5. The Very Bad Girl
Chapter 5
The Very Bad Girl
Bonnie
I can’t contain my massive smile.
“Fuckin’ cute,” Rafe whispers, more to himself than me, as he tucks the ashtray into a small hole in the alley wall where a brick is missing.
I turn and scan the crowd. Milo is joined by Peter, buried in conversation. God, now I have two brothers who will have opinions on this? Even I don’t know what’s going on here; the last thing I need is them intervening before I can sort it out myself.
Thankfully, Lulu is beside them, and right at that moment, she locks eyes with me.
Her eyebrows rise.
Mine rise back.
I discreetly tip my chin toward Rafe and throw a thumb over my shoulder.
I’m going with him, I mouth.
Lulu rolls her lips between her teeth. She’s hesitant. I can feel it in her stare. It’s the same line between her brows that she gets when I mention I’m behind on my art project deadline.
“I’ve got this handled,” I always say. “I’ve never missed a single deadline before; why would I start now?”
And today, I’m implying that I’ve never made a rash decision; why would I start now?
Except this is the rashest decision I’ve ever made.
Rafe Cohen is the man I’ve wanted since before I knew what wanting men was.
I know that. Lulu knows that.
Come on, Lu. Be cool.
Slowly, almost robotically, Lulu mouths, You’ve got this handled?
I give an eager smile as an answer.
She twists her lips to the side and nods reluctantly, saying, I trust you .
Drawing in a breath again, I turn back to face Rafe. He’s just finishing up tucking his box of cigarettes back into his back pocket when our eyes meet. Beautiful brown eyes with little rings of dark green.
This doesn’t feel real. I’m living in a dream—I must be.
Silently, Rafe steps closer. For a moment, I think he’ll kiss me in front of Never Harbor. He’s so close, and so many people are here to watch. People like my brothers.
“Where to?” I blurt out. “Your place?”
He takes a step back, his eyebrows slamming together. “Oh. Sure.”
Maybe I’ve surprised him. Score . I’m just a surprising kind of person tonight.
Shiv is anyway.
I take a tentative step forward and walk on. He gives the most charming, devastating smile before following behind.
We stay close to the walls of Never Harbor’s shops, passing open doors, cutting through lines with a small, “Excuse me,” along with Rafe’s low, “Pardon.”
We’re together, but not. Trailing one after the other in some secret route only we know. It only spikes my nerves more, further and further, until, suddenly, his fingers reach forward to slip over my lower back.
It feels too good to be true, like how boys in high school would say they liked you on April Fools’ Day. But teenage boys are cruel, and grown men like Rafe aren’t. Men like Rafe are the kind who buy flowers to support a local business. The kind of men who trace a thumb over someone’s back in assurance, like Rafe is doing to me now.
We reach Rafe’s shuttered shop door, and he pulls his keys from his pocket. His other hand never separates from my body as he unlocks the latch. His thumb’s circling movements never halt.
Rafe snicks open the door and sidesteps to allow me in first. The scent of him wafts over me as I pass by. Familiar cedar. Stale smoke. My shoulder bumps against his chest. His hand snakes around my hip, lingering for a moment before we slide apart.
He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. The CLOSED sign snaps against the window. The street noise dulls to a low hum.
I’ve never stood in Ink it hurts.
His free palm reaches up and slides over my collarbone. Just the sight of his ink-covered arm hovering over my breast is enough to have my breath hitching in my throat. He traces up, along the nape of my neck.
Finally, in what feels like slow motion, Rafe leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
Rafe Cohen kisses me.
I’m kissing Rafe Cohen.
And it’s everything I thought it would be.
No, it’s more .
It’s slow and sensual. Warm. His mouth perfectly moves with mine, like we’ve been practicing this forever. His tongue parts my lips, and then my tongue is touching Rafe’s . He tastes like the crackling burn on a bonfire s’more. He smells like cedar and fresh flowers.
Shakily, I reach out my free hand to touch his chest simply because I can.
I can touch Rafe’s chest .
I never see him exercise around town, like jogging or swimming near the coast, yet the muscles underneath his thin shirt are compact and hard. I twist my fist into the fabric and tug him closer. His palm tenses against my neck, and then he does the same, guiding my head to tilt so he can possessively capture my mouth more.
Rafe gives another low, approving hum, but this time, it rumbles against my lips.
