Page 79 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“You still with me?” he growls against my ear, voice rough, but the question—gentle, grounding.

“Yes,” I breathe, the word barely a whisper. “Don’t stop.”

He stills, tension coiling tight in his body. His grip in my hair tightens, tilting my head until I’m forced to look up at him, eyes locked.

“Yes?” His voice is low, dangerous.

My pulse stutters. Heat flares through me, sharp and blinding. This is just a game—a shared fantasy, two consenting adults playing with power, control, surrender. That’s all this is.

But God, it feels real. The way he looks at me, like I’m his, like I belong to him, hits somewhere deep, a place I didn’t know was empty until now. A thrill rushes through me—ownership, devotion, need—all tangled together, overwhelming in its intensity.

My voice shakes, not from fear, but from the weight of this moment, from how much I want to be his.

“Yes, please.” My reply is a breathless whisper.

A feral growl vibrates in his chest. His mouth crashes into mine, hard and claiming, erasing any last line between fantasy and something more. Something real.

His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back as he drags his lips down my throat, biting, tasting, owning. His breath scorches my skin, and then he’s moving again—gripping my thighs, lifting me with animalistic strength, slamming me against the wall like he can’t get deep enough, fast enough.

“Mine,” he snarls against my neck, hips driving into me with brutal precision. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I gasp, the word ripped from me as pleasure coils tight, a storm threatening to consume.

“Louder.” His hand slips between us, fingers finding that sensitive spot, circling, demanding. “Let the whole damn world hear who you belong to.”

I gasp, barely able to think, to breathe—buthe doesn’t let up. His other hand clamps around my hip, hard, fingers digging deep into flesh with bruising force. There will be marks.

I feel it.

Pain radiates through me, sharp and perfect, only adding to the pleasure as he slams into me again, relentlessly.

“Say it,” he growls, voice guttural, feral. “Say it while I own you.”

His restraint is gone—obliterated. He’s pure dominance, his grip punishing, his body forcing mine to take every brutal thrust, every inch. I cry out, the sound ripped from my throat, but it’s not a protest—it’s need, white-hot and wild.

Each movement is rough, unyielding, his fingers in my flesh like brands, holding me exactly where he wants me. Where I need to be. Pain and pleasure crash together, sparking through every nerve, and I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“You love this,” he snarls, his voice savage against my ear, breath hot and ragged. “You need this. Me using you, taking you, breaking you, giving you everything.”

My head falls back against the wall, nails raking down his back, desperate to ground myself, but he gives me no room, no reprieve—just more.

His pace is punishing.

His fingers between my legs are ruthless.

“Beg for it,” he demands, the command like a whip. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Please…” The words rip free, strangled and raw, lost in the overwhelming surge of heat and need and him.

“Come for me.”

My body shatters, convulsing around him as the orgasm hits—violent, consuming, dragged from me with no mercy. My cry echoes, but he catches it with his mouth, kissing me hard, brutal, devouring every sound, every tremor.

Gabe’s rhythm falters, a guttural sound ripping from deep in his chest as his release crashes over him. His grip bruises, hips driving into me one final time as he comes with a hoarse shout, his bodylocked, every muscle straining. He holds me there, pinned, shaking with the force of it.

For a long moment, neither of us moves—our bodies tangled, slick with sweat, breath harsh and broken. His forehead drops to my shoulder, and I feel his chest rise and fall against mine, his heart hammering like it might explode.

Pain throbs along my hips, sharp where his fingers bit into my skin. I’ll wear his marks for days—and Iloveit. The sting, the ache, the memory of being his. It’srawand real and so much more than play.

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