Maedayarchive - Charmae

no boys allowed! — rafe cameron

no boys allowed at the sorority house after 7 pm. of course, rafe sneaks into your window a couple of days a week.

content — fluff, smut, p in v  w.c — 2.7 masterlist

monday — 11:32 p.m.

being in a sorority was your favorite thing in the world. the sisterhood, the living arrangements, the benefits. it was everything you could wish for and more. you even loved your president and rush chair despite their sometimes strict-ish rules. it wasn't too bad; good grades, good behaviour, mandatory attendace at all chapter meetings, events, and rituals, dress a certain way, talk a certain way. blahblahblah. those were all things that had been ingrained in you long before you came to university but the no boys after seven o'clock rule? that one was a little tougher to swallow. a girl has needs.

you weren't sure how quiet you were being, you never could really focus when rafe had you like this, ass arched up, face roughly stuffed into your frilly off-white anthropologie pillow. you could vaguely hear the moans coming out of your drooling mouth but most, if not all of your focus was on rafe pounding his thick cock into your gummy walls, abusing your aching pussy, "quiet, baby..emily will rip me a new one if she hears us," rafe's voice barely broke through the sex haze you were in as you rutted into your sheets.

how could he ask you to be more quiet but fuck you even harder? "rafe..! mm, p-please.." you blubbered, tears in your eyes as his hands gripped your waist still and kept you from sinking into the bed from sheer lack of strength. he let out a low groan when you pushed back into him at every thrust, "that's it, that's my girl."

“oh god, oh god, rafey..!” you whimpered when rafe’s tip hit your cervix and slammed against it over and over driving you completely silly. he buried himself deep inside of you whilst holding your hips and relentlessly pounded into your sweet cunt. “doin’ so good, baby.” he grunted against your neck as your cunt sucked him in eagerly. “look at that pussy suckin’ me in..”

his hips drove against you, fucking into your hole and hitting that fuzzy spot that made you delirious every time. rafe had to shove your head into the pillow to muffle your whines that were only getting louder as he drilled into you.

just then, a quiet knock on your door. "hey, you okay in there?"

your eyes widened, panic taking over your body when you recognised the rush chair, aaliyah's voice. fuck, fuck, you were screwed. even more screwed considering rafe was still pounding your pussy relentlessly. "rafe.." you whispered with the hope that it would sound like a warning but it just sounded like the most pathetic, quiet whine.

"mm..mhm..y-yes!" you cried, your eyes fluttering from the pleasure and you arched your back even more, gripping your pillows for support.

"you sure, girl? you don't need a medic, right? because steffi was vomitting yesterday so we had a medic for that and i just don't want the board to think we're milking all their resources for—"

"yes!" you screamed out, the feeling of pure ectascy taking over your body and your vision went all white. you could hear rafe quietly groaning as he pumped his load into you only a second after you came.

"yes, you do need a medic?"

tuesday — 9:08 p.m.

it wasn't usually every day. the sneaking in. this week was just going to be a stressful one, for the both of you. you had a midterm in the morning, class from 8 to 6 on thursday and you had to squeeze a manicure inbetween one of those classes so you wouldn't even get to eat lunch with rafe (tragic), friday morning rafe was going away until saturday morning which you truly saw as a crime against you, saturday you had a mandatory sorority event that would take the whole day but atleast rafe was coming as your date and then sunday rafe had a frat thing where you could unfortunately not be his date because it was members only. so, basically, everyone hates you and the world is against you.

"rafe, i have to study..!" you gripped the edges of your desk and planted your feet to the ground as rafe tried to tug you away from your notes and laptop. "you've been studying all day, it's time for a break." he said firmly and his arms came around your waist, lifting you from your chair. you almost screamed but closed your mouth upon realising emily would come running and see rafe here two hours past curfew.

rafe threw you onto your bed in the least graceful way he could and you bounced into the pillows with a gasp. "it's clear you've never studied for a statistics exam. breaks don't exist in the land of statistics." you say and roll your eyes when he sits on your bed with this stupid smile on his face that made it impossible not to love him.

"i had statistics in my first year. pretty sure the prof had a thing for me." he laid his head down on princess peach's head. not her actual head. a plushie of her head which he was crushing with his even more massive head. "mm." you hummed and gave him a nasty once-over. he laughed so hard you had to smash the nearest pillow on his face with wide eyes. "rafe, quiet!" you hissed, with your body almost toppled over him with how quick you jumped to silence him.

he was still smiling when you removed the pillow 10 seconds later. "you enjoyed that." he said and he was absolutely right, you did enjoy that. "it felt very liberating to shut a white man up, yes." you smiled like you had just done something to be truly proud of. "well, that was my break—" you were halfway across the bed when rafe grabbed your ankle and tugged you right back where you were. luckily the sheets muffled your shriek. "you're going to break your brain, doll." he sat up and pulled you between his legs.

"i'm going to break your bones if i fail my exam tomorrow." the threat was empty, hollow, transparent even. on a bad day, you couldn't even open a jar of peanut butter and you knew the two-ish hours you still wanted to study probably wouldn't make much of a difference BUT what if? what if maybe? just maybe it did? then you'd blame rafe and you'd be forced to bring harm to this beautiful boy you loved so dearly. just because he wanted you to rest instead of working yourself to death.

"in that case, my bones are fine." he murmured pulling you against his chest, his warm hands slowly travelling up your blue loveshackfancy pyjamas. your head dropped onto his chest as his hand gently cupped your tits, the calluses on his palm brushung against your sensitive, hardened nipple. he kissed along your ear, the tip of his nose grazes your earlobe before quietly asking, "you just need some rest, don't you?" your hand rested lightly on his arm as he fondled your tit in his hand and you sighed with a subtle nod, body melting like putty in his hands.

his other hand travelled down to your pyjama shorts, his fingers teasing your clothed slit, pushing gently against that warmth yet making sure to not push all the way in just yet. your back arched, a whimper escaping your lips at the fleeting feeling. "rafe.." you whined, eyes fluttering, bracing your neck and he hummed leaving kisses along your exposed skin. "n-need you." you murmured, your hand still on his forearm, praying he'd just slip it down your shorts already.

"yeah? you need me? my sweet girl needs my fingers?" your eyes close and the fluttering that takes over your body makes you wonder if you didn't just cum at just his words. it wouldn't surprise you.

