7 - Lauren
Lauren
It had been a few days since I last spoke to Rafe and I was still stewing. Brock and Callum seemed to pick up on the tension but both wisely chose to avoid broaching the topic.
Rafe and I moved around each other like ghosts, not even so much as acknowledging what happened while the week played out.
By the end of it, there were just a few more things I had personally chosen to clean out from the loft area of the firehouse. I hadn't left all day, hoping that the guys would just let themselves out.
But when I finally surfaced for air, I noticed that someone else had chosen to burn the midnight oil. Muted scraping traveled up from the engine bay area, and I followed it to see Rafe working in low light, marking off measurements with chalk on the beams and walls.
My better judgment told me to run. But I stayed rooted to the spot, watching him move. His sleeves were rolled back to the elbows, strong, veined forearms exposed and flexing as nimble fingers picked up and dropped various tools. When deeply focused, his face was almost unrecognizable.
He didn't look angry or pissed or nonchalant like his default expressions. Instead he looked… Engrossed, like he was on another planet altogether. I knew what that place felt like.
I swallowed hard, dragging my eyes away from the tattoo snaking his right arm and disappearing into the rest of his sleeve.
“Just gonna stand there or are you planning on saying hello,” he said, not bothering to look up at me.
“I'm trying to figure out why you're still here,” I said cagily.
“I'm marking the precision layout for tomorrow,” he answered. “Not sure if you remember what exactly it is that I do.”
Callum had explained it to me some time back. Rafe was responsible for the team’ s structural lead, the so-called Raiser of the crew. No one had an eye for engineering acumen, or accuracy quite like Rafe. That was the skill he and Brock defended the first morning we met.
If Brock was a Swiss Army Knife, then Rafe was a Precision Laser Level. Callum's words, not mine. But I wasn't going to admit that I knew any of that because then I'd have to acknowledge just how right Brock and Callum had been in their defense of his importance. And I would really rather die.
So instead I just shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, I do. You're the one who stays late to play with his crayons and rulers.”
I could actually see Rafe's jaw clench with annoyance but he just turned his back to me and continued with what he was doing before. “Keep in mind that these crayons and rulers are the only things that'll keep the roof from caving in on your head while you sleep. You can dream of me safely now.”
I rolled my eyes. “And here I was thinking you were only doing this for the overtime benefits.”
“And what kind of benefits would I be buying with all this overtime?” he shot back.
“I don't know. Maybe buy a second whore to make your next appointment a threesome?” I suggested.
His head snapped back and there was that annoying, easy smirk again. “Are you offering to join in for free, Lauren?”
“Not on your life.”
“Oh come on. We both know this is just your convoluted way of asking to get in my pants. There are easier methods, I promise you.”
“I'm not asking,” I said firmly.
He snorted, going right back to packing away his toolkit and ending the conversation just there.
I felt flushed.
I hadn't been able to unwind since our encounter outside with Tim. His bold claim, that I wanted to fuck him, seemed to hover between us. Those words electrified the air, an unspoken weight that only seemed to get heavier the more time went on.
He'd said it like it was an observation, not a joke. And even now, he was doing the same thing. Smirking, essentially daring me to call out his bluff and mocking the fact I couldn't. But I wouldn't be laughed at, not this time.
I spent my whole life living by my own rules and no one was going to start marking out limitations for me now. If he wanted to keep pushing me, we were going to see who was going to break first.
“I'm telling you,” I said.
My voice wasn't snarky or teasing. It was as bold as he had been, equally sure. Equally confident. His back straightened and he turned his head slightly to the side, eyes cast down. His hands stalled on his tools.
I took a step toward him this time, claiming space, closing distance. Rafe Merrick was a glorified asshole but he was a hot asshole.
“I work for you,” he said, his body growing more and more tense with each word. “Isn’t there some rule against fraternizing while on the clock?”
“You just clocked out.”
And that made him fair game. When he finally faced me properly, his pupils were blown wide.
I wasn't sure how much of it was the poor lighting.
But his deepening breaths provided some evidence for a different case.
A case that broke the very last remnants of my resolve and self-control with all the grace of a wrecking ball.
