My head falls back. Throat working. A low, broken sound tearing out. “Fuck—Sabrina—gonna fill you again. Gonna breed you until you’re dripping with me.”
She clenches around me. Hard.
I buck up into her once. Twice.
Then I flip us so she is beneath me again.
I drive deep—hard—relentless—until we both break. Her cry muffles against my shoulder. My groan buries in her neck. Heat spills inside her as we tremble through it together.
When it passes I collapse half on top of her. Breathing hard against her skin. We stay tangled. Spent. Hearts slowing in sync.
I lift my head after a minute, and look at her—really look. “Mine,” I whisper.
She smiles—shaky, bright, beautiful. “Yours.”
SIXTEEN
SABRINA
The stars shine sharper tonight than they have since the storm broke.
I stand at the bedroom window in one of Beck’s old flannel shirts, sleeves rolled to my elbows, hem brushing mid-thigh, watching moonlight turn the snow into something almost liquid silver. The cabin stays quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire in the living room and the occasional drip from the eaves. Everything feels suspended, like the mountain itself holds its breath.
Behind me, Beck moves through the doorway. I don’t need to turn to know it is him; I feel the shift in the air, the way the room warms when he enters it.
He comes up behind me slowly. He doesn’t speak at first. He just slides his arms around my waist from behind and pulls my back to his chest. His chin rests on my shoulder. His beard tickles the side of my neck. Warm. Solid. Safe.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he murmurs against my ear.
I shake my head. I lean back into him. “Too much quiet. It feels strange after everything.”
His hands flatten on my stomach, thumbs stroking slow circles through the soft flannel. “Quiet’s good sometimes. Means nothing’s trying to break down the door.”
A small laugh escapes me, shaky and surprised. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
He turns me gently in his arms until we face each other. Moonlight catches the green in his eyes and makes them look almost luminous. He studies me for a long beat, thumb brushing the curve of my cheek.
“You’re thinking about him,” he says. Not accusing. Just knowing.
I swallow. I nod once. “I keep seeing his face when they put the cuffs on. The way he looked at me, like I was the one who betrayed him. Like I was the one who changed.”
Beck’s jaw tightens for a second, then softens. “He changed first. Long before you found the files. You didn’t betray him, Sabrina. You saved what was left of your own conscience. And maybe some other people’s futures too.”
I look down at his chest. I trace the line of his collarbone with one fingertip. “I know. I just miss who he used to be. And I hate that missing him feels like letting him win.”
He catches my chin. He lifts my gaze back to his.
“You’re not letting him win. You’re grieving. That’s different.” His voice drops lower. “And you get to do it here. With me. Where it’s safe to feel everything.”
Tears sting again, hot and quick. I blink them back. Then I rise on my toes and kiss him. Soft at first. Tentative. Like I need to test whether tenderness is still allowed after so much hurt.
He kisses me back the same way, slow and careful, hands sliding up my back to cradle my head. The kiss deepens gradually, heat building like a slow-burning fire. My fingers knot in his shirt. His tongue brushes mine. A small sound escapes my throat.
When we part, breathing uneven, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Bed,” he says. Rough. Quiet. “Let me hold you.”
I nod.