"help me out, sweetheart." he says and you were confused for a moment until your eyes opened to his fingers inches away from your lips. you didn't hesitate, eased his digits into your mouth in desperate need to just empty your brain, stop the overflow of thoughts and this was the perfect solution.

your tongue coated his fingers in spit and held onto his wrist to slowly push his fingers deeper down your throat. you whined around his fingers, pupils dilated, completely lost in the motion and rafe's hand comes up to wrap around your throat, pushing up just slightly so your head was tilted up giving him the perfect view of you greedily sucking his fingers. "shit, baby, that's perfect.." he sighs and you can feel him hardening against your ass, you have this burning desire to push back, to grind slowly and drive him insane but you feel too weak to do anything, focus on anything with his fingers inches deep in your mouth.

the moment ended entirely too soon but you had no time to utter out a whiny complain because his hand was down your shorts and fingers between your folds, grazing your slit and thumbing your clit. you gasped and arched away from him the moment his thumb made contact with your slit. "c'mere." he pulled you right back in, flesh against his chest. he made sure your legs were nicely spread apart before he started circling your clit, "rafe..rafe!" you moaned, head dropping on his shoulder as your hips bucked against his fingers.

he focused his attention on your clit, thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive nub that absolutely drove you. you writhe in his arms, his hand covering your mouth so you didn't alert anyone with the whines coming out of your mouth.

you were constantly trying to close your legs and then spread them wide again, unsure of what you really wanted. rafe made sure to keep them open. "oh, god, rafe, god!" you cried and a gasp escaped your lips when you felt his fingers push inside of you. your toes curled on the pink bedsheets, fist tightened around the princess peach plushie rafe was resting on earlier.

rafe kissed down your neck, sucking on your skin and the pleasure from both his lips and his fingers made it impossible for you to think straight at all, you whined, writhing against his fingers, broken moans coming from you. "f-fu.." you stammered and gripped rafe's wrist, "f-fu..dge." you cried, eyes rolling back and you vaguely heard rafe's quiet chuckle at your inability to curse even in these moments due to years of sorority drilling. "m' close.." you whined feeling his fingers thrust into the deepest parts of you, digits angling just perfectly whilst his fingers gave your clit all the attention. "gonna cum for me, princess?" he rasped and you moaned, nodding furiously and pushing your hips against his fingers, "please, p-please..!" you felt that overwhelming sensation, the stars in your vision, the arch of your back and then your pussy was creaming all over his fingers.

you went limp in his arms, exhaustion taking over completely as rafe slowly pulled his fingers out. he slowly hoisted you up, arms under your thighs and on your back. "where r we goin'.." you mumbled sleepily, "the bathroom for a shower, baby." he says and you were shaking your head knowing very well that there was no way you were going to stand on your two legs right now. "ah, so you'd rather sleep all sticky in a dirty bed?" he asked and you stiffened, immediately shaking your head.

shower it is.

 thursday — 7:09 p.m.

he was here again but today was seriously, totally justifiable. yesterday after your midterm, he had class and then he had to pack so you didn't see him at all. then today had been a marathon of misery: classes from 8 to 6, a meltdown in the middle of the day over your botched nail set—because you’d been too timid to correct your nail tech—and now you were stuck with these nails for weeks. you’d cried, teary-eyed and embarrassed, brushing off questions about your distress because admitting to crying over a nail set seemed absurd.

on top of that, the awful weather wrecked your hair just two days before an event and three days before wash day, leaving you utterly defeated. you’d called rafe in tears, your voice breaking for barely two minutes before he was on his way, determined to make his girl feel better.

now, you’ve claimed your rightful spot on rafe's lap, straddling him with your arms wrapped securely around his neck. it started innocently enough—soft kisses and tender words murmured into your ear—but quickly escalated. his hands settled on your hips, guiding them in a slow, languid figure-eight motion.

his lips moved against yours, soft and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. it didn’t take long for him to coax your lips apart, drawing him closer. you focused on the sensations grounding you: the feel of his hair between your fingers, shorter at the back, and the way he groaned when you tugged. the fresh, clean scent of lemons and lavender lingered on his skin, a sign that he’d showered after the gym—he’d never ever come to your room without making sure he was clean.

when you finally pulled back for air, your breaths mingled, and his forehead rested against yours, his patience infinite as he waited for you to catch your breath. “you’re tired,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. and he was right. you were exhausted—up since 8 a.m., crying once already without the reprieve of a nap (criminal), and now it was 7 p.m. but you didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to let today end because tomorrow, rafe would be gone.

“m’not,” you whispered, stubbornly shaking your head. his eyes narrowed knowingly, and he began to trace slow, calming patterns along your spine. you peppered his lips with soft kisses, each one met with gentle reciprocation, but your resolve didn’t last long. your eyelids grew heavy, and eventually, your head dropped onto his chest, his warmth lulling you into much-needed rest.

sunday — 10:11 p.m.

apart from sex with rafe, wash day was probably the most intensive part of your whole week. it was not only hard on your arms but also very, very time-consuming. you enjoyed it—most of the time. it could feel therapeutic and you did love getting clean but then other times it was frustrating and tiring and you just wanted to give up and shave your head. you didn't though.

it was in the middle of rinsing your hair that rafe invited himself into the bathroom. you could see him through the foggy shower glass closing the toilet lid and sitting down. "you're taking too long."

you rolled your eyes and slid open the shower door, "i should just shave my head, right? i could totally pull off the britney look." your hand reached for your towel and you wrapped it around your body tightly before getting out of the shower and slipping into your fuzzy slippers. "or jada pinkett smith." you stared at yourself in the mirror trying to imagine yourself bald and rafe scoffed, "you'd have a mental breakdown within ten minutes of doing something like that."

you couldn't dispute that. "you would still love me, right? if i was bald like britney and jada?" you looked at rafe, brows raised and he hesitated for just a second, not even—a millisecond. you gasped at him and violently threw three rolls of toilet paper at his head. he held his hands out, "woah, no, no! i was just imaginging it, baby, fuck." he stood up, pulling you into his chest even though it was getting him all wet. "of course, i'd still love you."

you watched him through the mirror, arms crossed over your chest, completely unconvinced by his confession. naturally, he started leaving kisses along your shoulders and neck, making sure to not leave a single spot unkissed. "i'd choose you every time, over and over." he quietly says, those blue eyes boring into yours and you’re really not sure how it happened. it just..kind of did.

