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Their lingering warmth clings to my skin, a pleasant weight settling in my limbs. The day’s events have left me both satisfied and hungry for more—not just physically, but intellectually. My mind drifts to my research, to the equations and models I’d hidden from Malfor during my captivity.

In the kitchen, Hank works quietly, his broad back to me as he moves between the stove and counter, the scent of garlic and herbs already thick in the air.

Gabe leans against the doorway, watching us both, a silent sentinel, but a grinning one. “Smells good.” He pushes off the doorframe to wander closer to the counter, but not too close. “Just try not to burn it this time.”

Hank snorts without turning from the pan he’s stirring. “Real funny. I don’t remember you complaining about breakfast burning when you were balls deep in our girl.” He glances over his shoulder at Gabe, a playful smirk on his face.

“Just saying it was a mess to clean up, all that burnt bacon. Such a waste.” Gabe teases Hank, their banter baked into their relationship so seamlessly it’s wonderful. He winks at me, then back at Hank .

“Consider this my apology for the ruined eggs, Ally,” Hank says. “I’m aiming for culinary perfection tonight. You deserve it.”

I smile at their exchange, but my eyes drift to the kitchen counter. My USB drive—my research—should be there.

“Something on your mind?” Hank asks, noticing my gaze.

“Just eager to check my research,” I slide off the barstool. “Now that I’ve got my laptop from home, I can see what survived.”

I pull my laptop from my bag and place it on the kitchen island. Then, I scan the counter for the USB drive. It’s not where I last saw it, and I glance around, puzzled.

“Are you looking for this?” Gabe asks, twirling the small black device between his fingers, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I reach across the counter, but he pulls back with a chuckle. “Not so fast, sweetheart. You’ve got to pay the toll.”

“What’s it going to cost me this time?” I play along, remembering how I’d thanked them both earlier for retrieving my drive in the first place. “Last time was quite involved.”

Gabe taps his lips, eyes glinting with mischief. “What are you offering?”

“Whatever you want. Your wish is my command.” I look at him through my lashes, enjoying this game between us. “Set the price. I’ll pay it.”

“ Fuuuuck , I think I just came in my jeans.” Gabe shakes his head. “You should not be saying stuff like that.”

“Like what?” I innocently bat my lashes at him, knowing I’ve got him. He’s hot and bothered, and from the bulge in his jeans, he’s very hard, long, thick, and aroused.

Gabe and Hank exchange a loaded glance that makes my skin tingle.

“We don’t have time for that, and there’s no way I’m ruining dinner. ” Hank shakes his head with a chuckle. “Just give her a kiss and hand over the drive. We’ve got all evening to make her beg.”

“Fine.” A disgruntled Gabe taps his cheek. “I’ll take a peck on the cheek.”

I do one better than that.

I rise onto my toes, sliding my hands up the solid expanse of Gabe’s chest before looping my arms around his neck. His smirk falters as I pull him down to meet me.

I don’t just brush a kiss across his cheek—I claim his mouth. Soft at first, teasing, coaxing, but when his breath hitches, I deepen it, pressing my body flush against his. A low sound rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me as his fingers tighten around the USB. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll make me work for it. If he’ll refuse to let my USB go to prolong the kiss.

His lips part beneath mine, his heat wrapping around me like a second skin. The kiss stretches, slow and unhurried, each drag of his mouth against mine pushing the tension between us higher. His grip on the drive tightens before—finally—he releases it, slipping it into my palm as if surrendering something far greater than a simple piece of plastic and metal.

I pull back, savoring the dark intensity smoldering in his gaze.

“Satisfied?” My voice is a little too breathless.

“For now,” he murmurs, his thumb dragging slowly across my lower lip before he steps back, his smirk returning. “But I’m gonna need more than that next time.”

I settle back onto the barstool, powering up my laptop while dinner preparations continue around me. The computer fires up immediately—at least my father kept it charged while I was gone.

“You’re eager,” Hank comments, stirring the pasta sauce.

“It’s been too long since I’ve had access to my work.” My fingers hover eagerly over the keyboard. “Dr. Whittman wants me to take a few months before returning to work. Says I need time to decompress before I can defend my doctoral thesis.” I let out a small laugh. “But I need to dive back in, dust off the cobwebs, get my mind back into the equations.”

