Rafe

by Jo Raven

  Without giving a chance for that to sink in, or for me to formulate an answer, he pulls up my sweater, and puts his mouth on my breasts.

  Only this time he’s not doing a quick sweep on his way down. He nuzzles them, then tugs down the straps of my bra until he bares them. I shudder when he cups them, lifts them and blows on my nipples. They are already hard and achy, and when he takes one in his mouth, my back arches off the bed.

  God I’m so ready for him. It’s as if the orgasm he gave me back at his apartment earlier today—jeez, was it only today?—made me crave more, burn for his touch.

  Addiction. I could say the same about him.

  While he licks one nipple, he rubs his thumb over the other, and I choke on a moan. My hips lift as I try to find some friction, to release the painful pressure inside me. But he doesn’t indulge me, instead sucking on my nipple, then switching to the other until I’m rocking underneath him, moaning shamelessly his name.

  My body is on fire. Even though I’ve never had any real pleasure from sex, I would give anything right now to have him push inside me. Just the image is enough to send pulses of pleasure down inside. I clutch at his shoulders, shifting restlessly on the mattress, my pulse beating between my legs. Oh God, I think I’m going to come just from the feel of his mouth on my breasts.

  As if sensing how close I am, he stops, gives my throbbing nipple one long lick, and lifts his head. His eyes seem to glimmer in the half-light. He passes his tongue over his lips, and then he’s kissing me, one hand coming down next to my head, the other unzipping my jeans and slipping inside my panties.

  I moan in his mouth as his rough fingers stroke up and down my seam, and I let my legs fall open. Granting him better access to do what he will with me. I trust him, know he will make me feel good, take care of me.

  His tongue thrusts into my mouth just when his fingers push into me. My back lifts clear off the bed as I come, my body going off like a firework, breaking into glitter.

  He breaks the kiss, panting harshly, and I’m still writhing with the aftershocks, riding the last waves of pleasure. His fingers move in and out of me, drawing it out.

  “Uh…” I’m panting. I lick my dry lips, try to find my voice. “Rafe…”

  He pulls his fingers out slowly, making me moan, and smells them. Oh God. He grunts, his lids lowering to half-mast, and his eyes go dark as the night.

  He dips his face toward me again, his cheekbones flushed, as he settles between my legs. “Oh fuck…” He’s still panting, his erection rock hard where it rests against my belly. “I can’t…”

  “Rafe?” It’s almost impossible to think when he’s pressed right where I’m still pulsing with pleasure, but the way his face twists up in what looks like pain can’t be right. “Are you okay?”

  “Meg,” he whispers, his hips rolling in small jerks he doesn’t seem to be able to control. “I can’t.”

  His teeth sink into his lower lip so hard I’m sure he’s breaking the skin. Suddenly, he lifts off of me and scoots back, then climbs off the bed and turns his back to me. He stands still, hunched over, his hands fisted at his sides, his breathing hissing in and out, too loud in the quiet.

  What the hell?

  My throat is dry as sandpaper, and hurts when I swallow. I have no clue what’s going on, but I need to do something.

  I swing my legs off the bed and stand behind him. “Are you all right?”

  His breathing picks up. A shudder goes through him. “I should go.”

  “Why?” I clench my jaw, try to figure this out. “Why can you go down on me, but I can’t go down on you? Why can’t I touch you, like you did to me? What’s wrong with that?”

  He shakes his head and at first I think he won’t answer me. But then he whispers, “It’ll fucking break me.”

  “Break you, how?”

  He bows his head, brings a fist to his chest. But he doesn’t make a move to leave.

  It hurts to see him like this. “So what will you do instead? Go punch a wall?”

  He says nothing, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  Dammit. He’s going to harm himself, punish himself for wanting—and I know he wants. He needs. I can see it in his actions, in his eyes, in his arousal. In his gentleness with me.

  But he’s isolated himself, put a barrier between himself and those who care for him. Decided he can’t have pleasure. Only punishment.

