Page 48 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Gabe, however, does not hold back.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, arms crossed as he leans against the counter, completely unbothered by the chaos. “What do we have here? Looks like someone got a little… distracted and burned breakfast.”

Hank glares at him, setting the pan down with more force than necessary. “Shut up, Gabe.”

But Gabe’s grinning now. Absolutely thriving.

“Oh no, by all means, let’s acknowledge what’s happening here.” He gestures to the charred remnants of eggs and bacon. “You—master of the kitchen—burned breakfast. Meanwhile, I, the alleged danger to all things culinary, am not allowed to cook.” His grin turns downright wicked.

I smother a laugh behind my hand, watching as Hank’s jaw clenches.

“I swear to God,” Hank mutters, tossing the pan into the sink. “You are never?—”

“Allowed to use kitchen appliances unsupervised, yeah, yeah.” Gabe waves him off, smirking. “But you know what? I think today’s a special occasion. Maybe I should take over breakfast.”

Hank spins to face him fully.

“No.”

Gabe bursts into laughter, and I can’t help but join in.

I didn’t expect this. The teasing, the banter, the effortless way they fall into this rhythm around me. It’s different from anything I’ve ever known—something unshakable, something real.

Hank sighs, wiping a hand over his face before shaking his head. “Alright. Clean up this mess,” he gestures to the stove, “then we’re all showering. You smell like sex.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “You smell like burnt eggs.”

Hank flips him off.

I grin as they bicker, warmth curling deep in my chest.

Chapter 16

The heatof the shower has long since faded, leaving only the lingering scent of soap and steam in the air. My skin is still damp, my muscles pleasantly sore, my body carrying the delicious ache of their possession.

Gabe reaches around me to grab a towel, the brief press of his chest against my back sending a lazy ripple of awareness through me.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you dried off.”

They wrap me in towels, hands efficient but careful. The attention makes my throat tight. I’ve never felt so… taken care of. Cherished.

I let myself lean into it.

“What now?” My voice is still rough from crying out their names.

Hank’s fingers skim the red bloom of a mark on my shoulder—Gabe’s mark. His eyes darken as he traces the bruise. “Now, we feed you properly, since breakfast was a disaster.”

“My fault,” I admit, lips curling. “I distracted the chef.”

Gabe laughs, low and warm, the sound igniting something deep in my chest.

“Worth it.”

In the bedroom, Hank pulls open a drawer and tosses me a shirt. His. The cotton is soft, well-worn, saturated with his scent.

“This should do for now.”

I catch it, the fabric bunching in my fingers. “Pants?”

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