I look up at them both, feeling safe enough to share more. “And there’s something else too—a little side project I was working on. Something they didn’t know about.”

“Oh?” Gabe slides onto the stool beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth.

I insert the USB drive, watching as the computer recognizes it. “As you know, Malfor had us working on the fusion reactor, which we almost got operational before that whole explosion when you guys swooped in and rescued us.”

“Yes, what kind of side project?” Hank asks, turning from the stove with a furrowed brow.

“We were doing everything we could to delay implementation,” I explain, opening the first folder on the drive. “But the knowledge is out there. It’s only a matter of time now—it’s just a race between whether Malfor and his agents build one first or someone else does.” I pause, scrolling through files. “Hopefully, someone else does.”

“Why is that important?” Gabe asks, leaning in closer.

“Because they weren’t just trying to do a proof of concept,” I say, my voice dropping slightly. “They were clearly interested in more than a working fusion reactor. They were looking at rapid implementation, and from some conversations I overheard, they had specific plans for it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hank asks, setting down his spoon.

“They were planning to control who gets power and who doesn’t,” I explain, finding the file I was looking for. “Imagine having your hand on the world’s energy switch. Great way to disrupt the global economy. Malfor is insane, but he’s wickedly smart. He scares me.”

Hank exchanges a glance with Gabe. “Ally, did you meet Malfor? Did you talk with him?”

“He never came to the facility.” I shake my head. “But there were a lot of video conferences we had to attend. He was always on those, demanding updates daily, sometimes more often.” I open another file, satisfied to see my hidden work intact. “That’s why I started my little side project—to thwart his plans.”

I begin opening files, checking that my equations and models are intact. Everything seems to be there—my modifications to their designs, the subtle flaws I introduced into our work on the reactor, calculations and my own hidden work.

“All there?” Gabe asks, leaning closer to see the screen.

“Looks like it.” Relief floods through me as I open document after document. “I’ll do a more thorough check after dinner, but it seems like everything survived.”

I close the laptop but leave it running as I help Hank set the table. The sense of security I feel—having my research back and being here with them—wraps around me like a warm blanket.

Hank serves me first, heaping a generous portion onto my plate, his fingers brushing mine as he places it before me.

“Eat up, luv,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, filled with something that curls low in my stomach.

Gabe pours water instead of wine, the clear liquid catching the light as it fills my glass. His eyes meet mine over the rim, a silent challenge sparking between us.

The first bite catches me off guard.

I expect something good—Hank isn’t the type to do anything halfway—but this? This is exquisite. The pasta is perfectly cooked, coated in a rich, velvety sauce that lingers on my tongue, layered with flavors that whisper of patience and precision. Garlic, herbs, a hint of something smoky. It’s restaurant-quality, the kind of dish that takes years to perfect, the kind I’d never expect from a man who can break bones as effortlessly as he prepares a reduction.

I take another bite, slower this time, letting it roll across my palate. Hank watches me, his expression unreadable, but there’s something almost smug in the way his lips quirk.

I shake my head. “You burned bacon this morning,” I remind him, pointing my fork in accusation. “The bar was set low.”

“Like Gabe,” Hank fires back smoothly, smirk deepening. “I was distracted by fucking you.”

The bluntness of it sends a bolt of heat straight through me. Not being with me . Not making love . Just fucking me . Raw. Unapologetic. Like sex is as natural to them as breathing, like there’s no need to pretty it up with flowery words.

I realize suddenly—it’s always like this with them.

No whispered sweet nothings. No carefully curated language meant to soften the edges of what we do together. They don’t hesitate. They don’t tiptoe. They don’t pretend.

It should be jarring. Maybe it would be with anyone else .

But with them? It makes my stomach flip in a way I’m not sure I’m ready to unpack.

Gabe chuckles, tossing a lazy glance at Hank. “You got a real way with words, man.”

“Did I lie?” Hank forks a bite of pasta into his mouth, watching me with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

I press my lips together, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But the heat in my cheeks gives me away.

I twirl a bite of pasta onto my fork, lifting it to my lips. The moment it hits my tongue, warmth spreads through me, rich and complex—the kind of flavor that lingers, unfolding in layers. I blink, caught off guard by how damn good it is.

Hank watches me, waiting, and my silence stretches.

