Page 91 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Jesus.” Heat floods my cheeks, my stomach flipping violently.

Hank chuckles, shaking his head. “We’re getting off track.”

“Are we?” Gabe asks, not bothering to hide his grin. “Seems like we’re on the right track.”

I glare at him, which only makes his smirk widen.

I swallow. “So … two in … what?”

Hank ignores the teasing, his gaze holding mine, dragging me back into the heat of the moment. “Your pussy. Both of us. At the same time.”

“Is that possible?” The air leaves my lungs in a slow, shuddering breath. My stomach clenches, nerves twisting tight with something dangerously close to excitement.

I picture logistics, positioning, how it would even work. One of them in front, the other behind?

No, that’s not what Hank meant.

My brain scrambles, searching for some mental blueprint of how two men could fit inside me at the same time, and oh God, would it even be comfortable?

Would it hurt?

Will I like it?

Heat rushes through me, my thighs pressing together instinctively as I realize—I kind of want to know.

Hank watches me, reading every thought flickering across my face. His smirk deepens, dark amusement sparking in his eyes.

“Don’t sweat the details, luv.” His voice is a slow, deliberate stroke of dominance. “Gabe and I will take care of you.”

“All you have to do is trust us.” Gabe leans in, his voice a velvet promise. “We know what we’re doing.” His eyes darken, heat simmering beneath the playfulness. “And you’re going to love it.”

I shift again, pressing my thighs together as heat pools low in my belly. I believe them. That’s what terrifies me.

And what thrills me most of all.

“Want anything else?” Hank asks, noticing my empty plate as if he didn’t just casually rearrange my entire universe.

Of course, he can go from talking about fucking to food, like he didn’t just drop that little bomb and expect me to process it. Like I’m not sitting here, heartbeat hammering, mind looping one singular thought—how are they both going to fit?

I shake my head, forcing my voice to stay steady. “This was perfect. But I wouldn’t say no to coffee.”

Maybe caffeine will help me figure out the logistics. Or at least stop my brain from spiraling into images that make my thighs clench again and again.

“Guardian Grind it is, then,” Gabe says, standing and collecting our trays. “We’ll check the tech building first, but my money’s on finding Mitzy at the Grind.”

We dispose of our trays and head back to the cart. As we drive toward the tech building, I take in more details. The landscaping is meticulously maintained, with native plants that require minimal water—practical but attractive. Security features areintegrated so seamlessly that they’re almost invisible unless you know to look for them—cameras disguised as lighting fixtures and strategic placement of barriers that could halt unauthorized vehicles.

The tech building looms ahead, a marvel of modern architecture. Unlike the utilitarian operations building, this structure makes a statement with its sweeping glass curves and gleaming metal. Solar panels cover much of the roof, and what appears to be a satellite array rises from one corner.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Gabe says, following my gaze. “Mitzy designed it herself.”

Inside, the tech building buzzes with activity. The atrium soars three stories up, with walkways crossing at various levels. Workstations with multiple monitors cluster in open areas, while glass-walled labs and offices line the perimeter. People in casual clothes move purposefully between areas, many wearing badges with the tech division’s lightning bolt insignia.

Hank approaches a young woman at a circular desk in the center of the atrium. “We’re looking for Mitzy,” he says. “Is she in today?”

The woman barely glances up from her tablet. “She left about an hour ago. Said something about needing inspiration and coffee.”

“Guardian Grind?” Gabe guesses.

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