It’s slow. Deep. Devastating.
I kiss her back the same way—unhurried, reverent—tasting salt and sorrow and the fierce, unshakable certainty that she’s mine. My hands roam her body—not claiming, not possessing,justfeeling. Memorizing every curve, every tremble, every place she’s soft and strong and fragile all at once.
When I slide inside her again, it’s gentle. Slow. Deep enough to make us both gasp.
No rush.
No need to chase release.
Just the quiet, steady rhythm of two people trying to become one before the world tries to tear them apart.
Her legs wrap around me. Arms lock behind my neck. We move together—small rocking motions, shallow thrusts that keep us joined, keep us close, keep the ache between us from growing too big.
I bury my face in her neck. Breathe her in. Whisper against her skin the things I’ve never said to anyone.
“I’ve been alone so long I forgot what it felt like to need someone. Then you crashed into my life—literally—and suddenly I couldn’t breathe without you in the room. Couldn’t think without knowing you were safe. Couldn’t imagine tomorrow without you in it.”
She turns her head, lips brushing my ear. “I was running from everything. And I ran straight into you. Like the universe knew I’d need someone who’d fight for me when I couldn’t fight for myself anymore.”
I lift my head. Look into her eyes—wet, shining, full of something so tender it hurts. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “Even if he comes. Even if we have to run. Even if we lose everything else. You’re my home now, Sabrina. Not this cabin. Not this mountain. You.”
A tear slips down her cheek. She smiles through it—small, radiant, heartbreaking. “You’re mine too,” she whispers.
We don’t speak after that.
We just move—slow, intimate, wrapped so tightly together I can’t tell where I end and she begins. I think about putting a baby inside her. Breeding her. Making us a family. I want that more than anything. The thought makes me come harder than I ever have before. When we come it’s quiet—shuddering sighs, trembling limbs, her name on my lips like a vow, mine on hers like a prayer.
Afterward we don’t separate.
I stay inside her. She stays wrapped around me. We lie there on the rug, fire dying to embers, storm a distant murmur now, hearts beating in the same uneven rhythm.
Her fingers find mine. Lace them together.
“Promise me something,” she says softly.
“Anything.”
“Tomorrow… no matter what happens… we come back here. To this spot. To this moment. Even if it’s just in our heads. We come back.”
I squeeze her hand, and press my lips to her forehead. “We’ll come back,” I murmur. “Every day. Every night. Until the day I die. And then I’ll wait for you on the other side so we can keep coming back forever.”
She exhales—a long, shaky breath that sounds like relief. Then she whispers the last thing I expect. “I want to marry you, Beck Ironwood.”
My heart stops. Then starts again—harder, louder, fuller. I pull back just enough to see her face.
She’s smiling now—real, bright, terrified and sure all at once.
“Not today,” she adds quickly. “Not tomorrow. But… someday. When this is over. When we’re safe. I want forever with you. The real kind. The kind that has rings and vows and bad dancing at a reception.”
I stare at her. Then I laugh—low, rough, cracked open. And I kiss her like she’s already wearing my ring. “Yes,” I say against her mouth. “A thousand times yes.”
Tomorrow the pass opens. Tomorrow the fight comes. But tonight? Tonight we hold each other like the world can’t touch us. Because it can’t.
Not anymore.
Not when we’ve already promised forever in the dark, on a rug in front of dying coals, with nothing between us but truth and love and the quiet certainty that we were always meant to find each other—right here, right now, right when everything else was falling apart.
TEN