I’m sinking into him, losing my balance slightly as I attempt to get closer than I already am. I want his chest against mine. I want to hear his heartbeat. I want the elusive heart he shows nobody. I want to know that, right now, it’s mine.
I push harder against his mouth. Maybe too hard. But he needs to know I want whatever this is.
He groans, rising from his lean against the counter. Our hands that were entwined are dropped. He places the free palm on my hip, steps us away from the countertop, then walks me back, back, back … behind the counter, deeper into the store, through a threshold, around a corner … past all the places I’ve never seen but always wondered about.
Are we going up to his apartment? Will he show me around?
I jolt when my back hits a wall. His large palm pulses against my hip, caressing up my side, over the hem of my cropped tee. It’s nothing like Riley at Mermaid Lagoon. His hand doesn’t shake. It’s solid as steel as he confidently tucks deft fingers under my shirt and ghosts them around the curve of my breast.
Shivers roll up my spine. I sigh against his mouth.
The way his thumb traces near my breast drives me insane. The cool touch of his ring bumps against my skin. I need him to touch me now, and as if reading my mind, he does.
Rafe’s thumb tucks under my bra and circles around my nipple, pinching it between his fingers. I gasp. Riley gripped my breasts like a squeaky toy, as if amazed breasts even existed. Rafe already knows a woman’s body.
He rolls his fingers over me again, and my spine arches, pushing my chest against his. His fingers coast down my stomach, to the fabric of my skirt. He pushes the hem up my thighs until the cool air-conditioning whispers against my bare legs and exposed underwear. He tucks a finger into the side of my panties— please tell me I chose something cute —and shifts them aside, cupping the outside of me. His palm is so warm as he gently runs a line over my slit and then against there .
My head tilts back. He immediately places a kiss against my neck, nipping at the skin.
“So wet already,” he growls.
I pull in a sharp breath as he slides his middle finger inside me.
I’ve never had anyone else touch me that way. It’s foreign and weird. But the moment his finger curls, the pressure hits a very, very good place, and shock rolls over me. I whine. He captures it with his mouth.
I don’t know where to send my focus. His warm lips are against mine, and his middle finger tickles the exact right spot inside me, and … a hard bulk presses against my thigh through his jeans. What do I even do with that? Will he show me? I can’t ask.
He slides his finger out of me, and I shiver. I miss his touch already. I miss how close we felt.
His opposite hand tucks under my thigh, lifting my leg up to bracket his hip. I can’t stop the squeak that leaves my mouth.
“Want to unbutton my pants?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.
Oh my God.
My hands shake as I fumble over his button. I bump into the hard erection underneath as I slide the button loose. I grip the metal zipper, and it hisses down, catching over his large bulge, then finishing after it crests the bulk.
“That’s a good girl.”
I’m shivering now. I just know it. My thigh must be shaking in his palm, but he releases it to fumble with something in the dark. I can’t see anything, but then it hits me: Is he getting a condom? I try to think about all the times Lulu described what it sounded like. A ripping sound. Maybe the crinkling of a wrapper?
I hear it.
Rip.
Crinkle.
Oh God, we’re doing this.
His fist bunches my skirt up to my waist. And suddenly, something smooth and warm bumps between my thighs.
Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s him.
Maybe I’ve gone too far. I’ve gotten in over my head.
“You want this?” he whispers gruffly.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. But I’ve also never wanted anything more in this world. I’ve dreamed of this beautiful moment with Rafe.
And then he pushes into me.
I hiss in a breath.
Suddenly, beautiful isn’t the word I’d use.
He’s big. There’s strain and resistance, and I wonder if maybe I’m simply not made for his size. Maybe we weren’t meant to fit together.
Rafe pulls out slightly, then pushes in a bit more. A strained moan leaves my mouth, and I try to mask the small whine that follows. Lulu always said her first time was uncomfortable, which means this is normal. Right?
“You feel amazing,” he says.
I feel amazing ?
I feel amazing.
I feverishly squirm against him. “Then, let me take all of you.”
He chuckles, burying his palm into my hair and kissing my neck. “So eager. But you’re too tight right now.”
I want to ask if that’s a good thing, but it feels childish, so I don’t. I’m a woman, and I’m having sex. I should know exactly what’s going on.
I shake my head. “Who cares?” I want to hear him say how amazing I am again. “Please.” I know he’s holding back, but I don’t want him to. So, I do the only thing I know how.
