Page 157 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

His thumb brushes against the base of my neck, circling the spot where tension coils like a spring. His eyes—usually calculating, assessing—now watch me with an intensity that speaks of something deeper than desire.

“Why is this happening?” The question tears from my throat, raw and desperate.

Just hours ago, I surrendered and found liberation in their control, pleasure in the pain they so carefully measured. I was riding the highest high of my life.

My body still bears the evidence of our passion—tender spots that should ground me in the present, not catapult me into the past.

Yet myfuckingtrauma hijacked my mind.

And just as suddenly, I’m back in that darkness, feeling bottomless despair.

Cold sweat breaks across my skin, dampening the sheet beneath me. My chest tightens, the air suddenly too thin, too sharp. The simple act of drawing air has become a battle. My pulsethunders in my ears, drowning out everything else, the room blurring as tears prick my eyes.

“Ally,” Gabe’s voice breaks through the noise, low and steady, like a lifeline tossed into stormy seas. He moves closer, his hand firm on my shoulder, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

But the air won’t come. My throat constricts, and a faint whimper escapes before I can stop it.

“We’re here. Breathe, luv. Just try to breathe.” Hank is there in an instant, his hand brushing against mine. The rough warmth of his palm envelops mine, and I cling to it, my fingers trembling as I grasp his.

“Stay with us.” Gabe’s voice pulls me further back, his touch firm but soothing. “We’ve got you.”

“One breath at a time. That’s all you need right now.” Hank’s broad hand curls around mine, grounding me further.

“I can’t stop it,” I whisper, my voice breaking under the enormity of release—of being seen, of the fear clawing up from the inside out.

It’s too much.

Too loud in my head, too tight in my chest.

The air’s too thick, unbreathable—like I’m drowning in a room with no air. My skin burns. Too hot. Too tight—I can’t stay in it.

Can’t stand it.

I claw at the sheets, at myself, trying to find space, trying to escape.

“I can’t—I can’t—” My breath fractures, sharp and ragged. “I need to get out, I can’t?—”

Voices reach me—familiar, urgent—but distant. Muted, like I’m hearing them from underwater.

“… get her outside …”

The words warp and stretch, pulled thin like they’re at the wrong end of a tunnel.

Hank. I think.

Gabe’s there, too. I feel them move, feel the mattress shift, buttheir touch is like static, too soft or too sharp. I can’t tell. The panic drowns out everything else.

Gabe slides his arms beneath me, lifting me against his chest as though I weigh nothing. The man who pushed me to my limits hours ago now cradles me with exquisite tenderness.

“I’ve got her,” he murmurs to Hank, who is already moving, grabbing blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed.

Chilly night air hits my skin as Gabe carries me outside onto the expansive deck overlooking the ocean. The sharp salt tang cuts through the fog of panic, filling my lungs with something cleaner than the recycled memories of dank cells and fear.

Waves crash against the rocky shore below, a primal rhythm that somehow syncs with my heartbeat. The sound washes over me—constant, eternal, unconcerned with human suffering or joy. The ocean’s vastness stretches before us, stars reflected on its surface like scattered diamonds.

Hank lays blankets in the corner of the deck where the railing forms a natural alcove. Gabe lowers me onto this makeshift bed, and they settle on either side, cocooning me between their bodies—a human fortress against the demons in my mind.

The contrast is startling. These men who hours ago demanded and dominated now offer comfort with the same focused intensity they applied to pleasure and pain. Hank’s hand strokes my hair with unexpected gentleness; Gabe’s arm forms a protective barrier around my waist.

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