Page 11

Glass doors slide open, revealing a sprawling deck stretching toward a cliff’s edge. The Pacific crashes below, thunder against the rocks. I move to the railing, my hair whipping in the salt-laden wind.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, closing my eyes as the roar of the waves envelops me.

“Gabe picked the location.” Hank joins me at the railing, carefully maintaining distance while staying close enough that I feel his protection. “He says the sound reminds him of white noise.”

“Among other things,” Gabe adds with a hint of dark promise, coming up on my other side.

“Like what?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

Gabe’s eyes darken as he leans closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “The crashing waves cover up the noise…” He pauses, his gaze holding mine. “When I break out my whips and chains.”

A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the ocean breeze. Instead of feeling threatened or uncomfortable, a strange thrill races up my spine .

“Is that supposed to scare me off?” I challenge, surprising myself with my boldness.

“No.” His lips quirk into a dangerous smile. “Just being honest about what you’re getting into. You’re free to make as much noise as you need to. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Gabe,” Hank warns.

“What?” Gabe shrugs, completely unapologetic. “You said no secrets.”

The casual way he discusses his darker preferences should be alarming, but it isn’t. His straightforwardness is refreshing—no games, no pretending, just raw honesty about who he is and what he wants.

“I appreciate the honesty,” I say, meeting his gaze. “It’s … refreshing.”

A spark of approval flashes in his eyes. “Good to know.”

They both gesture to different features of the property—Hank points out the private path down to a small cove below, while Gabe draws my attention to the outdoor kitchen tucked into the corner of the deck.

As they talk, they move closer, the space between us gradually shrinking until they’re bracketing me, Hank steady at my back while Gabe stands before me.

Hank’s solid warmth radiates behind me, his breath stirring my hair. Gabe’s eyes soften as he studies my face in the fading light. His hand reaches out, hesitating for a moment before cupping my cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. “Even more so here, with the ocean behind you and the setting sun lighting your face.”

I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment. The air between us changes, grows heavier with anticipation.

“Kiss her, Gabe,” Hank’s voice comes from behind me, low and commanding, yet somehow tender. “Kiss our girl.”

Our girl.

The possessive phrase sends a tremor through me. Gabe leans in before I can process it. His eyes hold mine for a heartbeat before closing. Then his lips find mine.

The first touch is deceptively gentle—a whisper of contact that belies the tension in his body. He angles his head, finding the perfect fit as his mouth claims mine more fully. A hint of coffee and something darker, something uniquely him, floods my senses. His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking a delicate path along my cheekbone while his other hand slides to my waist, fingers splaying possessively against my hip as he yanks me flush against him, obliterating any remaining space.

What starts as controlled quickly transforms. A groan vibrates deep in his chest as he presses closer, his broad chest against mine. He’s unhurried and thorough—like a man discovering a flavor he plans to savor for years. His body curves around mine, strong and solid, with a slight tremor in his muscles revealing how much restraint he exercises.

I catch the subtle shifts—the tightening of his fingers, the quickening of his breath, the almost imperceptible rock of his hips. For all his control, his kiss promises so much more.

When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry, I open to him without hesitation. The kiss deepens, and with it, Gabe allows himself one moment of abandon—his hand sliding from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him as his tongue strokes against mine.

He doesn’t hide his desire. His hips press forward deliberately, the hard ridge of his arousal evident against my lower belly. The contact draws a gasp from my lips that he swallows with his kiss. There’s nothing tentative in how he shows me exactly what I do to him—a wordless promise of what’s to come. Then, as if remembering where we are, he reins himself back in, though his lips remain on mine, unwilling to break contact completely.

Hank shifts behind me, his hands finding my hips, pulling me back until the solid wall of his chest presses flush against my back. He leans in, his breath hot against my skin as Gabe continues kissing me, deep and unrelenting. Then I feel it—Hank’s unmistakable arousal pressing deliberately against the small of my back .

His breath hitches against my ear, and his lips brush the sensitive skin beneath it. A slow, deliberate graze of teeth against my pulse. A nibble, a tease—just enough to make my breath falter.

“Watching Gabe kiss you like that?” His voice is low, rough, dangerous. “Hot as fuck.”

The words send a shiver through me, but he isn’t done. His lips move lower, tracing the slender column of my throat, sucking lightly before dragging his teeth over the delicate skin. Not enough to mark—just enough to make my body burn. His hands tighten on my hips, possessive, like he’s staking a claim, and when he rocks against me again, it’s no accident.

Gabe pulls back slightly, his lips hovering over mine, his breath uneven as he smirks. “You should see how he’s looking at you, sweetheart.”

