Page 183 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Soft. Fierce. Real.

He cups my face, his thumbs sweeping away a tear I didn’t feel fall.

“You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” His voice trembles with something deeper than need. His eyes lock on mine, a mirror of possession, pain, and love.

And I let go.

Completely.

Because with him, I can.

He drops the whip, his hands moving to my breasts, fingers rolling my nipples until I arch into his touch, a moan escaping my lips. He trails kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing my collarbone, drawing a gasp from deep within me. His hand slides between my legs, fingers finding my clit, circling it with a precision that has me writhing in my bonds.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers thrusting inside me, curling to hit that spot that makes me see stars. The pleasure is sharp and sudden, erasing the pain that came before. “You’ve earned it.”

I cry out, my body convulsing as an orgasm rips through me, leaving me gasping and shaking. But he doesn’t stop. He drops to his knees, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue lapping at my sensitive flesh, drawing out my pleasure until I’m a sobbing mess.

He fucks me with his tongue, his fingers digging into my thighs, holding me open and vulnerable. He stands, his body pressing against mine, his cock hard and insistent at my entrance. He captures my mouth in a brutal kiss, his tongue invading, claiming. He thrusts into me, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm, each movement a declaration of his love, his need,his possession.

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” he growls, his voice rough with emotion. “Every scream, every tear, every fucking orgasm—mine.”

And he proves it—again and again.

For every strike of the crop, he follows with the glide of his mouth. For every tear I give him, he rewards me with a kiss. For every tremble of my body, he whispers promises laced with devotion and demand. He takes me to the edge with pain, then pulls me back with pleasure so overwhelming it steals my breath.

Hank returns, quiet but commanding, eyes sweeping over me—bound, marked, gloriously undone. Gabe doesn’t pause. Doesn’t flinch. He simply steps back, hands lifting as he surrenders control.

Hank steps into the space Gabe vacates.

No words.

Just the warm press of his body, the slow slide of possession that grounds me in ways Gabe’s sadism never could. Hank takes me with reverence, fucking me slowly, gently, each thrust a tether to something safe and solid. I moan into the restraint, overwhelmed all over again by how differently they love me—how completely.

When he’s done, he kisses my shoulder, then my cheek. Then he looks to Gabe, nods, and steps back.

Gabe returns with fire in his eyes.

The cycle begins again.

Pleasure. Pain.

Worship. Control.

The hours blur as I give everything—mind, body, soul—to the two men who demand it all. I float, weightless and suspended, as Gabe breaks me open just to piece me back together with his hands, his voice, and his body.

He keeps me into the night.

His rhythm is relentless, his focus absolute. Not a moment of my surrender goes unclaimed, unnoticed.

I’m wrecked in the most exquisite way… and nowhere near ready to stop.

Gabe steps back, his chest heaving, eyes filled with a softness that belies the harshness of the past hours. He was true to his word. For all the pain he gave me, Gabe rewarded me with twice the pleasure.

Now, his touch is gentle and reverent.

Hank returns, his touch tender as he releases the restraints. His fingers are careful around the welts and marks left by Gabe’s ministrations.

“You did so well, luv,” Hank murmurs, his voice filled with pride and tenderness. “So fucking well.”

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