Chapter 5 Beck
FIVE
BECK
The coffee’s gone cold on the table between us.
I watch her sip from her mug anyway, like she’s buying time, like the bitter taste might ground her.
Her hair’s still mussed from my hands, cheeks still flushed from what we just did in the bedroom, but her eyes—those hazel eyes that pinned me the second I pulled her from that wrecked car—are distant now.
Flickering toward the window where snow whips sideways against the glass.
She’s thinking about running. About whatever’s waiting down the mountain when this storm finally breaks.
I hate it.
I hate that I can feel her pulling away even while she’s sitting right here, leg pressed to mine, wearing nothing but my shirt and my scent. “Stop,” I say. Quiet. Rough.
Her gaze snaps back to me. “Stop what?”
“Thinking about running.”
She sets the mug down too carefully. Fingers linger on the handle like it’s the only thing keeping her steady. “I’m not running.”
“You’re planning how you will.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, closing the space without touching her yet. “I can see it. The way your shoulders tense. The way you keep looking at the door.”
Her laugh is small. Brittle. “You’ve known me for less than twenty-four hours, Beck. You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Bullshit.” I catch her chin gently, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw.
Force her eyes to stay on mine. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.
You’re thinking you brought this trouble to my door.
You’re thinking if you leave first—before the pass opens, before whoever’s hunting you figures out where you landed—you can keep me out of it. Keep me safe.”
Her breath hitches. Just once. But it’s enough.
I slide my hand to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair the way I did when I kissed her awake this morning.
Only this time there’s no heat in it. Just anchor.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” I tell her.
Low. Steady. “Not after last night. Not after this morning. Not after you came apart under me twice and whispered my name like it was the only word you remembered.”
Her eyes go glassy. Not tears—not yet—but close. “Beck, if they find me here—”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know this mountain. I know these woods. I know every trail, every blind spot, every place a vehicle can’t go.
And I know how to make sure no one walks out of here who isn’t supposed to.
” My voice drops darker. “I’ve lived alone up here long enough to forget how to be soft.
Until you. So yeah, Sabrina—if they come, they’ll have to go through me.
And I promise you, they won’t like what happens next. ”
She searches my face. Looking for the lie. The exaggeration. The empty bravado men throw around when they want to sound tough.
She doesn’t find it.
Because there isn’t any.
Her lower lip trembles. Just once. Then she’s moving—fast, desperate—climbing into my lap, knees bracketing my hips, arms wrapping around my neck like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
I catch her. Hold her tight against my chest. One hand splayed across her back, the other cradling the nape of her neck. She buries her face in the crook of my shoulder and I feel the first hot tear hit my skin.
“I didn’t want this,” she whispers. Voice cracking. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into my mess. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted—”
“You did.” I press my lips to her temple. “And you’re not dragging me anywhere. I carried you in here. I locked the door behind us. I put my hands on you. My mouth on you. My cock inside you. That was my choice. Every fucking second of it.”
She shudders against me. Fingers digging into my shoulders. “I’m scared,” she admits. So quiet I almost miss it over the wind.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to lose this.” Her voice breaks on the last word. “I don’t want to lose you.” The words land like a fist to the sternum. It steals my air, and cracks something open inside my chest I didn’t know was still sealed shut.
I pull back just enough to cup her face in both hands.
Thumbs brushing away the tears tracking down her cheeks.
“You won’t,” I say. And it’s not a promise.
It’s a fact. Carved into bone. “You hear me? You’re not losing me.
Not to a storm. Not to some suit in a black SUV.
Not to anything. This—” I rock my hips once, just enough for her to feel how hard I still am for her, how much my body still wants her even in the middle of this conversation—“this isn’t temporary.
This isn’t convenient. This is mine now.
You’re mine now. And I protect what’s mine. ”
Her breath catches again. Different this time. Not fear. Something hotter. Hungrier. She leans in, forehead pressing to mine. “Then don’t let me go.”
“Never.”
Her mouth finds mine—soft at first, trembling—then harder. Needier. Like she’s trying to crawl inside me and stay there.
I kiss her back the same way. Desperate. Claiming. Hands sliding under the flannel to grip her bare hips, pulling her tighter against me until there’s nothing between us but heat and want and the pounding certainty that whatever comes next, we face it together.
She breaks the kiss long enough to whisper against my lips, “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If they come… don’t be a hero. Don’t die for me.”
I smile against her mouth. Dark. Dangerous. “Sweetheart, I’m not dying for you. I’m living for you. And anyone who tries to take that away is gonna find out real quick how permanent that decision is.”
She shivers. Not from cold. Then she’s kissing me again—fiercer this time—and I’m lifting her, carrying her back toward the bedroom because words aren’t enough anymore.
The storm howls louder. The fire burns lower. But right here, right now, with her legs locked around my waist and her heartbeat thundering against mine—
We’re untouchable.
And I’ll burn the whole damn mountain down before I let that change.