  And crap, I’m not the right person for this. I’m not a happy-go-lucky kind of girl, like he probably needs, someone to make him laugh and sweep him up in a dream of rainbows and unicorns, making him forget. I drag my own load.

  But I do care. Much more than I thought possible. If pleasure can break him, then I think… I think breaking Rafe Vestri might be a good thing. Might be, in fact, the only way to save him.

  My heart booms as I gather my courage and walk around him. Careful. Slow. Like you’d do when faced with a wild animal, a hurt lion in your path. His lashes lift when I stand in front of him, his eyes unfocused.

  A moment of doubt and indecision—am I going crazy? Is this a mistake?—but I force it down and start undressing. I pull off my sweater and blouse, then unclasp my bra and let it fall. I push down my unzipped jeans and soaked panties, toe it all off together with my socks and shoes.

  Baring myself to him. Giving myself over. Trusting. Wanting. Asking him to trust me, too. To let go, let his defenses fall.

  Let me in.

  His gaze slides over my body. It lingers on my breasts until they tighten painfully, then moves down to my belly, and lower.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, and a tremor goes through him. His fists dig into his thighs and my eyes are drawn to the impressive bulge between them.

  “You can’t live only on pain,” I whisper.

  “Pain keeps me strong.” Another tremor goes through him, and his voice drops to a bass that I feel in my bones. “I can’t afford to hope.”

  He’s breaking my heart. I take a step toward him, put my hand on his chest. His heart is hammering under my palm. I look up, meeting his eyes. “Trust me.”

  “There’s no way out,” he whispers, Familiar pain clouds his gaze, the past crowding into the present. “I told you. You’ll break me.”

  But he doesn’t resist when I nudge him backward. He steps back, sits down on the bed, and leans back. When I grab the hem of his sweater and pull it off, when I run my hand down his bare chest, his breath catches. His body strains toward me, pushes into my touch. I put my hands on the buckle of his belt, brush over his hard-on, and a ragged groan leaves his lips.

  “Shit,” he rasps, his eyes fluttering shut. “Oh shit.”

  “Want me to stop?”

  “No. Dammit, don’t.” The knot in his throat moves as he swallows. “Meg, please…”

  One thought buzzes in my mind as I undo the buckle and unzip his pants.

  Breaking Rafe Vestri won’t be pretty, that’s for sure. But watching him come undone, finally tearing through his walls, seeing him as he truly is inside…that will be beautiful.

  PART II

  I’m not who you think I am

  My smiles don’t cut to the bone

  My laughter doesn’t touch my soul

  That part of me is gone

  Dead and buried, dead and buried

  I saw the angel of death

  He had God’s handprint on his arm

  He had no wings, he couldn’t fly

  Neither can I, too many sins

  This is the end, crows and ravens

  This is the end, bones and feathers

  Birds feast on me, they feast on me

  The road is a dead end

  I’m not what you think I am

  Can’t fucking let go of my past

  I talk to ghosts and can’t forget

  That all roads lead to the end

  Dead and buried, dead and buried

  All paths return to me

  Where my guilt lies, where my fear coils

  Where the wound festers
and blood boils

  I saw the angel of death

  A silver face, a silver knife

  Cut the thread and let me go free

  Let me sink, let me drown

  Let me fade into the ground

  Where I was meant to be.

  I’d die in your place, but I’m already dead

  inside

  I crawl through life, pretending to live

  held together with glue of bones and hearts

  I fall through the cracks

  It’s a lie, all a lie

  Will you cry for me?

  ‘Losing Hope’ by Rafe Vestri

  Chapter Ten

  Rafe

  One minute I’m getting ready to leave, and the next I’m sprawled on the bed, my hard edges rubbing against warm, soft woman. And my hard edges are many—not least of which is my leaking, aching dick.

  Bending over me, she pulls down my zipper. Long dark lashes, soft lips, long shiny hair that brushes over her lush tits with perfect chocolate nipples…

  Fucking overload. I need some twinge of pain, something to ground me. I curls my fingers into tight fists, pressing until my blunt nails dig into my palms.

