"Relax." Quiet command against her ear. "Verdict comes back guilty. Then we go home. Then I spend the rest of the night reminding you who you belong to."
Her body softens against mine. Accepting the dominance. Trusting me to handle what she can't.
The bailiff announces the jury's ready.
We file back in. Traci between Helena and me. Rebecca nearby.
The foreman stands. "We the jury find the defendant, Simon Graves, guilty on all counts."
Guilty. Every fucking charge.
Traci's hands are gripped together in her lap. I hear Helena's breath catch. Relief and vindication mixing with the knowledge that justice actually worked this time.
Can't touch her yet. Not until we're out of this courtroom. But soon. Very soon. Going to take her apart and put her back together until she forgets how to think about anything except my hands on her body.
Two weeks later at the sentencing justice delivers what it should. Life in federal prison without parole. Graves remanded to maximum security.
The gavel falls.
Justice, delivered.
We're escorted out through a side exit to avoid the press. Federal marshals maintaining security until we're clear of the courthouse.
The moment we're in the secured hallway, I find Helena. Pull her against me. Hand fisting in her hair. Not gentle. Need the contact too much for gentle.
"You did good," I tell her. Voice rough.
"So did Traci." Her hands find my chest. Gripping my shirt like she needs the anchor as much as I need her.
"Yeah. She did." I kiss her. Hard and claiming. Possessive in ways that should probably concern her but only make her press closer. When I pull back, my thumb traces her swollen lips. "Let's go home."
We leave Anchorage that afternoon. Helena sits beside me for the drive. Traci sleeps in the back. First real rest she's had in weeks.
Helena's hand rests on my thigh. High enough to be possessive. Her fingers trace patterns that have nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with the promise I made in the courthouse hallway.
"You're thinking about it," she says quietly.
"Yeah."
"About what you're going to do to me when we get home?"
"Among other things."
Her hand slides higher. Bold for her in daylight. "Tell me."
"No. You'll find out when I have you naked and pinned beneath me."
Her breath catches. Her thighs press together. The anticipation building between us like static before a storm.
Two months later, life has settled into routines that feel permanent.
Helena's clinic operates as an official trafficking survivor resource now. State funding is secured. A partnership with the Aurora Covenant formalized. She's building something that matters. Something that saves lives.
And she comes home to me every night.
She moved into the cabin at the edge of town with us six weeks after the trial. Her things appeared beside mine gradually until one day the house just felt complete. Her scent in the sheets. Her coffee mug in the cabinet. Her body wrapped around mine every morning when I wake already hard and wanting.
The sex hasn't dulled. If anything, it's intensified. Domesticity mixed with dominance.