“You're the client,” he said, and this time his voice was strained and so low I could barely hear him. “You tell me what it is you want me to do.”
Everything rested on my next answer, both of us knew that. He was drawing the line and asking me whether or not I wanted to step over it.
Was it wise? No.
Would it be worth it? There was only one way to find out.
“Clothes off, Rafe.”
And the line was completely obliterated.
He pushed off the work table and reached for me just as I closed the gap between us. When we met at the midpoint, my entire body erupted in sensation.
It wasn't just the size and heat of him, the muscle and presence of his body.
It wasn't the exotic nature of his touch, rough with callouses and intense with strength.
It was the buildup of the anger that had grown between us since the day we met.
It was the constant snipes and barbs that returned like boomerangs with every exchange and those looks that seemed to cut down to my soul.
Oh, I hated him. I hated him so much I wanted to fuck the ego out of him.
Our bodies tangled in each other, our hands grasping at clothes like we wanted to tear them off. And maybe we did. I could've sworn I heard material rip and I wasn't sure who was responsible for that.
I didn't know where or when the attraction started to get us here but we were feeding it like kindling to a fire.
No, I knew that was bullshit. The attraction had always been there, couched in reservation and conflict that maybe we'd intended to maintain because this, this was enough to set us both alight.
Rafe made a sound that arched my back, and as I pressed myself even tighter against him, his hand slipped down my back to wrap a leg around his waist.
“You hate me, huh?” he asked, his tongue snaking out to playfully flick at mine.
“So much,” I answered, fisting a hand in his hair. I tugged hard enough for his head to jerk back, then kissed his exposed throat. “I hate you. I hate what you do to me.”
“Lauren,” Rafe breathed my name like air and tightened his grip around my body as he held me against him. “You hate what I do to you? Like you haven't been torturing me all this time. Like you didn’t fucking know exactly what you were doing.”
“You mean insulting you whenever I had the chance?” I laughed against his throat and felt him tense up, and could actually see goosebumps pock his skin. The power trip I felt seeing that should be studied.
I wanted him weak and foolish. I wanted him unraveled and conquered.
I rolled my hips against his body, ugly in lust and so desperate for any kind of relief. Rafe groaned and stumbled over to the work desk he'd just been stationed at. We knocked its contents off the surface and he attempted to lower me down onto it but I dragged him with me.
His mouth was on mine again, hot and needy. We'd somehow found a way to remove our shirts and I was now fighting with his belt buckle. Rafe chuckled at my frustration but the sound cut out when I finally managed to slip my hand inside his jeans.
He growled, his body caving in around my hand as I began to stroke him.
“Not so fucking arrogant now, are you?” I teased.
“Fuck you,” he shuddered, his head flopping onto my shoulder.
“Oh? That's all you've got? How disappointing.” I rubbed my thumb over the tip of his cock and felt him spasm in my hand, coating my fingers in pre-come.
He let out a pitiful sound in my ear, then immediately pressed his lips to my neck as though to silence himself in embarrassment.
I wanted more of that. “All that bravado for this? Moaning like a bitch in heat before you even get your dick wet.”
His cock twitched again.
So that's what he liked. I guess all the banter truly was foreplay for him.
My own arousal was soaring through the roof.
He felt so good in my hand, the proof of his desire so clear that there was no room to overthink it.
Rafe wanted me and he was fighting himself to not lose himself in that desire.
He was panting now, gritting his teeth. “You done playing with me yet?”
“Funny you're asking when you're fucking yourself into my palm like this,” I crooned.
The hand Rafe had slammed onto the table next to me gripped the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“I'm trying hard to be patient here, Lauren,” he said and I shivered at the hint of danger that laced his words. “So hard.”
“Hmm.” Another stroke of my thumb across his sensitive tip, emphasizing the double entendre. His hips jerked forward.
“Enjoying yourself?” he gritted out.
“Clearly not as much as you,” I said.
Rafe finally snapped.
He yanked my hand out of his pants and shoved me back so that my back hit the table. He pinned my hands down in one of his, his eyes now focused on my face with the intensity I was used to seeing them carry.
But there was something different about it. It was like the version he wore in public was still veiled by a veneer of control. Now that control had split and I was lying in the ruins.