Trigger warning: an event occurs early in this chapter that some readers may find controversial and/or unseemly. I view it as an important catalyst and welcome feedback on this narrative choice as well as any other aspect of the story.

Claire called Owen immediately upon her return to her office after meeting with Wu and Hoskins. Owen didn't answer after several rings, so she left a voicemail asking him to call her as soon as possible. She tapped her fingers nervously on her desk. She didn't know how he would react to her suggestion of Barry leaving the raptor project. She wished she could be the one to break the news. She dreaded how Hoskins might handle it. She second-guessed and warred with herself. In the moment, she believed she made the best decision under the circumstances. Wu and Hoskins were sending mixed messages, saying that the hybrid needed extra attention from ACU but resisting the idea of having a behaviorist handler.

Her suggestion for Barry was, however, influenced by her inside knowledge. Knowledge that was likely intended to remain in confidence. Sure, she didn't explicitly share specifics with Wu and Hoskins, but they understood what was implicit in her argument. Her stomach churned. She fucked up. She wasn't truly under duress. Despite having the distinct impression that the two men meant to intimate her in the lab, Claire could've chosen to speak with Owen first. She considered driving to the paddock, but her schedule for the rest of the day was tight. She had to catch up on a mountain of work. She cursed herself. Relationships. Having to consider others' feelings was as messy as Owen said.

She looked at her watch. Hoskins might be at the paddock already. Would he speak to Barry alone? Would he say that she insisted on having him shift to the new attraction? That wouldn't be an enormous exaggeration of the truth. She groaned thinking about Vic's exaggerations of his pteranodon capture story. She called Owen again. Straight to voicemail. No rings. "Oh, shit," she thought to herself as she slumped in the chair. She felt like an idiot who was constantly messing up. The polar opposite of how she felt in her career.

Claire tried to distract herself with assets management tasks. It worked for thirty minutes. That was when she received a text from Owen: "Stay away from the paddock. My hands are suddenly over-full." She ironically related to Terry from On the Waterfront when Edie told him to stay away from her. Terry forced himself into Edie's home, but Claire wouldn't do the same. Owen didn't say things were over between them. She imagined that he was just upset. Or hoped. She wrote back: "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you first." He didn't respond, so she went on with her day.

She didn't hear from him again until Friday afternoon. She had enough work to keep her mind occupied until late into the evenings. In idle moments, however, she was heartsick. It made her feel weak. She'd never allowed a man close enough to make her feel that way. Now, she knew why. She cried herself to sleep on Thursday night. Something else she'd never done. Claire was eventually able to settle herself with the idea that silence from him was preferable to his unleashing vitriol or breaking it off with her. She didn't know him well enough to understand if this was a "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"-type situation.

Owen called her just as she was about to enter the employee clinic. "Do you still want to come over tonight?" he asked with weariness in his voice.

"Yes," she answered, wanting to keep things short to prevent her voice from wavering.

"Eight o'clock okay?"

"Sure." Claire suddenly felt sick and wondered if he planned to end it.

"Did you have your appointment yet?"

"I'm...uh...there now."

"Good. See you tonight." He hung up without another word. It was strangely comforting. As she moved to pull open the clinic door, it burst open with a shock of violet hair. Marisa Wilkinson, in the flesh. She looked distracted and scowled when they locked eyes. Claire stepped aside to allow the other woman to pass. She was glad that Marisa's hair wasn't still in a matching red bob.

As Claire pulled up to the bungalow, she couldn't remember when she felt more shaken up. It surprisingly had nothing to do with the fact that it was the first time she'd driven a car in over a week. Owen was sitting in a chair under the metal awning of his trailer, bathed in light from the string of bulbs above him, and drinking a beer. Always his effortlessly sexy self. Her heart raced. He stood and silently held the trailer door open for her when she approached. They faced each other inside his small, dark kitchen. The only light was coming from the adjoining bungalow. The ambience matched the dark look in his eyes. Her brow furrowed. She missed the carefree Owen from her kitchen on Saturday night.

"How was your appointment?" he asked in a low tone.

Claire swallowed hard before answering, "Perfect. Clean bill of health."

"No post-concussive symptoms?"

"No. The black eye's even gone...if you can tell with the lights off." She scoffed and crossed her arms.