10:19 p.m.

"you're so goddamn tight, fuck," rafe grunted as he thrusted his cock inside of you, pounding into your tight cunt over and over. "p-please! h-harder.." your voice was high and breathless, head resting against the cool sink, holding onto the edges tightly. rafe could hardly believe how much you were clenching around him.

“rafe! rafey!” you whined, hoping your voice didn’t carry despite how loud you were being. your head rested against the damp sink, fingers curled around the sink as rafe pounded into your cunt, snapping his hips relentlessly. “my needy girl..”

“y-your girl..” you repeated with misty eyes as rafe’s thick cock slowly brought you closer and closer to that fuzzy place. “come on, doll. cum for me, sweetheart..” rafe fucked you until you creamed all over his cock, legs trembling and barely conscious.

masterlist

Christy for Marc Jacobs Fall 1995.

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . dilf!eren fucking you whenever and wherever he wants. ₊ ⊹ . ݁

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who is the kind of man who turns heads without even trying. standing at an impressive six foot two inches, tattoos inked delicately across warm olive skin. his athletic build a testament to years of dedicated workouts and an active lifestyle. his chiseled jawline, adorned with just the right amount of stubble, framed a face that could easily belong on the cover of a fashion magazine. deep-set, piercing green eyes seeming to hold a thousand stories. his tousled hair giving him a rugged, yet sophisticated look.

when he became a dad, all of that doubled. his effortlessly good looks were now complemented by a softer, more nurturing side that made him even more irresistible. the way he had cradled your newborn daughter in his strong arms, the gentle way he kissed her forehead.

unfortunately, your husband becoming a dilf meant other women's gazes also doubling. it was something you had come to expect, but it didn't make it any easier. you could see the way that they glanced at him when he would pick up your daughter from preschool, eyes lingering a little too long, smiles too friendly.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ dilf!eren who's always making sure his babygirl is set, he often sent you money without you even having to ask, ensuring that you and your daughter never want for anything. "just looking out for my pretty little ladies."

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who can't seem to keep his hands to himself when your parents are over in the next room visiting. hand clamped over your mouth as he feeds you his thick girth inch by inch, the stretch sending your eyes rolling back. "gotta be quiet baby, don't be rude." he's evil. fluidly rolling his pulsating cock into that spongy part that has you grasping the sheets.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ dilf!eren who loves the way you moan when he eats your pussy with his stubble, the way the short hairs prick you, making the sensation of him all the more better. he loves the way he makes you whimper when he pushes your thick thighs flush to your chest and nips your clit hard, making you buck and writhe under his lips and tongue. he loves how you taste, salty and sweet at the same time and the way your body quakes and shudders underneath him. he loves you.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who fucks you stupid against the kitchen counter as you prep your daughter's after-school snack, cheek pressed against the cold granite, hands scrabbling for purchase. "m'so hungry." but eren's not hungry for food.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who forgets you're a milf, jealously coursing through him as he watches the man next door flirt with you while you garden. it's nothing but cruel when he fucks you into the sofa, making sure the window is open and your neighbor is outside to hear you being ravaged.

he makes it extra filthy when he bends you over the back of the couch, facing the window, slapping your ass until it holds the color of your tomato plants. the whole neighborhood can probably hear you sobbing with pleasure, the way his name falls from your lips. he knows what he has and the jealousy makes him all the more possessive, he wants the whole world to know that you are his.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who is always trying to get you pregnant again, fucking you until his sticky cum bubbles from your hole.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who wouldn't trade being cuddled in bed with his two favorite girls, watching a movie with popcorn, for anything.

find more daddy eren here *ੈ✩‧₊˚

This Way (Ain't Shit Series)

SUMMARY: Amalia gets to the real reason behind Ransom's sudden visit.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Black!OC; Ransom Drysdale x Amalia Wright

Warnings: Cursing, Dysfunctional Family Dynamics, Depictions of Fainting, Single Mom OC, Slightly!OC Ransom, Emotionally Stunted Individuals, Romantic Tension, Extremely Slow Burn, Angst; WC: 2134

A/N: Hey y'all. It has been over a month since the last update, so I really hope y'all are still interested! I started college so I have been trying to get situated here. Chapter two didn't do super well, but I chalked that up to a lack of Ransom (lol). Still, the responses I got were great! So please keep reading and sharing your thoughts. As always, enjoy!

Song Inspo: This Way - Khalid x H.E.R.

Masterlist / PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Amalia!”

My eyes flutter open and it takes a moment for me to focus. My vision is blurred and my head swirls lazily. The slow pulsing of my forehead has me momentarily dazed. When my eyes finally lock on Ransom’s striking blues, I find his eyes filled with worry. Little strands of hair escape his slick, upkept style. The throbbing in my head intensifies as I struggle to sit up. 

“Hey, hey. Take it easy. You passed out for a minute there.”

Ransom stops me from moving too quickly, gently helping me up. I slowly swing my legs off the couch, holding my head in my hands. He places a hand on my back hesitantly, rubbing in small circles. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, hoping to stop the pulsating of my skull. I barely notice as he rises from the couch, returning with an opened bottle of water. He hands it to me wordlessly. When I’ve drained half the bottle, I hold it out to him. He takes it, setting it on the coffee table in front of us. 

I notice pillows and papers scattered on the floor along with Shiloh’s toys. 

“What happened here,” I ask, gesturing toward the mess on the floor.

“They were in the way,” He replies simply. 

I sigh, leaning back against the sofa.

For a while, I trace nonexistent patterns into the ceiling before sliding my eyes back to Ransom. He observes me pensively. I bite my lower lip, pulling at the dried skin. He looks away, resting his head in his hands. There’s a slight tremor in his knee as he bounces it. His breath is quicker than usual. 

I exhale heavily through my nose. He looks back at me, hands clasped in front of him. Ransom arches an eyebrow, waiting for me to speak. I purse my lips.

“I really passed out?”

He nods. 

“How long was I out?”

“A couple minutes or so. Felt like fucking forever though.”

I nod at his words, training my eyes back on the ceiling. I trace a few more patterns. 

“How dramatic of me.”

I look back to Ransom just as an unreadable expression crosses his features. I worry, for a moment, that I’ve upset him. But suddenly he bursts out laughing. Loud, hysterical laughter that has him throwing his head back. One hand slaps his chest and the other claps my shoulder. The hand on my shoulder, however, retreats as quickly as it comes and rests atop the other on his chest. He doubles over, his voice becoming hoarse from his manic laughter. 

