his heaving chest. His legs are shaking, his hips rocking, his neck bared, tendons standing out.

  When he’s done, when the tremors ease and he lies panting, muscles jumping and twitching in his limbs, I curl down beside him and hug him close.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rafe

  I still can’t fathom what happened. I feel as if I’ve been through a wringer—a mind-blowing orgasmic wringer, to be precise. My body is heavy and sated, wracked by the occasional aftershock. My soul aches, as if it’s been shredded and glued together again.

  I deserve it. Deserve the good things in life. Deserve to be happy.

  My eyes burn. Christ. I’ve shed more tears in these past week than I have since my family died. I couldn’t cry then. Couldn’t process anything. I shoved down the pain, numbed it with drugs and pills. Disguised it with physical pain.

  Now the disguise has been torn away. I feel raw, exposed. Bruised all over. Slashed open and displayed. Forced to see the truth.

  Feel like I might be happy again, someday soon.

  I stroke my hand down the back of my girl. She’s my truth. She’s everything to me, and her warm curves mold to my body, turning me on again. And here I thought, after the brain-melting orgasm she gave me, I’d never be able to get it up again.

  I give my dick a few pulls, hissing when it stiffens completely, ready for round two. It’s as if the more I touch her and have her touch me, the more I want her. Soon enough she’ll only have to glance at me and I’ll be coming in my pants.

  Not that I’m complaining.

  I give my dick one last squeeze and shove my hand between the cushions of the sofa. I pull out a condom, then carefully, slowly twist onto my side to face her. Thankfully the sofa’s wide enough, if only barely.

  Her dark lashes lift. Her hand trails over my bruised, busted ribs, a light touch that still hurts. Her eyes shift to my hand and the small foil, and she laughs, that sweet, delicious sound I love. “How the heck did you conjure up a condom?”