Chapter 4
FOUR
SAbrINA
I wake up to the smell of pine smoke and coffee, and the heavy, delicious weight of Beck’s arm draped across my waist like it’s always belonged there.
The storm is still raging outside. It’s lower now, more of a steady roar than the screaming fury of last night but inside the cabin it’s warm, quiet, safe.
My body feels tender in places I forgot could feel this good.
A sweet, lingering ache between my thighs.
A faint soreness in my shoulders from the way I’d arched and gripped the headboard when he’d flipped me onto my stomach sometime around three a.m. and taken me slow and deep until I’d begged him to go harder.
I shift, just enough to feel the crisp hair on his chest brush my back, the solid heat of him pressed along every inch of me. He’s still asleep—or pretending to be. His breathing is slow, even, but the arm around me tightens a fraction when I move, instinctive, possessive.
I smile into the pillow. Who knew grumpy lumberjacks were cuddlers?
Carefully, I turn in his hold until I’m facing him. His face is softer in sleep—still all sharp angles and dark beard, but the perpetual scowl is gone. Long lashes. A small scar cutting through one eyebrow I hadn’t noticed before. He looks almost peaceful. Almost boyish.
Almost mine.
The thought hits harder than it should.
I trace one finger lightly down the center of his chest, following the line of dark hair that disappears under the sheet bunched around his hips. He doesn’t stir, but I feel the subtle hitch in his breathing.
“Morning,” I whisper.
His eyes stay closed. “Not morning yet. Storm’s still dark.”
“Feels like morning.” I lean in, press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You smell like sex and woodsmoke.”
One eye cracks open. Hazel-green, sleepy, amused. “You smell like me.”
Heat floods my cheeks—and lower. “Is that a complaint?”
He rolls us in one smooth motion so I’m underneath him, sheet tangled between us, his weight braced on his forearms. He’s already half-hard against my thigh. My legs part automatically, welcoming him.
“Never,” he murmurs, voice still rough from sleep. He kisses me slow, lazy, morning-deep. No urgency yet. Just tasting. Savoring.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You sore?”
“A little.” I smile. “Worth it.”
His gaze darkens. “Good.”
He kisses down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. Takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks gently. I arch, fingers sliding into his hair. He switches sides, gives the same slow attention, then continues down my stomach, kissing every freckle he finds like he’s memorizing them.
When he reaches the apex of my thighs he pauses, looks up at me through dark lashes.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
I nod, breathless.
He spreads me with gentle thumbs, then lowers his mouth.
This time it’s different from last night—less frantic, more deliberate. Long, languid licks. Soft sucks. Two thick fingers sliding inside me, curling just right while his tongue circles my clit in slow, patient spirals.
I come quietly this time—shuddering, gasping his name into the crook of my elbow so I don’t wake the whole mountain. He doesn’t stop until the aftershocks fade, kissing the inside of each thigh before crawling back up to cover me again.
He’s fully hard now, thick and hot against my entrance.
“Condom?” I whisper.
“Already on.” He must have done it while I was still floating. Thoughtful. Careful. Always.
He pushes in slow—inch by inch—watching my face the whole time. When he’s seated deep, he stills, letting me adjust, letting us both feel it.
“You feel…” He swallows. “Fuck, Sabrina.”
I wrap my legs around him. “Move.”
He does. Slow rolls at first—deep, grinding thrusts that make my toes curl. Then faster. Harder. The bed creaks under us. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing every moan, every gasp.
I score my nails down his back—hard enough to leave red lines he’ll feel later. He growls against my lips, hips snapping sharper.
“Again,” he rasps. “Come again. Want to feel you.”
I’m already close, coiled tight from his mouth and the way he’s hitting that spot inside me over and over.
“Beck—”
He hooks my knee higher on his hip, and changes the angle just enough.
I shatter. Louder this time. Back bowing. Nails digging crescents into his shoulders. He fucks me through it until his rhythm stutters and he buries himself deep with a low, broken groan, pulsing inside me.
We stay locked together, breathing hard, foreheads pressed, hearts hammering in tandem.
After a long minute he kisses me—soft now, almost reverent. “Coffee,” he mutters against my lips.
I laugh, breathless. “Priorities.”
“Damn right.” He pulls out carefully, disposes of the condom, then tugs me up with him.
He wraps me in the quilt like a cocoon and carries me into the living room.
He sets me on the couch in front of the fire, tucks the quilt tighter, then pads to the kitchen in nothing but low-slung sweatpants that make my mouth water all over again.
When he comes back with two mugs, he sits close—thigh pressed to mine—and hands me one.
I sip. Ah. It’s perfect. Strong. Just sweet enough.
He watches me over the rim of his own mug. Something serious flickering in his eyes.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods once. “Thinking.”
“About?”
“About how long this storm’s gonna last.” He sets his mug down. “And how long I can keep you here before you start missing the city.”
My stomach drops. “I’m not missing anything.”
He studies me. “You will. Eventually.”
“No.” I set my own mug aside, and turn to face him fully. “I didn’t come up this mountain looking for forever, Beck. I came up here running. Scared. Alone. And then you happened.”
His jaw tightens.
I reach out, cupping his face, and my thumb brushes the edge of his beard. “I’m not running anymore.”
He covers my hand with his, and holds it there. “Good,” he says, voice low. “Because I’m not letting you.”
The words land heavy. Possessive. Permanent.
Outside, the wind howls. Inside, the fire crackles. And for the first time in months—maybe years—I don’t feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just feel… here. With him. And it’s enough.
For now, it’s more than enough.