He chuckled viciously, "I can tell." Before she could take a breath, his mouth crushed against hers. Teeth clashed. Her tongue met his stroke for stroke. Their bodies clung together in fierce mutual desire. He tugged her wrists down to her sides before forcing her to step backwards. It was harsh but not hurtful. She felt the edge of a table against her thighs and almost stumbled into a sitting position. He swiftly turned her body and bent her forward onto the tabletop. As her forearms smacked down to catch herself, a plate and fork clattered to the floor. She laughed at the remembrance of his offer to lean her over something in his bungalow; then quickly chastised herself for finding humor in his current treatment. She'd never experienced an angry fuck before. It wasn't really something Claire needed Owen to open her world to. Although she didn't feel entirely comfortable, she trusted that he wouldn't harm her. That he would stop if she asked. His movements were controlled despite his obvious fury. She didn't resist and whimpered her consent.

He pulled her skirt up to her waist and ran his hands from her low back to her knees, pulling her underwear down along the way. It was undeniably hot. She heard him slipping on a condom. He was always prepared, even if the rest of his behavior wasn't how she expected a Boy Scout to act. When he slid inside her wet sheath, she cried out loudly. It caused him to still. His fingers relaxed their grip on her hips. She didn't want him to stop. "Keep going," she practically growled while bucking her hips into him. He started thrusting roughly, but his hands stayed gentle. This was better for her. The Owen she'd slept with was still in there.

Claire found an arousing rhythm to match his own. It seemed as if they were both biting their tongues. The darkness combined with the silence was a discombobulating mixture. With anyone else, it would've felt wrong. With Owen, it was erotic. Part of her didn't want him to know how much she was enjoying it. There was an element of shame despite the pleasure. She could tell that he was getting close by his noises and the quality of his movements. Confirming her suspicions, he nudged her legs slightly further apart to slip a hand between them. He stroked her clit in time with his thrusts, and she shattered apart with her orgasm shortly thereafter. He followed suit and rested his hands on the top of her ass while he pulsed inside her.

When their orgasms had fully played out, Owen tenderly massaged her hips. Their breathing remained course. He pulled out of her slowly then replaced her underwear and fixed her skirt before stepping away. Claire heard him re-fastening his jeans. She let her breathing normalize before straightening and turning to face him. He was leaning against his kitchen counter several feet from her and looking down. His eyes flitted upwards briefly. The remorse on his face was apparent even in the dim light.

She cleared her throat, "You didn't hurt me, but I would've slapped you if you hadn't gotten me off."

He struggled to look at her and almost mumbled, "I was really angry."

"No shit." His eyes snapped to hers. The conflict in them mirrored her own. She was angry, too, at him and herself. It was probably the most confusing night of her life. One thing was clear, however. She didn't want to leave. When he understood that she wasn't going to bolt, Owen approached her cautiously. Her eyes and posture softened. He hesitated for a beat then wrapped his arms around her waist. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, and she returned the embrace.

"You're amazing, Claire," he whispered. "I'm sorry." She ran a hand through his hair. It was soft and clean-smelling. Was she willfully distracting herself or was this just his effect on her? He challenged her in ways no one ever did before, but instead of running from him, she felt compelled to merge with him - body and soul. She let out a heavy sigh.

"Talk to me, Owen." He pulled back far enough to look at her but didn't relinquish his firm hold.

He stammered, "When you texted that you were sorry for not telling me first-"

She cut him off impatiently, "I meant I should've spoken to you before I suggested Barry to Wu and Hoskins."

"That's what I hoped." Relief washed over him. "I didn't call you back because I didn't want to say something I'd regret."

"You told me you'd be reliable." It came out cattier than she intended.

"You said we were in this together." He looked at her as if she'd just shot him in the chest. She sucked in a guilty breath. "I opened up to you, Claire. That's a rare thing for me. I don't trust a lot of people. I want to trust you."

"I'm sorry." She was getting choked up, her throat going dry as tears threatened to spill. "When I asked them to get a behaviorist handler, Hoskins suggested you."

"What?" Owen was clearly alarmed.