I can’t help the way my lips curve slightly, enjoying his amusement. I’ve always loved Ransom’s laugh. The way he puts his entire being into it to express his joy reminds me of how infrequently he feels this way. Laughter like this is rare from him, but far more frequent when we’re alone. Longing fills my bones as I observe his full-body laughter. The moment feels familiar. As if I told one of our inside jokes and he’s now losing it over how hilarious and chaotic we are. But this is different. The circumstances have changed. 

Discomfort rises in me as I avert my eyes. Ransom’s elbows rest on his knees. He covers his face with his hands, chuckling occasionally, before sniffing and running a hand over his face. A fist to his mouth hides the smile that still lingers. Then he looks at me, resting his cheek against his fist. 

“Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this,” He says, laughing again. 

His laugh is softer this time, a gentle rumble at the back of his throat. I don’t respond but that doesn’t phase him. He presses on. 

“That’s always been my favorite thing about you, Mala.”

My cheeks burn. Mala. A rush of desire burns through me as it rolls off his tongue. He says it so fondly, with such ease. As if he’d only been gone for one night and things were still the same between us. But they aren’t the same. They will never be the same. I look away and cross my arms tightly across my chest, heated desire fizzling into irritation.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Don’t make this personal.”

“We’ve passed personal, babe,” He scoffs. “Literally. Need I remind you how you fell into my arms?”

I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you still trust me. At least a little.”

Our eyes clash as his words hang between us. I feel bare, naked under his scrutiny. Warmth filters into his gaze, softening as he observes me. His eyes drop to my lips almost imperceptibly. The caress of his gaze blazes through me, a heated path left in the wake of his roaming stare. I find myself leaning in, watching him with baited breath as his eyes finally return to mine. 

It’s when he leans forward that I snap back into myself. 

Shaking my head, I stand abruptly. My head swirls as I try to balance myself. I feel off-kilter but I can’t tell if it’s my headache or him. Maybe both. I press my fingers into my temple, massaging them in slow circles. Ransom’s hand comes to rest on my back. 

“Careful,” He says. “No need to rush.”

With my millionth eye roll of the evening, I remove myself from his touch and reach for my water. Quickly, Ransom grabs it before I can and holds it out to me. My eyes flit between him and the bottle. Turning on my heel, I head to the kitchen for a new one and ignore the exasperated sigh he lets out.

“You’re so damned stubborn, Amalia.”

“Deal with it,” I shoot back. 

“Yeah, I’ve been dealing with it,” He mutters. 

I pause, turning to glare at him. 

“Wanna say that a little louder, asshole?”

He clicks his teeth, running a hand over his face. 

“I’m just saying that a little help wouldn’t kill you.”

“Ha! And how can you help me?”

“There’s no harm in letting me be there for you. This has gone on long enough.”

I know what he means. I know what he wants but I won’t have it. I won’t give him what he wants. A vile, nasty urge wells up inside of me. It rears its ugly head and rises like a lion ready to feast. I narrow my eyes at him, my lip curling slightly. My fists ball at my sides as I take a deep breath to calm myself. Still, the rage demands my attention.

“My sister will be here soon,” I say, my tone biting. “I don’t need you.”

“Mala--”

“Don’t fucking call me that again.”

Ransom sighs heavily and rests a hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Oh, but I sure as hell want to argue with you! Don’t play the bigger person and stop this now!”

“Someone fucking has to! I haven't held my son in two years,” he yells. “Two years!”

“It didn’t seem to bother you before now!” 

Then, I pause. Ransom continues, his words falling on deaf ears. 

“Of course it did--”

His words jumble together in my mind, forming a mishmash of meaningless sentiments. He hasn’t seen his son. His relationship with his grandfather was ruined. He hasn’t spoken to me properly for two years. He can’t go on like this. He wants us back in his life. The words spiral around me. 

His son. Can’t go on. Two years. His grandfather. 

His grandfather. 

Then, it all clicks into place. 

“Hey, are you even listening to me?”

“I get it now. That’s what you’re here for.”

Ransom scowls in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Archie left half of his estate to me. Who got the other half?”

His jaw clenches as he looks away from me. 

It feels as though a rug has been pulled out from under me. I should have expected this. I should have fuckin’ known better. But like an idiot I wanted to believe that this time could be different. But all Ransom has ever cared about is Ransom so why would this sudden occurrence be any different?

Still, it pisses me the fuck off. 

“Your granddaddy cut you out of the will and now you want to run back to the baby mama, right?”

I throw my words like daggers, cutting deeper with each syllable. I aim to draw blood with my words. Ransom drops his placating stance, throwing his arms in frustration. 

“He cut me off a long time ago, dammit! This isn’t about that.”

“I don’t care what it’s about. I don’t want shit to do with whatever the hell you and your crazy ass family got going on.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t mind messing with my crazy ass family as long as Archie was helping you out.”

The words sting like a slap in the face. They fall between us, heavy and full of malice. My ears ring as though I have truly been struck. A flicker of shock crosses Ransom’s face but it's immediately hidden behind an indifferent facade. My laugh is quiet and jaded as I wrap my arms around myself, nodding slightly. 

“There he is,” I say quietly. “There’s the Ransom I know.”

Ransom’s body is stone-like as his eyes roam around in an effort to avoid mine. His jaw clenches so tightly that his teeth are in danger of cracking. The way he shifts his weight awkwardly tells me all I need to know as he stews in his poorly hidden guilt. Ransom was deadass wrong for that and he knows it. I give Ransom another moment. Another chance to somehow save his ass. Ransom glances at me momentarily, taking in my piercing stare, before crossing his arms petulantly and turning away from me.

Nodding again, I cross to the front door. My shoulder brushes his as I pass by and I ignore the ripples that surge through my nerves at the sensation. Different emotions rise inside of me but I stomp them down as quickly as they emerge. Still, despite myself, I feel my eyes welling with tears. I pull the door open--

--And stop short as I find Stephania standing there prepared to knock. 

Shiloh sleeps soundly in her arms. I glance over my shoulder quickly, hoping Ransom hasn’t noticed. But, of course, he has. He approaches the door swiftly, only freezing in his tracks when I step between him and the front door. A myriad of emotions cross his features, astonishment being the most prominent. 

