Page 129 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Hank clinks his beer bottle against mine. “Don’t get used to it, luv. We’re only being soft because you need it.”

“Do I?” I lift a brow, setting my fork down.

Then, without hesitation, I stand.

Their eyes track my every movement as I reach for the hem of my shirt, gripping it with steady fingers.

And then I pull it over my head.

The air is warm, carrying the salty tang of the ocean, the scent of charred steak still lingering on the breeze. The sky is an inky stretch above us, stars flickering like scattered embers. Below, waves crash against the rocky shore, a steady, relentless rhythm that seems to match the pulse thrumming through my veins.

I stretch lazily, basking in the glow of the meal, of the evening, of them.

And then I turn to Hank.

Gabe exhales a slow breath, his smirk vanishing, his eyes darkening.

Hank’s grip tightens around his beer, his jaw ticking.

I let them look.

Let them see.

Then, I step toward Hank, slow, deliberate, letting my body sway just enough to taunt.

“The steak was incredible.” I stop just in front of Hank.

The sun dips low, casting a warm, golden glow over the deck and the vast Pacific Ocean stretching behind him. The salt-kissed breeze teases my hair, adding a gentle, natural caress to the charged atmosphere.

“You don’t need to be soft with me, but you definitely deserve a reward.”

Chapter 37

Hank tilts his head,the muscle in his jaw flexing, his eyes locked onto mine. The ice in his glass clinks softly as he sets it down on the polished wooden table beside him.

“Do I, now?”

I drop to my knees, the smooth, sun-warmed wood pressing against my skin. His breath hitches—just for a second, just enough for me to see that I have his full, undivided attention.

From the corner of my eye, Gabe sprawls in his chair, spreading his legs. One hand casually rests on his thigh, his gaze sharp and assessing, like he’s committing every movement to memory.

I touch Hank, my palms pressing against the hard muscle, my body humming with anticipation. I reach for his belt, unbuckling it, savoring the way his chest rises just a little sharper.

A test. A tease. An offering.

His fingers curl around my jaw, tilting my head up, forcing me to hold his gaze.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, luv.”

“Not really.” I smile, breathless, wicked. “I’m thanking you for an amazing meal.”

“Is that what this is? A thank you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Fuuuck, luv, then stop stalling and thank me properly.” His grip tightens just enough to remind me who’s really in control.

A shiver rolls down my spine, anticipation thrumming through me as I unfasten his belt, my fingers brushing against the brutal heat beneath his jeans. Hank doesn’t move. Doesn’t help me. He just watches, his eyes darkening with desire and dominance.

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