"I didn't know if he was serious." She started to ramble. It was preferable to crying. "The entire situation unnerves me. I'm not scared of the hybrid, but I'm being cautious. Thinking ahead. Thinking about this island being the animals' kingdom." He stroked her cheek with a knowing smile. He recognized his influence on her. "This hybrid is dangerous. I can feel it. If anything happened to you, I'd blame myself. That is the one thing I don't have the strength to bear. Your blood on my hands." He stopped her rambling with a searing kiss. She was floating again. The world stopped spinning. His twinkly-eyed smile was back when he pulled away.

"So," he smirked, "you're telling me that I can trust you with my life?"

"Yes," she sighed and hugged him tightly. They remained silently holding each other for a long moment.

"You were right," Owen eventually said. "Barry leapt at the chance to imprint on his own animals." Claire stepped back and held both of his hands. "He accepted Hoskins' offer immediately. I felt betrayed by all of you. I couldn't separate the anger I felt toward you, Barry, Hoskins - the entire situation. Barry and I talked it out today. I still want to punch Hoskins in the face, especially now that I know he suggested I leave the raptors." He squeezed her hands. "The outcome probably would've been the same even if you talked to me first, but it hurt that you seemed to go behind my back and use private information."

"I didn't think about how it would seem to you. I felt pressured to react immediately." Anguish reappeared in his eyes at her words.

"I acted rashly tonight." He examined her forearms before kissing each one. "You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

"My pride a little bit," she said softly.

"I'll make it up to you." Owen kissed the back of one of her hands before taking hold of it and leading her into his bedroom in the bungalow proper. Claire felt shy but very special standing next to his bed. He'd previously told her that she was the only woman who'd ever been to his home. She looked at him wantonly. His allure was magnified because she knew he was hers. As if reading her mind, he pulled off his shirt and said, "Touch me." She was desperate for the feel of him as if parched and finally able to slake her thirst. She slowly slid her hands down the front of his chest, across his abs, and around to his back. Her effect on him was strong. His stormy eyes bore into her own with an intensity and emotion that she dared not try to name. It shook her to the core. She focused on the tactile sensations instead.

"I missed this," she purred. The statement was both generalizable to their week-long separation and specific to their encounter in his kitchen. He bent down to kiss her. Soft, sweet, and poignant. The exact opposite of how it had been when she first arrived. He caught her as she began to swoon. One arm locked around her hips while the other moved deftly to undress her. She smiled and whispered, "You should get those next stripes for applying jiu-jitsu skills to sex." He fully divested her of her clothes and laid her in the middle of his bed. Her breathing hitched when he placed her legs over his shoulders.

Only two other men had ever gone down on her. And only after she made it a condition of their receiving a blowjob. Neither of those previous lovers put in much of an effort. It made her ambivalent about oral sex. The moment Owen nuzzled his mouth against her, Claire knew her opinion on the subject would change. There was no ambiguity. What she experienced was complete and utter helplessness. Her body jolted with every swirl of his tongue. He was most definitely into it and making a more than solid effort. The sensations were intoxicating and seemed unreal. How she imagined it would be like to take a hallucinogen. She didn't even care when his still unshaven cheeks chafed the insides of her thighs. Her heels pressed into his back. Her hips lifted against his mouth. Her outstretched hands nearly tore the sheets off the mattress.

"Fuck yes," she bellowed before going off like a bomb. He kept his mouth on her - applying suction - to draw out every spasm of her climax. When her body went limp, she felt drained. Totally wrung out. She covered her face with her arm. "Oh. My. God, Owen." She was panting. "That was...otherworldly. You have set the bar impossibly high."

He laughed as he laid down next to her, "l already knew I was the best you'd ever had." She playfully slapped him with the arm that had been covering her eyes.

"I meant orally," she groaned.

"So, I'm not the best you've ever had...generally?" Claire blushed. Caught in the sensual web he'd woven around them.

"You are." His lips curled up into a boyish grin. It made her heart squeeze to see him happy like that. She rolled toward him and bit her lip as she contemplated his impressive manhood, threatening to burst out of his boxer briefs.

"We can have sex instead, if you prefer." He was teasing but had to appreciate her sense of intimidation.

"No no, I am perfectly capable of...doing this." She took a deep breath. She was embarrassed by her trepidation but motivated by her need for balance. This was never an act that she enjoyed. She attended a bachelorette party once that featured a blowjob training "semen-ar." The other women thought it was hilarious and fascinating, but it was just awkward for her. She suddenly wished she'd paid better attention.