I take another bite, slower this time, letting myself savor it. The sauce is bold, the perfect balance of heat and depth, coating the pasta like silk. Every ingredient feels intentional, precise. Like everything he does.

“You’re…” I shake my head, setting down my fork as I stare at him. “You’re a killer and a chef?”

Gabe snorts. “That should be his tagline.”

Hank leans back in his chair, arms folding over his broad chest. “You think I’d let you eat anything less than perfect?”

I should’ve known. Hank doesn’t do mediocre. Not in the field, not in the bedroom, and apparently, not in the kitchen.

A shiver runs through me, completely unrelated to the food.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. “You keep surprising me,” I admit.

“Good.” His gaze darkens, amusement flickering behind something deeper.

Throughout dinner, I catch myself glancing at the laptop, eager to dive back into my work I thought might be lost forever.

Conversation is sparse, punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and soft sighs. The tension from earlier, the sharp edges of need and possession, has softened into a comfortable simmer, but beneath the surface, the undercurrent is still there, thrumming. Hank’s gaze wanders over my throat, my collarbone, places Gabe’s mouth claimed only hours before.

Heat blooms with Gabe’s casual possessiveness, his hand resting on my thigh beneath the table as a silent reminder that I belong to him. He squeezes gently, his eyes intense.

“Fair warning, sweetheart, you’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he rumbles.

“Why?” I ask, fork pausing halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean?”

His lips curl into that dangerous smile. “Because once dinner’s done and these dishes are cleaned, you’re all ours.” His thumb traces small circles on my inner thigh. “We were supposed to have you all day, and we lost several hours due to your little errand.”

“And you’re going to pay for it,” Hank adds, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. “With interest.”

Heat floods my cheeks, but I meet Gabe’s gaze, a silent promise passing between us. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both,” they answer in unison, and the synchronicity makes my stomach flutter.

Later, after the last plate is stacked and the clatter of silverware fades, Gabe claps his hands together, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Time for dessert.” His voice rings with playful anticipation. “Tonight, we’re having ice cream sundaes.”

Ice cream sundaes sound innocent enough. Too innocent, perhaps, for these two.

They exchange a look, and then Hank moves toward me, his hands reaching for the hem of my shirt. “I’ll prep our platter,” he murmurs, his voice laced with suggestive warmth.

“What?” My breath hitches.

Gabe steps closer, a grin spreading across his face. “You, sweetheart, are the most delectable plate we could imagine.”

Before I can fully process their words, Hank’s hands are under my arms, lifting me effortlessly. Gabe is already tugging at my jeans, the denim sliding down my legs as easily as melted butter. A gasp escapes my lips, a mix of delight and a delicious, thrilling horror. They strip me, their touches light but firm, until I stand naked in the warm kitchen, the cool air raising goosebumps on my skin despite the lingering heat from dinner.

Then, Hank lifts me again, placing me carefully onto the cool, smooth kitchen counter. My palms press against the granite, the coolness seeping into my skin. I’m perched here, exposed, vulnerable, and utterly, exquisitely theirs.

“Lay back, luv.” Hank’s command isn’t one I refuse.

Gabe is already at the freezer, pulling out a tub of vanilla ice cream. Hank retrieves bowls and spoons, but they’re just for show. Gabe scoops generous mounds of ice cream directly onto my body—cool, creamy dollops landing on my stomach, sliding between my breasts, nestling in the soft curls below. The cold shock makes me gasp, but it’s a pleasant surprise, a tingle that sharpens my senses.

“Cold?” Hank murmurs, his voice close to my ear as he leans in, his breath warm against my neck.

“A little,” I breathe, my voice shaky.

“Don’t worry,” Gabe chuckles, returning with a jar of cherries and a basket of strawberries, “You’ll be burning before we’re done with you.”

He carefully places bright red cherries on my nipples, the cold, smooth orbs a startling contrast to the sensitive skin. Strawberries follow, nestled amongst the ice cream, their sweet scent mingling with the creamy vanilla.

Hank opens a bag of chopped nuts, scattering them over my belly and breasts, the rough texture a playful contrast to the smooth ice cream. Then come the sauces—thick, dark chocolate and golden caramel, drizzled over my skin like molten pleasure.

They trace patterns, swirls, and lines across my neck, down my chest, over my stomach, the sticky sweetness a tantalizing invitation.

