Page 110 of Into Pitch

He hasn’t said much since we left Pitch, and strangely, I don’t need him to. There’s no rush to justify or soften what I did. It is what it is, and there’s no going back now.

The truth of that sinks past shock and straight into my bones.

I don’t feel guilt or shame, that’s for sure. Which is strange, because I sort of thought that I would feel those things. When in actuality, all I feel is relief. Like this small part of the rot inside of me has been carved away leaving room for something else to take its place.

When the cabin finally comes into view, warm light glowing through the windows, something inside of me twists hard. This place isn’t just where he took me anymore, it’s where I stood on my own two feet afterword.

He kills the engine and for a long moment neither of us moves. As if we’re afraid that if we do it might just spiral away from us.

“I didn’t think,” I say suddenly, voice softer than I expect, “that it would feel like that.”

He turns his head toward me, his gaze searching mine. His mask now resting in the trunk alongside the bloodstained one of my own.

“How did it feel?” He asks.

“Like… I finally stopped running and all that weight I’ve been carrying didn’t disappear—but shifted. Like it belongs to me now instead of sitting on my chest.” I admit softly, letting my head fall back against the seat.

“I knew you had it in you,” he murmurs. “No hesitation.”

“No,” I whisper. “There wasn’t.”

I open the car door before I can overthink it and step out into the cool night air. The forest smells alive, the quiet broken only by distant insects and the soft thud of my boots on gravel. Aware of the weight of the storm Alex is at my back as he follows me.

Inside the cabin, the door clicks shut behind us, sealing the world away. Turning on my heel to face him fully as I just… lay it out there.

“I don’t regret it,” I say, because he needs to hear that. Because I need to hear it out loud. “I don’t regret what I did or being there. Or being with you.”

His brow arches. “Neither do I.”

I nod, stepping closer. So close now that my chest brushes his and I can feel the heat of him through the layers of clothes between us. My hands lift before I consciously decide to move them, fingers curling into the front of his jacket.

“This wasn’t like before. This was anger and control, and maybe just a bit of proving something to myself.” I continue.

“I agree,” he murmurs as his fingers find the bottom of my vest, toying with the fabric.

“It was a choice, Alex.” I whisper. “And I chose you.”

His mouth slams into my own and I whimper at the ferocity of it, my hands shooting up to cup his face. He tastes like coming up for air after drowning in the darkness for years.

“Bedroom,” I rasp, my fingers fumbling with his vest.

He grins against my mouth, his hands sliding to cup the back of my thighs before lifting me with ease. My legs wrap around his waist and his smile is infectious as he begins to walk me backwards toward the worn door.

“Bedroom,” he agrees.

And then he’s kissing me again, until the world narrows to the warmth of his mouth and the promise waiting just beyond the threshold. The moment we cross, things get a lot messier.

I don’t know if I’ve ever torn the clothes off a man as hungrily as I have now. I’m not sure how we manage to get naked in the time span in which we do, but one moment we’re pulling things and the next I’m sprawled over the edge of the bed, him knelt between my thighs. The wickedness of his tongue pulling a soft whimper up my throat.

“Miss me, little fox?” He purrs against my heat.

“Please shut up,” I rasp, my fingers delving into the thick locks on his crown. Holding him to me as his tongue finds a devastating rhythm. He chuckles, and I’m opening my mouth to bark at him for it when his fingers fill that empty space inside of me that I’ve worked very hard to not want him within.

He groans in approval, lifting my thigh to rest over his shoulder, yanking me closer to the edge of the bed. “Alex,” I rasp, not sure if I could stop what’s building inside of me if I wanted to.

“Give it to me,” he orders, his fingers curling to hit that spot deep within that has me seeing stars.

I’m not sure what sound comes out of me, but it’s strangled as my back bows upward. My hands scrambling for purchase as he wrings out every last strand of sanity left inside of me.