I hearken back to all the porn I’ve watched.
I moan, deep and throaty. It’s forced and uncomfortable, but it sounds right. It sounds like how it’s supposed to.
Rafe slowly pushes in a bit more.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I insist on a whine. It doesn’t sound like me, but it does sound like those beautiful women—the competent women who can always make their men orgasm. Women I bet Rafe is used to being with.
But the moment the sounds leave my mouth, Rafe halts in place.
He leans back, sliding a hand over my cheek and tilting my head up so our eyes meet. His pupils are pinpricks. He doesn’t look like he’s having a good time at all.
“What the hell was that?” he asks.
“What?” My question echoes through the empty corridor, and it’s meeker than I wish it’d been.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Those sounds aren’t real.”
Heat spreads everywhere on my body. Not just my cheeks, but my chest and my hands. There’s no way he can’t feel it radiating off me.
“W-what?—”
“I need you to know right now that I don’t play games, Shiv. Now, tell me, did that feel good for you? Was it too rough?”
“I’m having a good time,” I insist.
“Answer the question.”
“I … I am.”
For a moment, all he does is stare at me, and bit by bit, his expression changes. It shifts from curiosity to a clenched jaw and then curved-in eyebrows. Worry maybe? Realization?
He starts to pull out.
No. No, no, no.
I snatch his wrist. “No. Don’t stop. Please.”
His eyes dart between mine. He keeps looking at me like that, as if trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
I’m desperate for you.
Rafe sighs, closing his eyes and kissing the space between my cinched-in eyebrows. I close my eyes with him. It’s so automatic. I can’t help but soak him in.
“Don’t worry,” he finally whispers against my skin. He purses his lips beside my eye, then bends down to meet my lips, murmuring against my mouth, “I’m just gonna take it slower.”
Our kissing is soft now. Tender. His warm tongue slips against my lips, as if savoring the taste of me instead of demanding it. It licks between my lips. I open my mouth, and he slides inside, our tongues softly trailing over each other.
Nothing about this is insistent. It’s gentle.
I barely catch my breath before whispering back, “We were already going slow.”
“I want to go slower than that then.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve better.”
His hand falls from my cheek and ghosts under my shirt again. His fingers slide along the curve of my breast as his thumb traces a circle around my nipple, causing it to pucker. Nerves skitter across my chest and over my shoulders.
Rafe buries his face into my neck, smoothing his lips over my collarbone, kissing where he once bit. I sigh as my shoulders slide down the wall. I’m putty in his hands.
“Rafe …” His name is a whisper on my tongue, coming out involuntarily.
Rafe hums in acknowledgment—a man of so few words—as he rolls his thumb over my nipple. The sparks spread down my stomach, melting between my thighs.
I feel his cock at my entrance again. I’m wetter. He slips in easier.
Every movement is torturously slow—pushing in just enough to make more room, then pulling out. What once felt like pressure is now a pulse pounding inside me.
He leans his forehead against mine as he buries himself fully inside. Our hips meet, but it doesn’t hurt at all. I feel full when he pumps in, and I miss him when he slides back out. Each thrust is better than the last, picking up pace, but never going beyond a steady rhythm. Stroking, stroking, stroking that same spot inside me every time.
I can’t stop the moan bubbling up in my throat. The whine in my whimper.
“There we go,” he says, sliding in again, meeting his hips with mine. “Those are the noises I wanted to hear.”
The gathered pit of electricity in my stomach—the sparks that have been bundling together all night—starts to spread.
“It feels good,” I whisper against his lips.
“Tell me how good it feels.”
The sensation builds higher, trailing throughout my veins like I’m a live wire.
“ So good.”
He pumps in more. Faster. Intentionally. Our breaths begin to tangle together. Another whimper escapes through my lips.
“It’s so good,” I repeat because I don’t know what else to say.
“Let’s make it better.”
And he does, reaching down between us, circling his thumb over my clit.
God.
This is the spark , and it strikes like lightning.
“You like people watching?” he says on breathless thrusts, strands of dark hair dipping over his eyes. “Yeah? Well, I like watching you . Now do me a favor and let me watch you come, Shiv.”
My eyes slam shut. I don’t know what happens next. All I know is, I’ve never seen this many stars in Never Harbor.
