Rafael Barba Imagines

Makeup Sex

Where had it gone wrong? You two fought all the time, that was nothing new. You were both passionate people, both prone to giving in to your quick tempers. But usually you were both also quick to make up. "Never go to bed angry," had been your mother's advice for a happy marriage. And neither of you had ever broken that rule...yet.

The evening had started simply enough, you both attended the opening party for a new art gallery in your neighborhood, the pet project of the wife of one of Rafael's coworker's.

Rafael always had a possessive streak over you in public, a deep-seated jealousy that you suspected stemmed from Yelina's long ago betrayal, a Mr. Hyde that all your years of love and loyalty still hadn't been able to erase completely. So when he rudely snatched you away from your conversation with the architect, you knew that you were in for a long night of soothing his ego.

You had to practically jog to keep up with his rapid, clipped stride as the two of you walked home. He didn't even let the door close behind you before starting his fight, using the architect as his excuse. You said every phrase that you knew he wanted, that you loved him, that you didn't want anyone else. None of it worked, he was wound too tight, worked up from his bad week at work and his own dramatic imagination. You tried your best to stay calm, to tamp down the anger you felt growing in the pit of your stomach, to get him to see reason. His last accusations had been the catalyst, that you wanted someone younger than him, someone who made more money than him. Your last fiber of restraint snapped, screaming back at him that maybe you did, maybe you did want something else, maybe he wasn't enough for you. It was cruel, you knew that, hurling his every insecurity back at him but you were too far gone. You had given in to the red, given in to your anger. His Cuban temper was no match for your Irish one when fully unleashed.
And then he had left. Wordlessly, he picked up his wallet, his phone, his jacket, and left. You two always fought, but he had never left before.

He left you shaking in your rage in the middle of the living room, left you to replay your words to him, over and over again. You didn't mean them, of course you didn't. The day you met Rafael Barba had changed your life. In a frighteningly short period of time, he had become your everything, become the man that you knew you would want for the rest of your life, become the only man that you had every truly loved.

It had been over three hours since the door slammed behind him, three hours and seven calls he hadn't answered, three hours of wondering if this time you had done irreparable damage with your insults. You glanced at the clock - 1:24am - and contemplated going to bed, at least trying to get some sleep when you heard a key turn in the lock. You froze, stuck like a deer in the headlights as he entered your home, as he noticed you standing there like a living statue.

He was drunk. You could smell the scotch, his favorite brand's distinct smell slowly invading the whole room. Rafael rarely got drunk, only during very good times - or very bad ones. He was undeniably still seething, but as he slowly walked towards you, you recognized something else on him. His eyes were practically glowing with that unmistakeable look, the one that meant a lot of trouble for you, the best kind of trouble. You felt yourself shiver in anticipation. He was furious and likely still hurt and now he was going to punish you, he was going to make you know that you were his.

He stopped in front of you, just close enough that your fingers would have grazed his chest if you had stretched out your arm, but you didn't. You already knew you were not going to be allowed to touch him tonight. After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the fragile silence that threatened to swallow you, "Strip." A hot blush spread across your face as you slowly lifted the hem of your dress over your head, leaving you in just your lingerie. "All of it." There was something vaguely humiliating about being commanded to undress in such a cheap fashion. You shouldn't love this so much, but you did. As you reached around to unhook your bra, his long fingers moved up to deftly unknot his tie, drawing your eyes down. You loved his hands, he knew this, loved their size and what they could do to you. His eyes raked hungrily over your now naked body, taking his sweet time to see everything before ushering his next order, "Bedroom. Now."