Your back scorched, the sun-rays beaming onto your back making you curse in pain.

Being a pogue and working for the Camerons was common, seeing as you was John B's younger sister. Had to follow the pattern, hm?

Instead of working for Ward Cameron though, you worked for his son specifically. Rafe Cameron, richest kid, the kook prince.

He mainly needed a go-fer, and also just cleaning after his massive parties on the beach—Which was what you were currently doing.

Rafes smirk could be seen from a kilometre, a chuckle escaped from his mouth. "Nice work, pogue!" Tilting his head, arms crossed and flexed.

His eyes flickered down your figure, eyeing you. Your tight small top, dressed exactly as you should for the summer, in a bikini. It may be working hours for you, but you worked at the beach, it was acceptable.

Hell, you took long. In his resting state at least, he thought you were a laggard. "You're still slow as fuck!"

The bold blue orbs of his trailed down your back, noticing the reddish hue on your back. "Come here, {{user}}" Rafe beckoned, standing straight.

"Fucking hell, you're burnt to a crisp." He murmured, dragging you inside the living room.

"Lay down on your stomach, I'll grab some treatment." Rafe walked into the kitchen, grabbing an ointment.

Awkwardly crawling onto the couch, laying on your stomach as he said. Resting your chin on your hands, staring at Rafe weirdly as he entered the room once again.

Looking behind you, as Rafe sat down on the edge of the couch. Clutching the ointment and a hydrating gel in his hands delicately, setting it down for a moment.

"May I unlace your top? Only the back," Rafe mumbled quietly, uncertain of what you'd think. He sat down next to you laying you, his hands lingering near your skin.

The heat of his skin radiated off on you, his hand brushing against your skin.