I’ve orgasmed before, but never from the effort of someone else. There’s something unique about the surprise of it all. My orgasm crashes over me like a storm. Heavy. Urgent. Insistent. Rafe keeps circling his thumb between my thighs, making a second wave crash into me.
It’s bliss.
Pure bliss.
Once my orgasm passes, I’m left breathing heavy. Rafe releases his grip on the fabric of my skirt. His other hand—which, at some point, made it back behind my head—slides down my neck and over my heart.
I open my eyes to find his hooded gaze staring back. For a moment, we stand there, our chests rising and falling against each other. His palms grip my hips as he pulls me off his still-hard cock. Swallowing, he turns around and walks into a nearby room, flicking on the light before shutting the door.
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. I can see the different doors in the hallway now. An office. A storage closet with a mop and cloths. The room he just disappeared into is nearly closed, save for the sliver of light illuminating checkered black-and-white tiles. It must be the bathroom.
My head falls back against the wall. I grin into the darkness.
It was perfect. All of it was perfect .
The bathroom door opens again, and Rafe leans on the doorway. His pants are buttoned. He’s silent. Looking at the ground, he kicks out his boot, then pulls it back. He isn’t smiling.
Did he orgasm too? Oh no, I didn’t even consider?—
His eyes finally swivel up to meet mine. His eyebrows are pulled toward the middle.
“Was this your first time?” he asks.
Oh.
My heart drops to the ground. Any giddiness that remained is swept away by a rough, imaginary hand.
“No,” I say quickly. “Of course not.”
He closes his eyes and swallows. “I meant what I said before. I don’t play games, so don’t lie to me, Bonnie.” And my name in his mouth—not Shiv or Clever Girl—says he means business.
I don’t know how he knows. I almost don’t want to know how he knows.
Lulu told me she bled her first time.
Oh my God, did I bleed on him?
“Bon? Were you a virgin?”
“Yes,” I confess, gulping before anxiously repeating, “Yes.”
The dead quiet that follows almost hurts. Wind whistles through a slightly open back window. Behind him, a droplet falls from the faucet and plunks in the sink basin. Never Harbor townsfolk cheer about something outside. Ten seconds ago, I would have joined them, but there’s nothing to cheer about anymore.
Rafe finally runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Rafe—”
He walks past me.
“Wait, Rafe.”
I follow him across the shop. The floor that was squeaky and expectant is now rough and taunting. I almost trip over a loose edge.
Rafe stops once he reaches the door. His fist grips the handle. His knuckles are stark white.
“We shouldn’t have done this,” he says.
“Rafe, I’m fine. It’s all fine.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Can we just talk?”
“Bonnie.” The word is sharp. “Listen to me. If you want to stay and argue with me all night, I’ll fall asleep to your gorgeous voice. But I think you should process this. And I need to as well.”
“Why?”
“Because I just took your virginity,” he says. It sounds like a plea. “And you just gave it to me .”
“Is that so bad?”
He exhales. “You say you watch me? You pay attention? So, when have I ever had a girlfriend?”
“Never.”
“Exactly.”
“So?”
“I won’t date you.”
My head jerks back. And for the first time ever, I might be irritated with Rafe Cohen.
“Well, I never asked you to,” I scoff.
His head cocks to the side with a sigh. “You didn’t have to.”
My jaw clenches. But the accusation still filters through the air, just like the smoke from his cigarettes. His addiction mixing with mine. I’m obsessed with him, and he knows it.
“You’re very presumptuous,” I argue.
“And you’re just a naive girl.”
I cross my arms. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”
I’m so angry and embarrassed that I want to cry.
Rafe sucks on the inside of his cheek and exhales. He steps closer, then leans in, cupping the back of my head in his palm and placing a final kiss on my lips. If I had any willpower, I’d push him away. But this might be the last time I kiss him.
He leans his forehead against mine.
“If you want to stay, you’re welcome to,” he whispers. “But I’m not talking about this anymore tonight.”
He strokes a thumb over my cheek before lowering his palm down. Then, he walks away. Simple as that. I watch as he crosses behind the counter, opens a door, and disappears up the stairwell to his apartment.
I feel like a statue in this empty shop—cold and turned to stone. I twist my fingers into my skirt fabric that was once gripped by his gorgeous hands and now hangs limp and wrinkled.
I leave the store right as the clock tower at the end of Main chimes midnight.