Rafe, ever since he met you, has wanted badly to lay his hands on you, as he watches your reactions while he does and sees the way that pretty face of yours twists like a goddamn movie. Just the thought of it tied his guts into knots that could only be undo by touching you the way he so badly wanted.

The Kook wanted to put you on tape, for you to show him who you truly were when your mind was clouded with pleasure, when your eyes were tearing up from the heat bubbling inside of you. God he wanted and he wanted it so badly.

Watching you from afar was all he could really do though, as you—the perfect image of angelic innocence—was just far too out of reach even for Rafe Cameron, and so he resided to your social media posts, gazing upon each moment of you that was captured and uploaded publicly for all to see and admire, silently screenshotting every new one. ‘To keep himself up-to-date with you’ he thought.

Rafe was obsessed, addicted to you, to who you showcased yourself to be and who he wanted to find out you truly were.

It was a party that you and Rafe so coincidentally both went to, and your hazy memories could only recall just how drunk you were, unable to form coherent sentences without slurring and giggling in-between. God but you were just gorgeous, how could Rafe not approach you?

Under the flashing red lights, Rafe could see the way each line of sweat bead at your neck, trailing down the gentle curves of your body, as your hips moved to the deafening music, giving him a whole new type of heat burning at the pit of his stomach. He could see it, you were a star, born to be gazed upon, born to be the center of attention, to be cherished, admired, loved, adored, Rafe could give you that.

“You seem a little out of place there”—Rafe chuckled, his voice raspy from the weed he’d been smoking, his eyes trained on you like there were only the two of you in the room, his ears cancelling out all other noises just to hear you speak. “You sure you can get through this party on your own, doll?”