In the Night
Summary: Dragged along on a snowy mountain getaway by your best friend, you fully intend to behave. That plan unravels the moment you’re trapped in a cozy cabin with Rafe, where lingering looks turn into secret touches, and sneaking around becomes inevitable. Pairing: Rafe cameron x reader C.W.: best friends brother rafe, sneaking around, forbidden romance, porn with plot, unprotected sex, praise, overstim, missionary position, nipple sucking, fingering, oral (f. rec.) 1.8k wc ୭ৎ this is part 3, parts 1&2 here
Sarah had begged and begged you. Not a casual ask. Not a polite invitation. Full-on puppy eyes, dramatic sighs, and a three-day campaign of “please come with us, it won’t be fun without you.” You should’ve known better. Any vacation involving the Camerons was bound to come with complications, especially when one of those Camerons was Rafe.
The cabin was tucked deep into the mountains, all dark wood and glowing windows, snow piled thick along the roof and trees like something out of a postcard. The kind of place that smelled like pine and fireplace smoke, where everything felt quieter, closer.
Intimate in a way that made your pulse jump every time Rafe brushed past you in the narrow hallways, his broad shoulders barely clearing the doorframes, the faint scent of his cologne (cedar and something sharp) lingering in the air behind him. The first night, you told yourself you’d behave.
By the second day, that resolution was already splintering. You spent your mornings bundled in scarves and mittens, laughing with Sarah as you trudged through snowdrifts, the cold biting your cheeks pink. Skiing, sledding, and hot chocolate that burned your tongue.
Rafe was always nearby. Never obvious. Always watching. A hand at the small of your back when no one was looking, steadying you on an icy step. A look held half a second too long across the dinner table, dark eyes burning with something only you could read. Fingers brushing when he passed you a mug; deliberate, slow, the pad of his thumb grazing your knuckles like a promise.
Sneaking around became second nature. A quiet kiss stolen in the pantry while Sarah argued with her dad about dinner plans, Rafe’s mouth warm and urgent against yours, one hand braced on the shelf behind your head.
Another time, he’d pressed you gently into the wall of the hallway, forehead resting against yours, both of you smiling like it was a secret too sweet to keep. His voice was always low when he spoke to you, softer than anyone else ever got, gravel and honey, just for you.
By the third morning, you were aching for time alone. The plan came together in whispers the night before, when the house was finally quiet, and Sarah was asleep. Everyone was supposed to go skiing after breakfast. Boots lined up by the door, jackets piled high. You sat at the table, wrapped in one of Sarah’s oversized sweaters, stirring your coffee slowly, heart already racing.
“I don’t think I’m gonna go,” you said quietly, pressing a hand to your stomach. You hated lying, especially to Sarah, but she barely noticed, already distracted by the weather report on her phone.
“You okay?” she asked absently, eyes on her screen.
“Just cramps,” you shrugged, keeping your voice small. “I’ll stay back and rest.” Sarah nodded without looking up, already moving to grab her gear.
Rafe didn’t look at you right away. When he did, his expression was perfectly neutral, like he hadn’t just caught the meaning behind your words. A beat passed. Then he cleared his throat.
“Uh,” he said, standing slowly. “I’ll stay too.”
Ward looked up immediately, fork pausing mid-air.
Rafe didn’t miss a step. “I tweaked my knee yesterday. Probably shouldn’t push it.”
Ward’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. The kind of look that said he knew his son better than Rafe liked. He hummed, unconvinced. “Mm. Sure.”
The rest of the family filtered out one by one: Sarah, Rose, Wheezie, heading toward the entryway with skis and chatter, the front door opening and closing behind them until the cabin felt suddenly, wonderfully empty.
Rafe lingered at the table, finishing his coffee in slow sips. Only when the last of the footsteps faded, and the door clicked shut for the final time, did Ward appear in the doorway, jacket half-on, about to follow the others out.
He paused, eyes flicking between the two of you—still seated, still casual, but something in the air had shifted. Ward’s gaze settled on Rafe. “Rafe,” he said flatly, voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the driveway. “If you’re staying behind for… whatever reason, wear a condom.”
Rafe froze, coffee mug halfway to his mouth, face flushing red up to his ears. “Dad—”
Ward raised a hand, cutting him off without raising his voice. “I’m not stupid,” he said calmly, almost conversationally. “And I’m not interested in surprises. That’s all I’m saying.” He didn’t wait for a response. Just clapped Rafe once on the shoulder, firm, paternal, no-nonsense, and walked out, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft thud.
The kitchen fell silent except for the faint crackle of the fire in the next room. Rafe sat there for a long second, jaw tight, ears burning. When he finally turned to look at you, you were pressing your lips together, trying—and failing—to hide your smile. “You’re enjoying this,” he muttered.
