"You're not going out like this"

Here they are. The usual words that made you roll your eyes with a small huff, which contrasted with the sticky gloss you just applied, as you looked at your reflection in the mirror where he was right behind you. Eyeing you. Judging you.

As usual, a fight over your fucking revealing outfit was about to break out. Rafe just couldn't help it.

It was clear that you liked to go around in skirts or shorts that were just a little longer than your underwear, dresses with necklines that showed to unwanted eyes your natural curves that have graced you since adolescence. It was a trait about you that he couldn't change.

And he wanted to die every time he caught a dirty man staring at you with a look filled with lust and desire, a look that wasn't his. Or when they would shamelessly hitting on you right when Rafe was two steps away, getting you a drink. God, he was wanted to kill them. He often came close. And that made it clear that it wasn't enough, because no matter how much he took care of them, they wouldn't stop.

The solution? Make you stop dressing like that. The problem? You were far from agreeing. Plan B? Rafe would have forced you.