Steph looks between the two of us, a similar look of bewilderment in her eyes. Wordlessly, she turns around and retreats to her car. 

I step aside, avoiding Ransom’s eyes, and gesture to the open door. 

“Go.”

“You can’t possibly want me to leave now,” He says incredulously. At my silence, he presses further. “Amalia, don’t be fucking ridiculous!”

“I won’t let you drag him into this. We’re done here.”

Stealing a glance at him, I look up just in time to watch his eyes grow cold. His face is hard as he glares down at me. I stand my ground against him, refusing to falter. The corner of his lips lifts into a cruel smirk. He scoffs quietly. 

“Yeah? Well, I’m not done with you. This is far from over.”

He snatches his shoes from by the door, not bothering to put them on as he shoves past me. In a blink, he’s gone. I vaguely register the sound of his car rumbling down the road as Steph comes back with Shiloh. Her eyes are wide as she stands in the threshold, looking in the direction Ransom drove off in. She looks back at me. 

“So…what the hell did he want?”

She peeks into the living room with wide eyes. 

“Better yet, what the hell happened here?”

I take Shiloh from her, inhaling his sweet baby scent. I look at the living room behind me, taking in the mess of pillows and scattered paperwork. The mess taunts me, serving as a glaring reminder of his presence here. But when my eyes land on the stuffed bear he carelessly tossed aside earlier, I can’t help the pride that swells up in my chest. My baby shifts in my arms, babbling sleepily, and my joy expands infinitely. 

Shiloh is still here. Shiloh is still mine. 

I give my sister a tired smile and slight shrug. 

“Nothing.”

Quietly, I turn around and head down the hallway leaving her there slack jawed. Moments later, I hear the front door slam and I know Steph is hot on my heels.

“Uhm, bitch! I know you fuckin’ lyin’!”

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Part Four (coming soon...)

foxy brown front row at the marc jacobs spring 2003 fashion show.

rough hands, soft chains [1] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!grey!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, future smut, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: This is an au I'm trying out where Kildare County is actually in Montana and all the pogues and kooks exist within a ranching community. Hope you enjoy!! I would really appreciate feedback, reblogs are most appreciated!

In which your dying father struck a deal with Ward Cameron, he promised the family land in exchange for your safety. But protection comes with a price, and that price is Rafe Cameron.

word count: 5k

rafe cameron masterlist

After the funeral, you flopped down on the old leather couch in your living room, absently twirling a lock of your hair as you stared up at the cracked ceiling. Your black dress, meant for the sweltering summers, fell just below your knees. You’d paired it with a shawl you found tucked away in your mother’s dresser, a pretty, soft thing with little patterns you didn’t understand, but it smelled like her, so it felt right.

People at the funeral said you looked “so grown up” now, which filled you with a sense of pride. They said nothing about the dirt under your nails from wandering around the yard barefoot earlier that morning or the way your mascara smeared from crying too much. No one ever took you seriously anyway. 

The quiet of the house was deafening, pressing in at you at all sides. The lack of his presence weighed on you. He’d built every corner of this house, your mother painted every wall, and you were grateful for the life they’d built you. Three bedrooms, a wrap-around porch where you’d once dreamed of watching your children play in the yard as you rocked in your chair, and the old, red barn that had weathered time alongside them. You knew you couldn’t lose it, but you weren’t sure how to keep it either.

A loud knock at the front door made the house shake and snapped you from your daze. It was not the knock of a kind neigbor delivering a sympathy caserole, the knock was firm and authoritative. You half expected the sheriff to be behind the door but instead found yourself staring back at Ward Cameron. 

You pushed back the curls that had fallen into your face. He stood before you, tipping his finest black cattleman hat with deliberate grace, lifting it from his head and placing it over his chest in a quiet gesture of respect. His square jawline was sharp, his striking blue eyes unflinching, and though the gray streaks in his hair hinted at age, they only added to his rugged handomenss. 

“Miss,” he greeted you smoothly, his voice as sharp as the crease in his shirt. He looked out of place here, too clean, too polished for the worn edges of your family’s ranch.

Your anxiety peaked, “Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You gripped the handle of the door tighter than you expected. 

“I think you know why I’m here.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s time we talked about your father’s arrangements.”

Arrangements? You shifted nervously, trying to make sense of his words. You knew your dad had debts, but it wasn’t like he told you all the details. You knew that a significant amount of your father’s debt was to Ward. It humiliated your father to lease the Cameron’s grazing rights but he only did it to keep the ranch afloat. Money and paperwork were never your thing, and your dad always said not to worry about it. “I—I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I’ll figure out how to pay you back, okay?”

Although Ward wasn’t the tallest man, most people towered over you, and as he leaned in the doorway, you knew he had your stature in mind. 

Still, his smile was empty, “Why don’t we discuss this in your father’s office, hmm?” 

“Um, no thanks,” you said quickly, shaking your head. But before you could shut the door, his hand pushed it open with way too much ease. You stumbled back, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as he walked in like he owned the place.

“Excuse me! You can’t just barge in here!” you squeaked, hurrying after him, his expensive boots, tapping against the creaking floor of your home. 

He made his way down the downstairs hallway, barging into the room that not even your father wanted you to step in. Immediately as you stepping inside, a coldness touched you. he heavy oak desk sat like a monument to your father’s stubbornness, papers scattered across its surface in disarray. Just looking at it made your brain feel fuzzy. Ward moved behind it as if it were his own, his hands brushing against the chair’s worn leather.

“I offered to come speak to you, before all of this drama, but your father insisted I wait until he was gone,” Ward gestured to rickety chair that sat in front of the desk, “Sit.”

You ignored him, crossing your arms in stubborness, “What are you talking about?”

“Do you know how much exactly your father owes me? How much you’d be taking on?”

His words, like they had certainly intended to, made you feel stupid. Your father made sure you were uninvolved in the ranch’s finances and he had just passed this week, you hadn’t thought about entering his office and disturbing his things. 

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing. “Well… um… I know he owed some money, but he didn’t really tell me how much.”

“It’s more than the farm is worth, Y/N.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you, thickening the already suffocating air in the room. You clenched your jaw, refusing to show any sign of the panic tightening in your chest. The farm, your father’s legacy, your mother’s dreams, was supposed to be yours to save.

“That can’t be right,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “My father would’ve told me if it was that bad.”