You bit your lip. “A little.”
He shook his head, exhaling a laugh despite himself, then stood and rounded the table. He grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you up and into him once the house was truly, completely yours. “You’re something else,” he said under his breath, voice rough with amusement and something hotter.
You smiled up at him, soft and innocent. “You stayed.”
He kissed you gently at first, like he always did when you were alone. Slow, unhurried, like there was nowhere else to be. Snowlight filtered in through the windows, casting everything in pale gold. His thumb brushed your cheek, reverent. The world narrowed to the crackle of the fire and the quiet pull between you.
You don’t remember who tugged who toward the bedroom. Only that Rafe’s laughter was low and breathless, that the door clicked shut behind you, that his hands were careful even when his want was obvious.
The room was warm, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp and the cold silver light from the window. Snow fell steadily outside, muffling the world. Rafe backed you toward the bed slowly, kissing you the whole way, hands sliding under the hem of your sweater, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist like he was memorizing you.
He pulled the sweater over your head, tossing it aside, then stepped back just enough to look at you, really look, eyes dark, hungry, but still so careful. “God,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and off, fingers skimming the hard planes of his stomach, the faint scars from old fights. He groaned softly when your nails grazed his skin. Then he was on you again, guiding you down onto the mattress, settling his weight carefully between your thighs.
He kissed his way down your neck, your collarbone, slow and deliberate. When he reached your chest, he took his time, lips closing around one nipple, tongue flicking gently, then sucking harder when you arched and gasped his name. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you through your underwear, feeling how wet you already were.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your skin. “Been thinking about this since breakfast. About getting you alone. Making you feel good.”
You tugged at his hair, pulling him back up to kiss you, needy and open-mouthed. “Do it,” you whispered. “Please, Rafe.” He didn’t make you wait.
He stripped you both the rest of the way, movements unhurried but sure. When you were bare beneath him, he paused again, eyes roaming over you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he lowered himself, kissing a slow path down your stomach, your hips, until he was settled between your thighs. He looked up at you through his lashes, a small, wicked smile tugging at his lips. “Gonna take my time with you.”
His mouth found you first, soft, teasing licks at first, tasting you slowly, groaning low in his throat when you whimpered and rolled your hips. He hooked your thighs over his shoulders, hands gripping your hips to hold you still as he licked deeper, tongue circling your clit with perfect, maddening pressure. One finger slid inside you, then two, curling just right, stroking in time with his mouth until your thighs were shaking and you were chanting his name.
When you came, it was sudden and overwhelming, back arching off the bed, fingers tight in his hair, a broken moan spilling out as pleasure rolled through you in waves. Rafe didn’t stop until you were trembling, oversensitive, and boneless. Only then did he crawl back up, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He lined himself up, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said quietly.
You wrapped your legs around him. “It won’t be.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting you adjust, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. When he was fully inside, he stilled, letting you feel every inch of him, the stretch, the heat, the way you fit together. Then he started to move, slow, deep rolls of his hips, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, every thrust deliberate, dragging against every sensitive spot.
You clung to him, nails digging into his back, meeting every movement. The pace built gradually, faster, harder, until the headboard tapped softly against the wall and the only sounds were your shared breaths, the wet slide of skin, and the quiet, desperate sounds you both made. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned against your neck. “You feel so good. So perfect.”
You came again first, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, and he followed right after, hips stuttering, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he buried himself and spilled inside you, trembling through it. He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, kissing you through the aftershocks, slow, lazy, sweet.
-
Later, when the house was dark and the family still gone, you and Rafe slipped outside together, wrapped in towels and winter coats, breath fogging in the cold. The hot tub steamed under the stars, snow clinging to your hair as you sank into the warmth. Rafe pulled you close immediately, arm heavy around your shoulders, chin resting against your temple. You fit there easily. Like you always had.
“This is my favorite part,” he murmured.
“The sneaking?” you teased.
“No,” he said quietly, voice soft and serious. “You.” You smiled into his chest.
You didn’t hear Sarah until she was already there.
“Oh my God.”
You both froze.
Sarah stood on the deck, arms crossed, eyebrow raised so high it nearly disappeared into her beanie. She looked from you to Rafe, then back again. Took in the towels. The way his arm didn’t move from around you.
“You two are unbelievable,” she said flatly. “How long has this been going on?”
Rafe sighed. “We were gonna tell you.”
You nodded sheepishly. “Eventually.”
She stared for another long second. Then she rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “You're gross,” she said. “Both of you.”
Rafe grinned. You laughed, tension melting away like snow in warm water.
And for the first time all week, all year, the secret was finally out.