  Not enough. But it’s something, and I focus on the bright pinpricks of pain as she drags my jeans down my legs, as she works off my boots and socks and drops everything to the floor, leaving me in my black boxer briefs.

  Her beauty, her scent, her luxurious curves, her exotic skin and liquid eyes might break me, but what I’m more afraid of is her gentleness, her generous heart. Her smile, her laugh.

  I’m barely holding it together as it is. And I don’t want her to stop, don’t want her to move away.

  She returns, a hand ghosting up my leg, until it reaches the ridge of my clothed erection. She lays her hand on top of it, and just from that slight weight I buck on the bed, the air leaving my lungs.

  Fuck, fuck. My leg muscles are so tense they’re trembling.

  I should stop her. I should leave, hit something, take off the edge somehow, but I can’t. I need her touch so much. Need her. Feels like without her hand on me, I’ll dissolve into nothing.

  So when she lifts her hand away, I jerk and start to sit up, moving after her.

  Only she’s dragging down my briefs, distracting me again. All I can do is lean back on my elbows to watch her. My cock springs free, and I swallow a groan when the Ampallagh piercing in the head of my cock catches on the fabric for one long moment. Another pinprick of pain, until she frees the material, and pulls the briefs down and off me.

  “Oh God,” she breathes, and I open my eyes. Hadn’t realized I’d closed them.

  She’s staring at my cock, wide-eyed. The piercings, I think, and struggle to sit up, certain I’ve freaked her out—but she licks her lips, her cheeks reddening.

  Speechless, I watch as she crawls between my legs, breasts swaying. My whole body tightens, ready to explode at her sexiness. Her fingertips move over the silver bar and hoop, and I slam my fists into the mattress, not to grab her, flip her over and sink into her.

  Not sure how much longer my control will last, though, when she’s running her fingers over my hard-on, when she’s right fucking here, naked and ready, the scent of her arousal flooding my senses.

  As she curls her fingers around my dick, I have a vague recollection that I shouldn’t let her, shouldn’t allow this to happen, but it’s gone in the electricity zapping up my spine.

  “Let go,” she says, her small hand tugging on my burning cock.

  “Can’t,” I gasp, my hips jerking, fire racing up my spine.

  Can’t let go of the past, of the pain, of the need to hold on to it and keep going.

  She straddles one of my legs and presses her curves to my chest. I swear, those dark eyes stare right into my fucking soul.

  “You deserve pleasure, and happiness, all the good things in life.”

  “No, I fucking don’t.”

  God, I can’t catch my damn breath. I have to break away, but she’s holding me in her hand, my heartbeat hammering at the base of my dick.

  “The past is not your fault, Rafe. Let go.”

  I grab the back of her head and crush my mouth to hers, to stop all those maddening things she’s saying—things I want to believe but simply can’t, won’t, things that could stop me from seeking revenge and deliverance, could drive me off the edge where I’ve been skating for so long, between depression and downright madness—and kiss her hard.

  A dark pressure is rising inside me—in balls, in my chest, in my head. It’s a kind of pain I can’t process, a need that goes far beyond physical, a burning longing that feels like hope but is probably despair.

  I want her to shut up, and I want her to go on. I want to leave, and I want to stay. I want her—need her—to convince me all she’s saying is true. That it’s okay to want and need, that it’s okay to be happy and feel good.

  Risky. Dangerous. Why do I think even for one second she can save me? What’s with this girl that makes me hope for things I can’t afford to hope for? What’s…

  Oh hell. She’s kissing me back, her hand tightening on my hard-on, stroking me. I groan, the sound lost in her mouth, as she does it again, and God, I hope she doesn’t stop. It’s so fucking good, and I’m almost there, my stomach muscles clenching, my balls drawing up, heavy and tight.

  My other hand reaches down, curls around hers, and squeezes on the upward stroke. Once, twice.

  My body spasms. That unbearable pressure snaps. My cock jerks and I cry out into the kiss, unable to stop myself. I writhe as another wave rips through me. My cum splashes on my chest, on her tits and belly, in hot jets.