“Would he? It’s nothing you should’ve worried your pretty head about,” Ward continued, his eyes sharp and assessing, “We parents try to protect our children. But he was too prideful. Pride doesn’t pay the bills and banks don’t wait forever.”

“The bank–”

“The bank would’ve taken the entire property if your father hadn’t already signed the land over to me.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach at Ward Cameron’s words. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You shook your head in disbelief, “He wouldn’t do that.”

The land was the only piece of your father that you had left. A hundred acres that your family and only a few ranch hands tended to.There were dwindling amounts of livestock, mounting debts, but it was your home. Humble in comparison to the Cameron’s thousands of acres but it belonged to your family. Even if you were the only one left. 

“This all would’ve been easier for you if your father had explained all of this to you before. I think he was scared of you hating him.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ward’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked almost bored with your responses, “We came to an agreement a year after his initial diagnosis. Instead of losing it to the bank, he would sign it over to me.”

“I promised to take care of you.” Ward’s words were slow, deliberate, as if he were explaining something to a child. “You’re unmarried, no prospects, and this place is a sinking ship. Someone was bound to take advantage of you eventually. You don’t have the resources to rebuild.”

“T-take care of me?” you stammered, your face scrunching in confusion.

“You’ll come live with my family for the time being. And eventually you will marry my son, Rafe.”

Your eyes went wild, “Are you crazy?”

Ward’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked even more smug. “This arrangement keeps the land in the family, ensures your safety, and gives you a future. You’re not equipped to handle this ranch on your own, Y/N. Your father knew that. I’m offering you a way out.”

You gaped at him, your thoughts spinning too fast to make sense of anything. “I… I want to talk to a lawyer or—or see his will or something!”

“You’re out of options. It’s either this arrangement or being out on the streets. I’m tossing you a lifeline.” 

 “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“No,” Ward admitted, standing and adjusting his cuffs. “But your father did. And a Cameron always honors their agreements.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him to leave and take his deal with him, but the weight of your father’s decisions pressed down on you. The debts, the ranch, your future—it was all tangled up in a web you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to pack your things,” Ward said, placing his hat back on his head. “Rafe will come by to collect you.”

He turned and walked to the door without another word, leaving you standing alone in the office. The walls seemed to close in around you, and although you’d be crying for a week, you cried again. 

You thought that if you weren’t at the house when Ward’s oldest son came to collect you, they might just give up and leave you be. Maybe you’d slip through the cracks of their plans, vanish into the quiet of the countryside. You could disappear for a little while and return in a few days. It would be rough surviving outside but you could make it on your own. You’d packed a small bag of essentials and took Juliet, the chestnut-colored mare that had belonged to you since your fourteenth birthday.

“Okay, Jules, we’re gonna go on a little adventure,” you whispered as you fumbled with her saddle. 

Her large, liquid-brown eyes blinked at you with trust as you led her down the south path, the one behind your family’s ranch, overgrown from years of neglect. You left before the sun had a chance to rise. You didn’t want Ward Cameron or his scary son to find you, after all.

You tried to dress for comfort. Your long jeans would keep you warm, and you layered a jean jacket over a soft white cotton shirt. Perched atop your head was your trusty white cowboy hat, its wide brim offering protection from the sun, taming your unruly curls, while keeping your face shielded.

Juliet made a snorting sound, and you patted her neck. “Don’t worry, girl, we’ve totally got this. Like, what’s the worst that could happen?” You glanced back at the ranch, its dark outline fading behind the trees. 

You mounted Juliet after deciding the direction you were going to travel in. You wanted to be much farther away by the time the sun came up. The air was cool and crisp, a reminder of the coming morning. You looked behind you although you were sure no one was following you yet. 

The path twisted and turned. “Okay, so if we head toward the old fishing shack by the river, we can stay there for, like, a day. Nobody’s used it in forever.” You spoke out loud, pretending that Juliet could respond. “I think it’s... that way.”

You continued down the path in the direction you remembered the fishing shack to be located. The sun rose slowly, bringing light to the dark path. The shack was tucked away on the outskirts of the ranch, sitting in the bend of the river, most of it shielded by tall grass. The water flowed gently, the sound caressing your ears, it’s hues reflecting the red in the sky. 

A clearing sat nearby covered in wildflowers, the bright colors splashed against the muted landscape. You hadn’t ventured this far out since the previous spring and were surprised to see how the flowers had held their vibrancy, defying the chill of the cooler months. 

You hopped down from your saddle, taking Juliet’s rein before you tied her to a nearby tree, allowing her room to graze. The shack was small and weathered, and you rested on a rickety cot that you had to clear of cobwebs. It felt safe. At least for now. 

If only staying still was your strong suit. A few hours later, boredom quickly got the best of you. You could only talk to Juliet for so long and you’d failed several times to nap inside the dirty shack. The silence pressed in on you. You decided to wander out into the wild flower fields, tugging your cowboy hat low over your curls. The vibrant colors were calling to you. 

An hour later, you held a thick bundle flowers in your arm and a crown of daisies wrapped around your hat. Before you knew it, the shack was almost out of your sight and you faced a long trek back to Juliet. 

You didn’t hear him at first.

“Hell of a hiding spot.”

The deep drawl froze you in place. Slowly, you turned, heart pounding, your eyes landing on Rafe Cameron sitting tall on his horse a few yards away. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, though the tight line of his jaw hinted at something darker.

Rafe’s quarter horse was even more intimidating. It’s coat was midnight black, sleek and imposing. There was a wild, untamed quality to him, a fire in his eyes that mirrored Rafe’s own.

“I… I was just…” You stepped back without thinking, the urge to drop your bouquet and bolt creeping up. You’d seen Ward’s son from across a room before, but no one had ever bothered to introduce you. Still, you knew enough from the whispers and rumors. He was wild, always getting into trouble with the Kildare County police, and everyone said he was gonna take over his dad’s power and influence one day. 

He was older than you remembered, more rugged, and definitely more muscular. His black button-up shirt clung to broad shoulder and his sleeves rolled up to reveal sculpted arms. A baseball cap sat atop his head, the bill slightly bent, with the Cameron Ranch sigil stitched on the front—an emblem of a stallion rearing. His light brown hair peeked from beneath it, slightly tousled. 