I don’t need to—I can feel it. Everywhere.

Being pressed between them, caught between two distinctly male bodies, both unashamedly showing their desire, overwhelms me in the best possible way. The knowledge that I affect them both so strongly sends a rush of power through me, heady and intoxicating.

“Enough,” Hank’s soft command leaves no room for argument. His fingers tighten in my hair, tugging firmly enough to break my kiss with Gabe. Gabe immediately yields, stepping back, though his eyes remain heated.

Hank grasps my chin. He turns me toward him until I look up into his eyes.

“My turn,” he murmurs, the words more declaration than request. His eyes hold mine for a moment, asserting his authority, waiting for my submission before lowering his mouth to mine.

Where Gabe asked with his kiss, Hank commands with his.

His palm cradles my jaw, thumb pressing lightly against my chin to part my lips—not forcing, but directing. He doesn’t rush or push; he simply expects compliance and receives it willingly. His other arm wraps around my waist, securing me against him as he takes what belongs to him. Even as Gabe watches, it’s clear who orchestrates this dance between us. Hank may have allowed Gabe the first taste, but only because it suited his interests.

When we finally part, I’m breathless, caught between them in a moment that feels like the beginning of something profound.

But instead of feeling uncertain, hesitation never even crosses my mind. A thrill courses through me—bold, reckless, wanting. Maybe it’s the way they’re looking at me or the heat still pulsing through my veins, but before I can overthink it, I act.

My hand drifts behind me, fingers grazing the hard length pressing insistently against my lower back. Hank tenses at the contact, his sharp inhale barely audible, but I don’t stop there.

If I’m diving in, I’m diving all the way in.

I shift forward, palm finding Gabe through his jeans, mirroring my touch. Two men. Two undeniable reactions.

I give them both a slow, teasing squeeze, testing, exploring. Gabe’s breath hitches, a rough sound of approval, while Hank goes utterly still—his grip on my waist tightening, his control dangerously close to slipping.

Gabe is the first to break the silence, a wicked smirk curving his lips. “Well, hell. And here we thought we’d have to ease you into this.”

Hank’s voice is lower, darker, edged with something I can’t quite name. “Looks like she’s fully on board.”

I don’t answer. I just smile, shifting my hands back to a more innocent position—though there’s nothing innocent about the look in either of their eyes.

Both men watch me with an intensity that steals my breath. Possession blazes in their gazes, but also something more profound—a promise of protection and belonging.

I laugh, surprising myself with the genuine sound. “The three of us are going to be something, aren’t we?”

“That’s our hope,” Hank agrees, and I naturally adjust my position between them, finding my place.

The sun sets, painting the waves in deep purples and golds. We stand in peaceful silence, watching darkness settle over the water.

Hank’s lips are still on my neck, his teeth grazing, then biting, marking me again, as if one claim isn’t enough. His tongue follows, soothing the sting, his breath hot against my skin.

Then Gabe moves.

His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face, and he steals my breath before I realize what he’s doing. His mouth claims mine—not hesitant or testing, but sure, deep, consuming. A quiet, satisfied growl hums against my lips as I melt between them, trapped in heat and need, in the undeniable reality of belonging to them both.

I don’t think. I don’t question. I simply feel.

Then—a sound.

Distant. Subtle. But my body registers it before my mind does.

A thump.

Soft at first. Barely there.

Then again. Louder. Rhythmic. Too familiar.

A sharp tremor ripples through me. My breath catches.

Another thump. Louder this time. A helicopter.

The weight of Gabe’s kiss disappears as my body locks up, every nerve ending suddenly firing in warning. My throat tightens.

My vision tunnels.

No. No, no, no.

Not here. Not now.

But it’s happening again.

I know where I am. I know I’m safe. But my body isn’t listening.

My chest constricts.

The sound grows, each heavy beat vibrating through my ribs like a strike to my sternum.

I can’t breathe.

My fingers claw at Hank’s chest, but I don’t know if I’m reaching for him or trying to push him away. My lungs won’t expand. The world tilts beneath me, my legs trembling.

Somewhere, voices break through the panic, low and steady, grounding, but my ears ring too loudly to make out the words.

Then—hands.

Familiar, strong. Anchoring .

Hank. Gabe.

Here.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus—on their warmth, their strength, the feel of solid muscle beneath my fingers. I’m not in the past. I’m not trapped. I’m not alone.

I try to breathe. Try to pull myself out of it.

But the helicopter grows closer, and I’m not out of it yet.

“Ally, are you okay?” Gabe’s hand brushes mine on the railing.