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It was the stress, Sam told herself. It was the stress and fear and pain that forced her into what she was doing. It was all that that led her to pressing herself up to Mike and furiously kissing him.
She was scared, she was tired, she needed closure and Mike was the only one left to give it to her.
He kissed her with the same hunger she felt. The uninjured hand on the back of her neck, pressing her close while both of hers were around his waist, fingers digging into the old army coat he was wearing. He tasted of blood and grime and she didn’t care, emitting tiny whimpers every time their lips parted.
God, how she needed this.
The mines, the Wendigo. It was too much. When she had sprinted back to the cabin, met up with Mike who was alone, it was too much.
“We should check the basement,” he had said, beginning to move away.
It was the stress. Partly.
Tasting his lips made her think it was more than that.
His fingers were massaging into her skull and he had tilted her head just right. Sam heard all the stories about his kisses and now she could tell none of them were lies. Mike was a damn good kisser.
He was breathing her name in between kisses, “Sam, Sam, fuck.”
Her name seemed to pull her back into the present and she drew herself back. “Mike-“ Her voice faltered and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, feeling his arms wrap around her. What the hell am I doing?
In his arms, she felt herself relax, her breathing calming into a relaxed rhythm. For the first time in hours, she felt warm.
“We should check the basement,” she said.
“Yeah.” Mike allowed her to pull away, to stand back and look at him. He gave her a weary smile. “Yeah.”
Pursing her lips and feeling the faint taste of Mike still on them, Sam turned around.
Perhaps, they still had a chance.