“You’ve been wandering around all morning. Half the town’s already seen you,” Rafe leaned forward slightly, eyeing you curiously, “If you were gonna run, thought you’d go a little bit farther.” You gained the courage to finish your sentence, “I wasn’t running …or hiding. And you can’t tell Mr. Cameron that.”

“Why do you think he sent me?” He smiled devishly, “I’m the one you gotta worry about, darlin’.” 

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe watched you take another step back. His jaw clicked before he swiftly hopped down from his horse. His heavy boots hit the dirt with a thud that seemed to echo, and you couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of him. Though he wasn’t much older than you, it was clear he towered over you, his presence demanding attention in a way that made your knees feel weak.

“I’m not coming with you,” You stated with all the strength you could muster, “It’s not right. You can’t make me.”

He stared back at you. Where Ward was bored by conversation with you, something about your Ward’s made Rafe’s eyes fiery, “And I guess you’ll make your living by what … selling flower crowns?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You hadn’t considered that an option. In fact, you hadn’t dwelled long enough on what you would do once Ward gave up on this arranged marriage nor did you have any idea of how to make the ranch profitable again. The idea seemed wrong. Flowers weren’t the key, were they? 

“I’m kidding,” Rafe spoke again after a moment of watching you reflect, “That’s a bad fucking idea. You know…I think your father might’ve been right about one thing in his life. You do need someone to look after you.” 

“You don’t know me,” You looked away, your face heating up with embarrassment, “And I don’t want to go with you.” 

A yelp escaped your lips as he started to close the distance between you, his long strides closing the gap in a matter of seconds. His smirk widened at your reaction, and quickly, you dropped your bouquet and made a run for the fishing shack. Rough hands easily snatched you up by your waist, lifting your feet off the ground, and making your head spin, “You’re real cute, darlin’,” Rafe drawled, hardly breakin a sweat as he dragged you back towards his horse. His grip on your waist was firm, unrelenting, and no matter how much you kicked or squirmed, it didn’t matter. He only hoisted you higher. 

Heavy boots crunched against the dirt. You could hear your breathing and the sharp pounding of your heart in your ears. You lost your hat and subsequently your flower crown in the struggle. Scared that you might spook Rafe’s horse, you found yourself succumbing to his force, letting him lift you onto the saddle. 

“Please, let me down,” You whispered, tears beginning to fall. Rafe was next, hoisting himself onto the black stallion, squeezing himself behind you. You were pressed against him so much that you could feel the flexing of the muscles of his stomach. An arm wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Rafe shushed you, and surprisingly, you felt him settle your hat back on your head. You hadn’t even seen him pick it up. You were never supposed to ride without a hat, that’s what your father had taught you. You barely had time to process it before he urged the horse forward, the powerful animal's hooves pounding the earth beneath you as Rafe held you tightly, “M-My horse, Juliet!” You remembered, panicked, “I won’t go without her, Rafe!”

“I didn’t forget your horse,” He spoke calmer than you expected, though his tone still had an edge to it, “She’ll follow. Unlike you, she seems to have a decent amount of common sense.” 

He kicked the horse into a gallop, the powerful animal responding instantly, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground like thunder in the otherwise still air. The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your face. You gripped the saddle tightly, to anchor yourself, despite knowing that Rafe’s grip was strong enough to keep you from flying. 

This wasn’t the escape you wanted. Not even close. 

Sure, he’d heard the rumors that you were a little …daft. And maybe that was true in some ways, but you were more than he had anticipated. He followed you, watched as you handled the horse with ease, and found himself intrigued. Your confusion, innocence, even your stubbornness drew him in like a moth to a flame. 

The last thing Rafe wanted was a wife. He resisted the way his father felt like he could stll make decisions for him. Rafe was losing with this arrangement. Your father’s hundred acres was nothing in comparison to what he family already had and would acquire. But perhaps his father had seen exactly what Rafe was seeing now. You were raw, so unpolished, and that meant you could be shaped. 

Once you were under the Cameron’s roof, Rafe had the power to do whatever he wanted. 

Proving himself to Ward was a constant battle, every choice scrutinized, every misstep noted. To run the ranch one day, Rafe needed to show he could manage it all, the land, business, and now a wife. Building a home and keeping you in line was just another test.

That morning, Rafe had never expected to chase after you on horseback. He had arrived in his truck, scouring the house for any sign of you, only to realize you were already gone. In frustration, he called John B., one of the Cameron ranch hands, and sent him to bring Trigger, his horse, to the Y/L/N ranch.

When you both returned, John B. was already there, waiting. Thunder cracked above, a sunny morning turning into a dreary afternoon. Rafe barked orders to ensure Juliet and Trigger were both stabled at the Cameron’s ranch.

He lifted you down from the saddle, his grip firm on your wrists before you could bolt. It only took a second for him to realize the urgency in your voice as you spoke, trying to talk to John B., who was already taking Juliet and Trigger’s reins. “She gets nervous when she’s in new places. She doesn’t like to be rushed,” Rafe overheard, catching the panic in your tone.

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow with her,” John B. assured her although Rafe only glared at the worker, jaw tight. 

“Come on,” Rafe pulled your arm, “We’re leaving.”

Your small hands grabbed where he’d wrapped his hands around your arm. You dug your boots into the gravel in front of the house, “Wait, I don’t have everything. I-I need to grab some things,” Rafe’s gripped only tightened as his irritation grew. 

“You should’ve thought about that before you made me chase after you,” He took one more look at your teary-face before he snapped. Taking you home should’ve taken thirty minutes, not four hours. Without warning, he scooped you up over his shoulder, ignoring the surprised gasp you let out. 

Your legs kicked in the air, “Hey! Please put me down!” Rafe didn’t spare your house on John B. a second glance as he trudged over to his dark, blue truck. Please, that made Rafe brow furrow. Rafe took the opportunity to cop a feel, of course, he had to know exactly what he was working with. You were his future wife, after all, “Rafe! I don’t like being upside down!” 

“Scream all the way there for all I fucking care,” He muttered under his breath, his voice cold as he finally reached the truck and tossed you into the passenger seat.

Rafe sped off moments after he pressed start engine on the vehicle. You went quiet and he hoped to be alone with his thoughts, soothed by the soft pitter patter of rain on his windshield. Fifteen minutes down the road, he heard your breath hitch. He looked over to see you were staring straight head, eyes wide and wet with tears. Smudged mascara beneath your eyes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and you clutched your hands tightly in your lap. Your lips were shaking, moving as if you were whispering something to yourself. 

