rafe cameron tumblr imagines

illicit affairs - witchwyfe

"We shouldn't be doing this," You breathe, stumbling over your words as Rafe's lips move up your neck.

"You say that every time baby." He murmurs, his words vibrating on your neck. "But you know we're not doing anything wrong."

His lips catch on your jaw, lingering and leaving soft bites. His actions elicit a content sigh from your lips.

"I lied about coming over here." You gasp when he lightly drags his teeth across your neck.

"Sweetheart." He pulls his lips off your neck to look into your eyes, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. "It's no one's business what you do or who you spend time with."

You don't look convinced, gaze on your hands in your lap.

"If you don't want to do this, we'll stop." He says sweetly.

"No, I, I don't wanna stop."

If anyone was to ask you how you feel about Rafe Cameron, your answer was easy and automatic: you hate him.

Now, if someone asked you why you were sleeping with him—despite your claimed hatred for him—you would have a much harder time coming up with an answer.

You don't even know how it started really. You were pissed off at him at a kook party, bickering one minute, and pressed against the bathroom door the next—his lips on yours.

Afterwards, you told him it wouldn't happen again, and you promised yourself it wouldn't.

Now you're rolling off his bed, slowly, so you don't wake him up. Sleeping together, like actually sleeping, is off limits. When your arrangement started, you'd made it crystal clear that this wasn't going to turn into anything else, and Rafe had agreed with you.

But it's easy to break rules with Rafe Cameron and it's more often than not that you find yourself in his bed at early hours of the morning.

"Hey," His drowsy tone fills your ears. "Where are you goin?" He wonders, half-asleep.

"Home."

"Hmm," He groans, rolling his face into the pillow you were using. "Gonna come back tonight?"

"I don't know yet." You murmur. "We'll see."

He sits up to kiss you like he does if he's awake when you leave. You panic and lean in to pat his chest before pulling away quickly.

"I'll text you, Rafe. Bye."

No pet names, terms of endearment, or nicknames. That's another one of your rules. Yet here you are, letting Rafe run his hand through your hair, lips at your ear as he whispers sweet words to you.

You curl deeper into his embrace, breaking another rule—no cuddling. Something about Rafe just intoxicates you, making you forget about everything and anything.

You're drifting further into sleep until your phone rings, the buzzing reverberating against the nightstand it rests on.

"Your phone's ringing, sweetheart."

"Fuck," You murmur, waving your hand around blindly. Rafe reaches his long arm over you, plucking your phone off the table and handing it to you.

You answer the phone, doing your best to disguise your sleep-ridden voice. It's your mom and you sit up a bit.

"Hi honey," she says softly. "Are you going to be home tonight?"

Ever since you came home from college for the summer, you've been going out with your friends and having sleepovers, and obviously—staying with Rafe—so it's an understandable question for your mom to ask.