Snow On The Beach // R.C.

1.17*

Entering Tannyhill, Rafe puts a finger over his lips, commanding me to stay quiet. We creep in through the door as his eyes scour the entryway, looking for any sign of his family despite the driveway being empty. He's just wearing his pants, unzipped and unbuttoned, and I have my dress pulled and held to my chest with my hands. I don't bother slipping the sleeves on because Rafe was very clear on the drive over when he told me he wanted it off, eyes rarely on the road and more so on me. On my translucent undergarments.

"Hello? Dad?" He calls as we slowly enter the house, my hand in his. "Rose? Sarah? Wheez, are you here?"

One, two, three, four pumps of my heart, blood pounding in my ears, before Rafe takes the silence as permission. I feel my back slamming up against the front door before I hear it close. Colliding, I'm terrified by how familiar his lips already feel to me, and even more afraid of how hungry I still am for them. My hands drop my dress, the fabric pooling at my feet as I pull him close by the band of his pants.

"Fuck," he moans. His hands fly from my hips to my neck, fingers entangling in my hair. Grabbing my wrists, he gently places my arms up against the door on either side of my head, thrusting himself against me. When he pulls back, I whine, frowning at the way he bites his lip. "Do you want this?"

His question mirrors the first time we kissed.

Only this time, I make my answer as clear as possible, because there is not a single doubt in my mind. I want Rafe Cameron. In every possible way. And I am willing to give myself over to him in any way that he'll have me. Surging my neck forward, I try to kiss him again, but he's too fast. He must see it coming, because in the blink of an eye, he spins me around, shoving my front against the door. He keeps my arms behind my back.

"This doesn't work like that," he says, voice low against my ear. "I need you to use your words. I want you to promise that you won't—" A gulp interrupts his speech. "I want you to promise that you won't regret this."

When he loosens his hold, I'm able to turn, I'm able to see the sudden anguish that has appeared in his gaze. Even after everything we shared today, the apologies made...he doesn't believe that I see him. I suppose I can't blame him. One dose of validation doesn't make up for years of hatred.

Clasping my fingers behind his neck, I pull his forehead to mine. Again, he feels surprisingly tense. "I want this, Rafe," I reassure him. "I won't regret it. Whatever it is. To be honest, I don't know what's going on or how this really happened." We both chuckle at that, probably feeling the same. "But I know that I'm tired of questioning it. That's why I ran the first time—when we kissed. That's why I avoided talking about it. But I'm ready now. Can you promise me the same thing? That you won't regret this?"

Surging forward, he kisses me, and I pull back, a fake pout plastered on my face. "Hey, that isn't fair," I say. "You're supposed to use your words, Mr. Cameron."

"Screw talking," he whispers into my mouth, swallowing one of my gasps when he picks me up and heads for the stairs. "And screw waiting any longer. I want to pick up where we left off."

I'm about to question what he means when he, after walking up the spiral staircase, halts in the middle of it, laying me down. He descends before me.

Oh.

"Is this okay?" He asks, brows raised as he hovers above me, veins bulging in his arms.

"I thought we were screwing talking?"

Laughter bubbles through his swollen lips, turning his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "I'm about to screw you."

Putting a finger on his nose, I push him down. "Then get to it."