Your legs began to jitter, restless, and Rafe looked away. He managed to tune out your obvious panic for nearly an entire minute. He had a rare feeling. One he didn’t fully understanding. The angel on his shoulder was telling him to reach out, to try and comfort you. He thought about what Wheezie might think if this was the disheveled state he brought his future wife to meet her in. He let out a quiet sigh, knowing it was only going to get worse as the reality of your situation set in.

“Hey,” He spoke without that sharp edge, channeling a voice he might use with his youngest sister, “I didn’t mean you’d never get your things. We can come back, when you’re more settled …And I’ll send someone to get all your keepsakes. Okay?” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” You repeated though your voice sounded empty, “Okay.”

He thought those would be the magic words but you hadn’t even turned to look at him. You were doing the same thing, shaking like a leaf, barely taking in enough breath, “Fuck,” Rafe cursed. He pulled over to the side of the road with a sharp jerk, the gravel crunching under the tires as the truck slowed to a stop. Without thinking, he shifted into park and turned to you.

Rafe needed to be more deliberate in his actions. He had eyes on him, his entire immediate family, and he wouldn’t have them thinking he couldn’t handle you. 

He tried to calm you, squeezed your hand, told you to breathe over and over again. Nothing. You were spiraling, letting your thoughts consume you. Rafe had been too rough. It was all too much too fast for you. He wanted to mold you, not break you. 

He leaned in, taking your face in his hands, and pressing his lips to yours. You went frantic but he only deepened the kiss. He held your hand and slowly felt your tension lesson. He entwined his fingers in yours and slowly felt you move your own lips against his. You tasted like cherries, dark red, and perfectly ripe. His hands moved to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing lightly, urging you to focus, to let go of the panic.

He pulled away only when you stopped your heaving. 

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re okay now. Breathe with me.”

He waited for you to come back to him, cradling you there. You had no one left, Rafe realized in that moment, the truth settling heavily in his chest. And maybe that was why he couldn’t bring himself to be cruel. 

No, taking care of you wasn’t just an obligation, it was an important responsibility. One he’d shoulder completely. Whether you liked it or not, Rafe would make sure of it.

Rafe Cameron tasted like whiskey, with a faint hint of mint that lingered now even as you stood in the foyer of your new home, Tannyhill Ranch. The white house was sprawling and pristine, situated amidst of sea of green fields. Windows sparkled even in the storm that was coming down, and although the roof’s shingles were weathered, it was hard to believe the property had been there for more than a century. 

Workers, chefs and maids, bustled by but no one spared you or Rafe a glance despite the dry tears on your face and disheveled appearance. 

The interior was grand, the hardwoods polished until they shined, and the ceilings were higher than the ones at church. Everything screamed old money. You felt a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the grand entrance hall and then up one side of a grand staircase. Portraits line the walls, serious faces, Camerons and previous owners of the estate. 

Their eyes watched you, “Rafe, where are we going?” You asked him quietly. 

“To your room,” He spoke low and firm. There hadn’t been any rough grabbing of your limbs or unwanted rides on Rafe’s shoulder since your kiss in the car. You hadn’t fully let you guard down but you preferred when Rafe was calm, and so you remained calm too, “You can settle in.”

Rafe led you down the upstairs hallway, stopping at one of at least six bedroom doors, and pushing it open. The room was breathtaking, a four-poster bed draaped in white linens, oak furniture, blue-white toile patterns, and large windows that overlooked the property. It was beautiful, yes, but none of this belonged to you. 

Your fingers absentmidnely traced the fabric of the bed’s comforter before you got a grip, turning around to say something in protest, “Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe interrupted, hands tucking into the front of jeans as if to give off a non-chalant appearance. The position emphasized the silvery belt buckle that sat on the middle of his waist. 

“I don’t want to live here,” You spoke softly, your voice still weak from all the crying. 

“I know,” Rafe continued, sounding exactly like his father, “Your father did though. You still love your Daddy, don’t you?” 

Rafe’s words made you think. Really think. Of course you loved your father. He was a smart man and he always did right by you and your Mother. However, deep down, this all still felt wrong. You stood there, caught between the beauty of the room and the unease of what you felt.

You nodded, “But–”

“But this is what he wanted, darlin’,” Rafe spoke in a way that carried a sense of finality. Rafe stepped closer and suddenly his body was a brick wall keeping you from leaving the room. His lips pulled into a smirk and he leaned down to speak in your ear, his breath fanning over your cheeks. Whiskey and mint, “You always did what your Daddy said, right?” 

“Yes,” You answered too honestly for your own good. 

“Now you’ll do what I say. That’s how it works. A young lady belongs to her father, and one day, after she grows up, she belongs to her husband,” He straightened up and you blinked your big eyes up at him. Slowly, your eyes traveled down to his lips, “You’ll thank me, one day.” 

Gently, he tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting it even higher. You held your head exactly in the place he placed it, making something flicker in Rafe’s eyes. A heat bloomed in your core. You could only think about that kiss, your first one, despite the fact that he was one of the men completely ruining your life. 

“You ever seen someone break a wild horse?” 

His question caught you off guard, and your brows furrowed slightly as you searched his face for meaning. The smirk on his lips deepened, and his hand dropped from your chin.

“Takes patience. Takes strength. Takes knowing exactly when to push and when to pull back. But eventually, the horse figures out who’s in charge.” His blue eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place, ”Out on the ranch, when we get a wild one. It’s my favorite thing to do. Watch em’ go from fighting you to starting to trust you. Really, there’s no point in fighting. The one’s who don’t submit, we don’t keep em’ around. They’re dangerous.”

“Oh,” You managed to say, shifting uncomfortably, “That sounds … hard.” 

Rafe chuckled in response, “Hard? Yeah, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s smirk returned, sharper now, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me to kiss you again. I can tell.”

His words sent you stammering immediately, “No!” 

“Tell you what,” Rafe interrupted smoothly, ignoring your denial as if it hadn’t even registered. “If you settle in, get all dolled up for dinner…” His voice dripped with false generosity. “I’ll give you another one.”

You stared, dumbfounded and frozen until the young rancher casually turned and walked out of the room. Your fists clenched at your sides as a storm of emotions swirled inside you, anger and fear. One emotion simmered quietly beneath the surface, unwelcome and disorienting. Anticipation.

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