Chapter 16 Sabrina
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.
He scoops me up, easy and familiar now, and carries me the few steps to the mattress. He lays me down like I am something precious. He follows, covering me with his body but keeping most of his weight on his forearms.
Clothes come off slowly. His shirt. My borrowed flannel. His sweatpants. My underwear. Skin to skin. Warmth to warmth.
He kisses down my throat. Across my collarbone. Lower. He takes one nipple into his mouth, gentle suck, slow swirl of his tongue, until I arch and whisper his name.
“Beck…”
He moves lower still. He kisses the soft curve of my stomach. The sensitive skin inside my thighs. Then he spreads me gently and drags his tongue along my center in one long, reverent stroke.
I gasp. My fingers thread into his hair. My hips lift toward his mouth.
He licks again. Slower. Deeper. He sucks my clit between his lips and flicks with his tongue in steady, patient circles until my thighs tremble and my breath comes in short, desperate pants.
“God, Beck—”
Two thick fingers slide inside me, curling just right, while his mouth stays on me, relentless and tender all at once.
I come apart quietly, shuddering, crying his name into the dark, pulsing around his fingers and against his tongue.
He kisses his way back up my body. He settles between my thighs. He notches himself at my entrance. “Look at me,” he whispers.
I do.
He pushes in slow, inch by inch, eyes never leaving mine. When he’s buried deep we both still. Just breathing. Just feeling.
Then he starts to move. Slow rolls of his hips. Deep, grinding thrusts that make my toes curl and my breath hitch.
I wrap my legs around him. I pull him closer. Nails drag down his back. “Harder,” I breathe.
He gives it to me, faster, deeper, the headboard tapping softly against the wall.
I cling to him. I whisper broken little pleas against his lips.
He hooks one of my knees over his elbow. He opens me wider. He drives deeper.
“Beck, I’m—”
“Come,” he growls against my throat. “Let me feel you.”
I do, harder this time, crying out as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
He follows, thrusting deep, burying himself, coming with a low, broken groan that vibrates through both of us as he spills inside me.
We stay locked together afterward. Panting. Trembling. Hearts slowing together.
He rolls us so I drape across his chest. His arms wrap tight around me. His lips brush my hair.
We don’t speak for a long time. We just listen to each other breathe. We listen to the quiet mountain outside.
Finally I lift my head. I trace the line of his jaw. “I want to stay,” I whisper. “Here. With you. Not just until the paperwork’s done. Not just until the grief gets quieter. Forever.”
His arms tighten around me. “Then stay,” he murmurs. “Forever starts right now.”
I smile against his skin, small, bright, certain. “Forever starts right now,” I echo.
The moonlight keeps spilling across the bed. The snow keeps melting outside. And inside, the future feels real.
Ours.
And that is everything.