Page 45 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Gladly.” A wicked grin spreads across Gabe’s lips.

He thrusts hard and deep, stretching me, sending pleasure detonating through my body.

I cry out, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders.

Hank growls his approval, his lips trailing down, sucking at the base of my throat.

My mind spins, overwhelmed—too much and not enough all at once.

“Good girl,” Hank murmurs against my skin. “Now let go. Let him fill you with pleasure.”

I do.

Hank stands at my side, watching, controlling. The weight of his presence is solid, a promise of what’s still to come.

A whimper slips from my lips. The overwhelming stretch, the pressure, the way both of them watch me, owning every reaction wracking through me—it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“She’s holding back,” Hank murmurs, his fingers brushing the column of my throat, his touch a steady contrast to the fire igniting inside me. “Let go, luv.”

Gabe shifts, his pace quickening, his grip tightening. My entire body bows, pleasure coiling tight, heat surging to a breaking point.

“She’s close,” Hank says, his voice a growl of command and control. “Make her come, Gabe.”

And he does.

I unravel, pleasure crashing through me in a wave so powerful it steals my breath. A choked cry escapes my lips as my body tightens around him. The force of it shocks me, sends my head spinning, and leaves me shaking in their hands.

Gabe follows a heartbeat later, groaning low, his body going rigid, his forehead pressing against mine as he comes. The moment stretches, the only sound our ragged breathing, the weight of it settling over us in something more than just satisfaction.

Gabe slowly pulls back, stepping away, giving me space to recover and breathe.

But before the absence of him cansettle, Hank moves.

His hands slide to his belt, unhurried but deliberate. The soft snick of the buckle unfastening makes my stomach tighten.

I am mesmerized as he slides the leather free, coiling it in his fist before tossing it to the counter. The button of his pants follows. The slow rasp of the zipper dragging down, makes my skin prickle.

My breath catches as he pushes the fabric down, and the long, thick length of him springs free. He steps out of his clothes, standing before me—broad, powerful, ready.

Heat floods me at the sight of him, the sheer command he holds in his body alone, but what steals my breath is the way he grips himself, stroking slowly, watching me watch him.

He doesn’t touch me immediately.

“Like what you see, luv?” A low, approving chuckle escapes him.

I can’t answer. My tongue flicks out, wetting my lips, my body already aching for more.

He sees it. Of course, he sees it.

He laughs, dark and knowing.

“Eager little thing.” His voice is a slow drawl, rich with satisfaction. “You want to taste me, don’t you? Serve me?”

The word sinks into me, sending another pulse of heat through my core.

Serve.

Not give. Not take. Serve.

---