Page 168 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“We don’t have to rush this,” I say. “But we also can’t live in neutral. We’ll learn how to stand again. Maybe not steady. Maybe not right away. But together, like a three-legged race. Our third leg is gone, so we have to work together to make a new normal.”
His fingers tighten slightly.
I press my cheek to his thigh, seeking that same quiet comfort he used to give without trying.
“He’d want us to be happy,” I whisper. “He’d want us to choose each other every day, the way he chose both of us. He’d want us to fuck like we mean it.”
“He’d definitely want that.”
Gabe’s laughter is raw and unguarded, the kind that curls warm and unexpected in my chest. The kind I haven’t heard in far too long.
Something shifts between us—sharp-edged grief softening under the weight of need. Of memory. Of the hunger that never really died, only slept.
He moves first, surging forward with the kind of intent that makes my breath catch. His mouth claims mine—not a question, not a whisper of what if. Just Gabe. Fire and familiarity, lips demanding and sure, tongue sweeping into mine like he owns me.
Like he remembers exactly how I taste and wants to drown in it.
I moan into his mouth as his hands frame my face, fingers sliding into my hair like he’s anchoring himself to the one thing that still feels real. I reach for him, fisting the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. He breaks the kiss just long enough to strip it off, and then I’m touching bare skin, muscle, and heat and scars I could trace blindfolded.
“Bedroom?” His voice is rough.
“No.” I grip his waistband, drag him closer. “Here. Now.”
The counter presses into my spine as he lifts me onto it, standing between my thighs. The same spot where he first took me. The same spot Hank stood behind him, eyes dark with approval, telling Gabe exactly how to claim me. How to ruin me beautifully.
My throat tightens. Gabe sees it.
“We don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” I whisper. “I need this. I need you.”
His hands slide under my thighs, dragging me to the edge. “Then let me give it to you.”
He peels away my clothes with reverence at first—each button, each inch of skin revealed like he’s unwrapping something sacred. His mouth follows the trail, lips grazing my collarbone, teeth scraping down my sternum, tongue circling a nipple until I cry out and arch for more.
But it’s not enough.
“I don’t want careful,” I breathe. “I want you.”
That’s what breaks him.
His grip turns bruising, his mouth punishing as he captures my lips again, this time with the promise of heat. Fingers slide beneath my panties, finding me slick and aching. He groans into my mouth, and the sound sparks something wild in me.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he growls. “And you’re going to take it. All of it.”
I gasp. Yes. Yes.
He tears the rest of my clothes away in a frenzy, drops his own pants, and then he’s there—thick and hard and pressing against me. He pauses just long enough to meet my eyes.
“Last chance to stop me.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
And then he’s inside me in one hard thrust.
I cry out, fingers clawing into his back, hips jerking to meet him. The stretch is delicious. Devastating. Perfect.
He drives into me again, deeper this time. Stronger.