The kitchen is filled with the sweet aroma of ice cream, fruit, and chocolate, a decadent feast on my body. Hank and Gabe stand back momentarily, admiring their creation, their eyes gleaming with hunger.

Then, Hank reaches for me, his tongue darting out to lick a trail of caramel from my collarbone. The warmth of his mouth against my skin sends shivers down my spine. Gabe is right behind him, his lips closing over a strawberry nestled between my breasts, sucking gently, then biting into the sweet flesh.

They feast on me, their tongues and mouths exploring every inch of my body covered in dessert. The cold ice cream melts quickly against my skin, mixing with the warm stickiness of the sauces, a delightful, messy sensation. Hank’s beard tickles my stomach as he laps up ice cream from my belly button, and then Gabe’s mouth moves lower, his breath hot against my inner thigh.

He parts my legs, and I gasp as his tongue finds my core, the unexpected intimacy sending a jolt of pure sensation through me. His wicked tongue is relentless, a hot, wet rhythm against my most sensitive point.

I arch against the cool granite, my breath catching in ragged gasps. Above me, Hank’s gaze is fixed on my face, but his hands are busy, kneading my breasts, his thumbs circling my cherry-tipped nipples, drawing sharp intakes of breath from me that are half-pleasure, half-overload.

He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking strongly, and a moan escapes me, vibrating in the small kitchen space. The dual sensations are exquisite torture, Gabe’s focused attention below, Hank’s greedy mouth above, pulling me apart and piecing me back together with every touch, every lick, every suck.

My hips lift involuntarily, pressing into Gabe’s mouth, seeking more, needing more. The world narrows to the feeling of his tongue, the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter within me. I cry out, my back arching, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable, a sweet, sharp ache that demands release.

And then it shatters. A wave of pure sensation crashes through me, starting deep in my core and radiating outwards, shaking me to my fingertips. My vision blurs, my muscles clench, and I cry out again, a long, shuddering sound that echoes in the kitchen. Gabe’s mouth is still on me, his tongue lapping up the last tremors of my orgasm, and Hank’s hands hold me steady, grounding me even as I feel like I’m floating away.

Slowly, the intensity recedes, leaving me breathless and tingling, my skin flushed and damp. Gabe raises his head, his cheeks flushed, a smear of melted ice cream at the corner of his mouth. He grins, a triumphant, possessive smile.

“Delicious,” he murmurs, his voice husky.

Hank leans down, kissing me softly on the lips, tasting of caramel and me. “She most definitely is.” He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, his eyes dark and satisfied. The kitchen air is thick with the sweet scent of melted dessert and the lingering heat of shared pleasure, a decadent and utterly perfect ending to our ice cream sundae.

I think that’s it, but then it’s time to clean up, and Hank and Gabe don’t disappoint. Two more orgasms wrack my body by the time they clean up the mess on the counter as well as my body.

Later, we drift back to the bedroom as if pulled by an invisible thread. The air still holds the faint, musky scent of us, a heady, lingering perfume of sweat and something indefinably intimate.

Hank clicks on the bedside lamp. A warm, honeyed glow blooms, painting long, suggestive shadows across the rumpled expanse of the sheets, a blatant, delightful testament to the afternoon’s delicious excesses.

He glances at the tousled bed, a slow smirk playing on his lips.

Gabe moves to the bed first, a fluid, predatory grace in his stride. His fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, loosening them one by one, his eyes never leaving mine, a laser focus that draws me in.

He sinks onto the edge of the mattress, the springs sighing softly beneath his weight, and reaches out a hand. It’s a silent summons, a wordless command, but utterly undeniable.

I go to him, drawn in by the gravity of his gaze, the palpable heat radiating from his body like a desert stone after a long day’s sun. He pulls me close, his arm a warm band circling my waist, his fingers splaying possessively across the bare skin beneath the borrowed shirt, a deliberate, branding touch.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he commands softly, his voice a low rumble laced with possessiveness. “Let me feel you against me.”

Hank watches us, a slow, appreciative smile curving his lips. He unbuttons his shirt, his movements languid, unhurried, letting the fabric fall open to reveal the sculpted lines of his chest. He moves with a deliberate grace, each gesture a subtle stripping away of the last vestiges of formality, of the civilized veneer. The air in the room thickens, charged with unspoken desire, a palpable hum of anticipation.

