Page 153 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

I move toward the bed, their matched breathing behind me a reminder that while the tempest has passed, I remain surrounded by power carefully leashed—and that the choice to unleash it again will never be mine.

I slide between the cool sheets, the fabric soothing against my overheated skin, and watch them join me from either side.

Hank settles to my right, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, while Gabe claims the space to my left, his gaze already on me—soft but burning.

No expectations. No demands. Just closeness.

Connection.

Adoration.

The kisses begin soft—whispers against my skin. Hank’s lips at my shoulder. Gabe’s at my temple. Their hands follow, fingers trailing paths over every inch of me—not taking, just… giving.

Worshipping.

This isn’t possession.

It’s devotion.

Gabe’s mouth finds the hollow of my throat, lips warm and open. His hand glides lower, over my belly, between my thighs—gentle, skilled, coaxing pleasure rather than chasing it.

Hank’s hand moves to my breast, calloused thumb brushing over my nipple, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss so tender, so achingly careful, it nearly undoes me.

They don’t speak. They don’t need to. Every touch, every stroke of tongue and hand, is a vow—you’re safe, you’re ours, let go.

Their mouths trade places—Gabe kissing me, his fingers still working me with maddening patience; Hank trailing kisses lower, his hand joining Gabe’s as they pleasure me, center me.

They don’t take.

They don’t rush.

This is mine.

Pressure coils low and tight, molten and inexorable, winding me toward the edge with every stroke, every breathless whisper. My body arches, seeking more, needing more—until the tension snaps, pleasure detonating through me in pulsing waves.

I shatter around their hands, their mouths, their presence—my cries torn from someplace deep and honest.

It’s not release.

It’s surrender.

When it’s over, I’m breathless, boneless, floating in the aftermath.

Hank gathers me against his chest. Gabe curls around my back. Their hands never stop moving—stroking, soothing, claiming.

Not with force.

But with love.

Time melts away like candle wax. My body hums with satisfiedexhaustion as I nestle between their warm bodies, my soft curves fitting perfectly against their hard angles.

Hank’s arm drapes across my waist, heavy and possessive. Against my neck, Gabe’s breath creates a metronome of warm, steady puffs. My muscles uncoil, my mind drifting toward that sweet precipice between wakefulness and dreams.

Safe. I’m safe here.

The thought floats through my consciousness like a feather on still water. My fingertips lazily trace the sheet’s silken texture.

Then—a tiny shift.

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