Page 227 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Jenna waves us off, already working the espresso machine. “Go. She’s been useless anyway. All sad eyes and checking her phone every five minutes.”

My cheeks heat. “I have not been?—”

“You absolutely have,” Malia interjects from where she’s wrapped around Walt. “Now, get out of here before we all drown in sexual tension.”

Laughter ripples through the café, breaking the last of the tension. Hank’s arm settles around my shoulders as we head for the door, Gabe’s hand at the small of my back.

Exhaustion radiates from both men, but there’s something else, too, a restless energy that makes my skin tingle where they touch me.

Once inside the vehicle, the facade cracks. Gabe’s hand finds my thigh, gripping tight enough to leave marks through my jeans. Hank starts the engine but pauses before putting it in drive, his gaze intense as it locks with mine in the rearview mirror.

“Fourteen days,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “Too fucking long.”

“I was worried,” I admit, letting the fear I’ve been tamping down finally surface. “You couldn’t text or call, and no one would tell me anything.”

“High-security op,” Gabe explains, his thumb tracing circles on my leg. “Comms blackout. But we’re back now. In one piece.”

There’s tension in Hank’s jaw, in the way his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. When we reach their—our—oceanside condo, he parks with more force than necessary, killing the engine with a sharp twist.

“Inside,” he says, the single word weighted with intent.

The door has barely closed behind us when it happens—Hank’s hands on my waist, lifting me bodily, spinning me until my back hits the wall. His mouth claims mine with bruising intensity, all the fear and longing of fourteen days channeled into this kiss.

Gabe doesn’t wait his turn. His hands are already under my shirt, stripping it up and over my head the moment Hank gives me space to breathe. Their movements are synchronized and practiced—Hank holding me in place while Gabe removes clothing, piece by piece, until I’m naked and trembling between them.

“Fourteen days,” Gabe growls against my neck, his teeth sharp against my pulse. “Do you have any idea what that does to a man? What we’ve been thinking about doing to you?”

I shake my head, breathless, overwhelmed by their intensity.

“We’re going to show you,” Hank promises, his voice dropping into that register that makes my stomach flip. “But first—” His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. “Are you okay, luv? Really okay?”

The question—so caring in the midst of such raw need—makes my chest tight with emotion.

“I am now,” I whisper, meaning it. “Now that you’re home.”

Something shifts in his expression, softening for just a moment before the hunger returns. “Good. Because we need you. Right now.”

Hank’s already lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct as he carries me to the bedroom—their bedroom, the one we share when it’s all three of us together. Gabe follows, removing his clothing, never taking his eyes off us.

A blur of sensations follows—hands, mouths, and bodies moving in perfect harmony. They take turns with me, then take me together, my body stretched and filled in ways that should be impossible, but somehow, with them, just works.

It’s rougher than usual, more desperate—the need to reaffirm life after two weeks of facing death evident in every touch, every thrust. Hank holds me down while Gabe takes me, and then they switch, a dance they’ve perfected in our time together.

When it’s finally over, when we’re all spent and tangled in sweat-dampened sheets, the room silent except for our gradually slowing breaths, I find myself sandwiched between them—Hank’s chest warm against my back, Gabe’s heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.

“I missed this,” I murmur, tracing idle patterns on Gabe’s skin. “Missed you both.”

“We missed you too, luv.” Hank’s arm tightens around my waist, his lips pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder. “More than we could say.”

“Next time—” I hesitate, not wanting to sour the moment with future worries.

“Next time will be the same,” Gabe says, his voice gentler now that the initial hunger has been sated. “The job is what it is. But we’ll always come back to you.”

“Always,” Hank echoes, the word a promise against my skin.

I let myself believe them, let myself sink into the safety they provide, the storm of fear and longing finally quieted.

They’re home. They’re safe. We’re together.

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