“Impatient, Gabe?” Hank drawls, his eyes gleaming with a dark, knowing anticipation.

“Ravenous.” Gabe kisses me then, slow and deep, a reclaiming kiss that tastes of the ruby wine we shared, chocolate, and caramel. He breaks the kiss, his breath warm and ragged against my lips. “You taste like sin, sweetheart.” He nips at my earlobe, a sharp, playful bite. “And you’re driving us insane.”

Hank steps closer, his hands reaching for me, not to pull me away from Gabe, but to draw me further into the heat between them. His fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of my throat. He kisses the sensitive hollow, his teeth grazing lightly, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine.

Hank’s eyes darken, the pupils dilating as they roam over my body, lingering on the faint marks still visible on my skin, badges of their earlier claiming, subtle bruises blooming like dusky roses.

Gabe’s hand slides between my legs, fingers teasing at the sensitive juncture of my thighs, a slow, knowing caress that ignites a fresh wave of heat in my core. “You like that, don’t you?” His fingers part me slightly, exploring the slick heat within.

A breathless laugh escapes me, a soft sound in the charged air. “Yes.”

And then they’re on me, a storm of touch and taste and sensation. Hank’s mouth claims mine, a fierce, possessive kiss that steals my breath and sends my head spinning, while Gabe’s hands work their magic, teasing, stroking, igniting every nerve ending with a practiced, intuitive skill.

There’s no gentleness now, no slow, languorous build. This is urgent, ravenous, a desperate, unspoken need to reaffirm and deepen the claim they’ve made.

Hank pushes me back onto the bed, following me down, his body a heavy, comforting weight pressing me into the yielding mattress. Gabe joins us, his hands sliding beneath me, lifting my hips, positioning me perfectly for Hank’s insistent thrust.

He enters hard, fast, a raw, primal claiming that echoes the hunger in his eyes, a silent declaration of ownership. “You’re ours, luv,” he grunts as he pushes deep, each thrust a forceful assertion. “Remember that.”

Gabe watches, his gaze intense, possessive, as Hank drives into me, each thrust a deeper claim, a wordless declaration of ownership etched in the rhythmic friction of our bodies. Then he’s there too, his hands on my breasts, kneading, teasing the sensitive peaks, his mouth finding my neck, biting, sucking, leaving his marks to mingle with Hank’s, a tapestry of possession upon my skin.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” Gabe whispers against my skin, his voice thick with arousal, “So fucking beautiful, so fucking ours.”

The room dissolves into a haze of sensation, a swirling vortex of breath and skin and muscle, the rhythmic sounds of our bodies a primal symphony echoing in the dim light. Orgasm after orgasm rips through me, each one more shattering than the last, fueled by their combined intensity, their unwavering focus, their insatiable hunger.

Hours blur, marked only by the shifting positions, the changing rhythms, and the deepening exhaustion that wars with an ever-present arousal. There’s no conversation, only gasps and moans and growls, the raw, visceral language of pure sensation and unapologetic sex.

They take turns, Hank’s sensual mastery balanced by Gabe’s brutal possessiveness, each man pushing me further, demanding more, claiming every inch of me as their own, branding me with their touch, their taste, their very essence.

Finally, as the night deepens and the moon casts long, skeletal shadows across the room, the frantic energy begins to wane. We lie tangled together, limbs heavy and languid, skin slick with sweat, breath coming in ragged, contented gasps.

Hank shifts, pulling me closer, tucking me against his side, his arm a heavy, comforting weight across my waist. Gabe settles in behind me, spooning my back, his hand resting possessively on my hip, a silent anchor.

The silence stretches out, comfortable and intimate, broken only by the quiet rhythm of our breathing, a shared cadence of exhaustion and satiation. Hank kisses my hair, his voice soft against my ear, a rare tenderness in its rough edges.

“You’re incredible, luv.”

Exhaustion tugs at the edges of my consciousness, pulling me down into a hazy, seductive drowsiness, but even as my eyelids flutter closed, a spark of anticipation flickers within me, a low ember glowing in the aftermath. The night is far from over. Gabe’s fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on my hip, a silent promise whispered against my skin.

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr, “We’ll wake you later.”