Page 108 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

She does.

The words spill out like blood from a wound—everything about her father, the choice he made, the lie she built her life on. By the end, she's trembling again.

"I was wrong," she whispers. "About everything. The truth doesn't save people. It gets them killed. My father knew that. He died protecting me from it. And I've spent my whole life doing exactly what he tried to prevent."

I cup her face in my hands, make her look at me. "Listen to me. Your father made a choice. His choice. Not yours."

"But—"

"No. He chose to protect you because that's what fathers do. But that doesn't mean you have to live in his shadow. Or his fear."

A tear slips down her cheek. I catch it.

"You're not wrong for wanting the truth," I continue. "You're not wrong for fighting. You're just... human. With all the messy, complicated parts that comes with it."

She's silent for a long moment, just looking at me. Then her hand comes up, covers mine where it rests against her cheek.

"Thank you."

I don't ask what for. Just lean forward and press my lips to her forehead. A benediction. A promise.

She turns her face into my palm, breath warm against my skin. Then lifts her head and kisses me.

Not gentle. Not careful.

Desperate.

Needing.

I don't hesitate. Just pull her closer, letting her take what she needs. Her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me up as she rises.

We stumble toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and breath and want. She pushes me down, climbs into my lap like she's claiming territory.

Her mouth finds mine again—harder this time. Demanding. I grip her hips, steadying her as she rocks against me.

"Please," she whispers against my lips. "I need..."

"What?" My voice is rough. "Tell me what you need."

Her hands frame my face, eyes boring into mine with fierce intensity.

"Distract me," she breathes. "Just for tonight."

34

SLOANE

My lips find Logan's as I straddle him, perched on the edge of his bed.

It’s a position that gives me complete control, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside me.

This might be our last night together, and I’m determined to make it count.

I need to engrave him into my skin, my memory, to carry every touch, every sensation with me like a secret treasure.

His hands rest lightly on my hips, a silent acknowledgment that I’m in charge here.

The subtle shift of power between us is intoxicating. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t take control—he simply waits, gazing up at me with those stormy gray eyes that hold a world of restraint.