I'm sitting up in bed reviewing testimony notes. Professional behavior. Trying to focus on what Traci needs instead of what my body wants.
Eli crosses the room. Takes the notes from my hands. Sets them aside. Then his hand is around my throat, thumb pressing against my pulse.
"You're thinking too much."
"Someone has to?—"
"Not right now." He leans in close. Mouth against my ear. "Right now you're going to stop thinking about testimony and start thinking about what I'm going to do to you."
"Eli, we can't. Traci's close by?—"
"Then you better be quiet." His other hand slides under the covers. Finds bare skin. "Or do you need me to cover your mouth again?"
I should say no. Should be responsible. Should remember that we're in a hotel suite preparing for a federal trial and this is completely inappropriate.
But when his fingers slide between my legs and find me already wet, responsibility doesn't seem nearly as important as the need burning through me.
He makes me come twice with his hand. Once slow and deliberate, building the pressure until I'm shaking. Once fast and rough, fingers ruthless on my clit while his other hand covers my mouth to muffle the sounds.
Then he's gone. Back to his room like nothing happened. Leaving me wrecked and wanting and completely unable to focus on testimony notes.
It becomes a pattern. Days spent preparing Traci. Nights spent with Eli claiming me in ways that make it impossible to think about anything except how thoroughly he owns me.
Three days before the trial, Whitmore pulls me aside.
"Defense is going to argue she's been coached," he says without preamble. "That her testimony is unreliable because of trauma-induced memory issues. That she can't definitively identify Graves as the person running the trafficking operation."
"She can identify him," I say. Voice steadier than I feel. "She was held in his compound. Saw him directly."
"I know. But they'll push the reliability angle. Try to create reasonable doubt about her mental state during captivity."Whitmore meets my eyes. "That's where you come in, Dr. Sage. As the physician who's been treating her, you can testify to her cognitive function and memory reliability."
My stomach tightens. "When?"
"After Traci's testimony. Defense cross-examination will likely challenge her credibility. We'll call you to establish her competence and the validity of her account."
That night, Eli finds me on the hotel balcony. Cold air. Anchorage lights spread below. Trying to process what testifying will mean.
He doesn't say anything. Just pulls me back against his chest. Arms wrapping around me. Solid warmth cutting through the cold.
"You'll do fine," he says quietly.
"How do you know?"
"Because you're competent. Because you know Traci's condition better than anyone. Because you don't break under pressure." His mouth finds my neck. Not sexual, just connection. "And because I've watched you handle emergencies that would make most people freeze. A courtroom is nothing compared to that."
I turn in his arms. Look up at him. See the absolute certainty in his expression. The belief that I can handle this because he's seen me handle worse.
"What if I mess up? What if my testimony isn't enough?"
"Then we deal with it. Together." His hand cups my face. Rough calluses against my skin. "You're not doing this alone, Helena. You're never doing anything alone again."
The promise settles something in my chest. Makes the fear manageable.
He kisses me then. Slow and thorough. Taking his time despite the cold. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker.
"Inside. Now."
I go. Always do when he uses that tone.