  Fuck, oh God…

  My legs draw up, my back bows. I’m trying to curl around the pleasure. It’s too much, I can’t take it. It’s heat, fire. My hips rock as I push my cock into her grip, still frantic, still coming.

  She whimpers, and I grimace, trying to open my eyes, to wrestle back my control. Then she shudders, and I feel her wetness on my thigh. Knowing she came from stroking me makes my spend cock twitch one last time.

  Something’s cracking inside me. I feel like I’ve been shot through the chest. The pain’s about to send me to my fucking knees. This is unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my life. In panic, I grab her shoulders, open my eyes and look into her beautiful face.

  She’s here. She’s right here.

  I wrap my arms around her and hold on for dear life as I shatter.

  ***

  “Rafe.” A fingertip is stroking my cheek. I’m curled around her, on her narrow bed. My nose is buried in her sweet-smelling hair, my arms are around her, keeping her flush against me.

  I don’t know how much time has passed. A distinct lack of stickiness gluing us together clues me in to the fact she must have cleaned me up before curling up next to me. When did that happen?

  I tighten my hold. Now sure I can breathe without her. I fear that, if I let go, I won’t be able to put myself back together.

  And I have to let her go, or I’ll be putting her in danger. The moment I’m granted entry into the fight club, all bets are off. The safety of anyone connected to me could become compromised.

  But she feels so fucking good, and her words… Her trust, her desire for me, her damn sweetness have shredded me, just like I feared. How can I go back to the anger and despair, how can I return to the pain after feeling such pleasure? Such ease in my skin, like I haven’t felt in ages.

  Or maybe ever.

  “Rafe,” she says again softly, her fingers trailing along my jaw. “You’ve been asleep for hours. Are you okay?”

  Hours. Asleep. I frown, wondering how that’s possible, when I can’t manage more than an hour or two per night, but I’m too comfortable to linger on that.

  “Talk to me,” she whispers.

  Not sure I can. All I can do is draw a shaky breath, slide my hands down her slim back, fill them with her round ass.

  My body is remembering pleasure. One taste, and it dema
nds more. My cock is hard, trapped between us, leaking. When she shifts to look up at me, she rubs on it and I bite back a groan.

  With a snap of my hips, I roll her under me. She’s so small, lying there, and the urge to protect her, keep her with me is constricting my chest. I stretch over her and kiss her neck, her collarbone, her pretty tits.

  She laughs and tugs on my hair, the slight sting of pain only serving to turn my dick to rock. “Does that mean you’re okay?”

  I have no answer to that, so I turn my attention to her hard nipples and suck on them until she moans. Sweet like honey. Her taste turns me on so fucking much I’m in danger of losing my load then and there, on her smooth belly.

  Her hands tug on my hair again when I lift up to kiss her mouth. “Say something.”

  “Chocolates,” I say against her lips.

  “What?”

  “I told you. You’re like a box of chocolates. Dark, milk, white, bittersweet…” I grin and slide my hand between her legs. “And I know where you’re hiding the pralines.”

  Her soft laughter makes me grin wider and kiss my way to her jaw, then down her neck. I bite her lightly, slip my fingertips into her wet heat, and her laughter turns into a moan.

  I feel so light, like I can float. So warm, and relaxed, and fucking happy. Hopeful. Haven’t felt this way since ever.

  “Why do you have to be so goddamn pretty?” I whisper against her skin. “So goddamn sexy, and soft, and kind.”

  Too good for me.

  “You’re the one,” she says. “The one who’s handsome and sexy and kind.”

  My breath hitches. “I want to be inside you,” I whisper in her ear as I slowly fuck her with my fingers. “I’m going to bury my cock so deep, you’ll have no choice but to come as I fuck you.”

  She moans louder, getting wetter, and I’m so fucking hard I have to resist the urge to stroke myself. Precum is leaking from the crown of my cock, smearing on her belly, and jolts of arousal shake me.