"Don't be nervous," he said encouragingly. "I've wanted to fuck your smart mouth for so long, Claire. You don't have to do anything extraordinary to get me off." She pursed her lips and sharpened her gaze. It didn't bother her that he was crude. It was that she didn't want to be merely extraordinary. He read her so well and added, "You're the best I've ever had, too." She could've made a self-deprecating retort, but he ignited a fire within her. It was the final push she needed.

She straddled him and leaned down to kiss his lips. He closed his eyes reflexively, but she stopped short and taunted, "My smart mouth, huh?" He reopened his eyes to see her devious grin.

"In all things but dirty talk," he teased back. Her eyes narrowed.

"See if you can keep your smart mouth quiet." It was a challenge. Owen attempted to buck upwards to kiss her, but she anticipated it. She pushed his shoulders into the mattress while shaking her head and clicking her tongue. That strong, powerful feeling she adored reverberated through her body. Claire was suddenly driven to leave her mark on him. She brought her lips to his neck to give him a hickey. He grunted and caressed her back gently in response. His touch set her further aflame. She moved her mouth to his nipples, licking and biting until he almost cried out. He didn't give in to her that easily. She watched him grit his teeth at her sitting up and rolling her hips into his.

She climbed off him to pull down his briefs. She had to suppress her gag reflex at the sight of his dick standing at attention. Her eyes flicked up to his, and he was grinning like a maniac. Owen settled on the pillow with his hands behind his head. Claire had to stop looking at him. She needed to focus. She wanted to make him howl. And fast. She started with her hands. Working him up with long, calculated strokes. His body twitched. He muffled his noises. She lowered her mouth slowly but - just as she did to his lips - stopped short of his tip. She flicked her tongue into his sensitive slit then quickly retracted it back into in her mouth.

"You viper," Owen groaned loudly. "Damnit, Cl-" His protest cut off with his sharp intake of breath as she took him into her mouth. He dissolved into grunts and whimpers. As she sucked and licked, she labored to recreate the sensations she experienced from his mouth on her most sensitive area. She was into it as much as he had been. When she couldn't take him any deeper into her throat, she started pumping the base with her hand. Claire quickened her pace and felt his fingers threading into her hair, egging her on. It gave her goosebumps. She almost faltered. Almost. She could tell when he was about to explode. It made her giddy. She laughed a little, and the vibrations of her mouth brought him to the brink.

"Good God," he exclaimed while she matched his muscle contractions with continued suction. She was applying more of the valuable lessons learned from him. After she swallowed and started moving toward the pillows, he was still breathing hard with his eyes closed. "Fuck, Claire," he choked out. "You had absolutely nothing to be nervous about. Jesus Christ!" As soon as her body was within reach, he forcefully wrapped his arms around her and rolled them onto their sides. She giggled all the while. He feathered kisses on and around her face. "Can I get your bag out of your car for you?" He asked in such a docile tone that she felt a twinge of pain.

She stammered, "I...uh...didn't bring one." He was stunned. "I wasn't sure you'd still want me to stay."

"Are you kidding?" He gave her that intense look again. The one that shook her. She wasn't ready to put words to that feeling, so she avoided it.

"Well, you didn't talk to me for five days. I thought we might've been done." His gaze clouded with hurt.

"Claire, I don't think I'm ever going to be done with you." Her heart stopped. Her insecurities assuaged and then some. A bliss overcame her that was far greater than that of any orgasm. She needed to bring things back into balance again.

"Good," she smirked, "Because I started the pill today." His look changed to pure joy.

"So, no more condoms?" His tone was playful. She surmised that he was good at avoiding, too.

"Dr. Adams recommended having a 'back-up' method for the first month."

"A month?!"

"We can stick to oral sex, if you prefer." She mimicked his earlier quip. He rolled his eyes, and they both laughed.

"As tempting as that may be, I want it all." His tone was deadly serious.

"Me, too." She whispered before leaning in to kiss him. This time, there was no stopping short.

As always, thanks for reading/supporting this work and please review!

Special thanks to the work of Monica McCarty for the inspiration to enhance the last few chapters. There will probably only be one more full chapter and an epilogue - I'm really going to miss this story.