"He fucked with your birth control?"
"Yes," she confirms, and her hands are back on my face holding my gaze. I don't know what she sees, but I have no poker face, I'm sure. "Logan, you promised."
"You figured it out?"
"Yes," she whispers, still holding me in place. "And we got into a huge fight. I only remember it in snippets. But a lot of yelling. Then he pushed me, and I fell. I cracked the back of my head on something. A table? The arm of the chair? I'm not sure. When I came to, he was... He was frantic. Told me I'd tripped. At first I didn't remember anything, but then enough of what happened snapped back into place. In the bathroom, I called Stephen, and I stayed locked in the bathroom until he got there. I didn't unlock it until I heard Stephen's voice."
She's still gripping my face, and I'm struggling to hold in my anger at what she's telling me. "He put his hands on you." My voice cracks.
"That was the worst instance."
"It happened more than once?" I can't keep the disbelief out of my voice.
"This time, I left, and I never went back. Cut him off. Cut him out. But I didn't realize all the damage he'd done that no one else could see."
Except I did see it. Maybe I didn't understand it, but it was there. Her lack of confidence when she was clearly good at her job, her hesitation to get involved in the first place, her refusal to have her photo taken unless she knew and consented—all of it adds up now.
"Logan, you promised," she says, and her voice is thick with tears. "You can't break that promise. Because I don't care what happens to me, but I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you because you thought you needed to defend me. You don't. I'm okay. I'm okay now."
She's not. Not completely. In large part because he still has photos and videos he's holding over her head. The hints he dropped about trying to force her back into a relationship once I'm off the island weigh heavy on my mind. 
I take deep breaths, trying to get my raging protective mode back in line with what's realistic. Going to his house and beating the shit out of him means he wins. My head knows that, even if my heart wants him to pay physically for laying even one finger on her.
 "I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place, but I don't want you stuck there with me, okay?" she whispers.
"Wherever you are," I say, my voice gruff, "that's where I am. If you're in a corner, I'm fighting our way out right beside you. He's not winning, doc. He's not dragging you down again."
"I don't know how we win," she says, her voice watery again. "If he releases what he has, I just look like I'm trying to deflect or cover up the truth."
"Your leverage might be gone, but that just means we need to remove his too."
Her gaze softens, and she searches my expression. "I love you for trying, for wanting to try."
My heart skips, but I refuse to read too much into her words. It's not quite a declaration, but it's so fucking close. Maybe it's stupid, but I don't want to be loved "for" anything. I want her to feel for me the way I feel for her—like love is an unstoppable force. Even if I wanted to fight it or deny it, I couldn't. I love her. It's a fact. Immovable. All consuming. The best and worst thing. The highest of highs. Which, honestly, are making me really fucking terrified for the lowest lows that I'm sure are coming.
"No matter what I have to do, he won't win. And I'm not sacrificing either of us to make that happen. That's not winning. Winning is when he's got nothing left, and we've got everything. That's when I'll know we've won. Things that matter to me, I don't do half-assed."
"I don't need all that." She feathers kisses along my jawline, and one of her hands is caressing the front of my pants, drawing my focus elsewhere. "We just need to stay smart about it all."
I give into her seduction. She wants me to forget what I've vowed. To go along to get along. 
That's never been my style.
And as I lift up her shirt, unclip her bra, and scrape her nipple with my teeth, I'm already plotting. Planning. 
She gasps, clutching onto my back and arching into the contact.
Her giving into Dalton's tactics won't happen while I'm around, and I want to make sure it can't happen if I'm gone. I'm desperate to prevent whatever he intends to do. 
With my palm flat, I slide my hand into her leggings, swirling my fingers around the sensitive bundle of nerves that'll have her coming in minutes. She comes so fast for me now—no hesitation to seek her own release, and I fucking love it. 
"You're so wet already, doc. I need a taste."
She tugs down her leggings, eager to have my mouth on her. It's her favorite way to come. My mouth on her clit and my fingers inside her. I lift her onto the counter before I drop to my knees, spreading her legs.
When I trail kisses up her thigh without hitting the spot she wants, her fingers sink into my scalp. 
"Please," she moans. "Don't make me beg today."
Fuck it. I'll give her what she wants. I cover her pussy with my mouth, licking and sucking and swirling my tongue in the rhythm that'll get her to the brink the fastest, and when I can feel her starting to tense, I dip my finger in. One. Then two. Then three. She gasps, but then says, "More." 
"It's not enough," she cries, urging me up off my knees. "I need you. Now. I just need you now."
She draws my shirt over my head, her hands smoothing along my tense flesh, while I open a drawer and take out a condom. They're stashed all over my apartment and her house, ready for whenever the urge strikes. 
"How do you want it?" I ask drawing her to the edge of the counter.
"So deep and so hard that I can't even think straight." She links her heels at the small of my back. "Shut off my brain, Logan."
"My pleasure." I thrust into her, pulling her tight. Then I start a rhythm that causes her to gasp and moan with each entrance and withdrawal. Every time I make sure we're brushing our bodies together, hitting exactly the place she needs. 
"Oh, god," she moans, one hand braced on the counter, the other around my neck. "You're so good at this."
"You're going to come for me, doc. You know that? You're going to come like a good fucking girl when I tell you to."
"Yes," she gasps, wiggling in my embrace. "Yes."
Then I take my thumb, and I lick it. I swirl it slowly in the place she needs while I keep the punishing rhythm going. 
Her arm starts to shake, and I tut. "Not yet. I'm not ready yet."
"I want it so bad," she gasps. 
"What do you want, doc?" I murmur against her ear before nipping at the lobe. "You want me deeper?"
"Yes."
"Harder?"
"Yes."
"Faster?"
"Oh, god. Yes. Logan, I can't... I'm going..."
I press a little harder with my thumb. "Come for me, doc."
Her breath hitches, and then she throws her head back with a long, satisfied moan, and I chase my own release, already knowing that the next moves I make, well, she may not like them at all. 
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