Page 38

Gabe grips my wrist and pulls me with him, his movements fluid, controlled, utterly sure of himself.

The residual pleasure from before still hums through my body, my legs weak, my skin flushed, but I follow without hesitation. My breath is still ragged, my body aching.

We move through the condo, past the open living space, to the one side of the apartment I’ve yet to see.

A fresh coil of anticipation curls in my stomach.

We reach a door at the very end. Unlike Hank’s, which is almost always left slightly ajar, this one is closed.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of Gabe’s mouth as he pushes it open.

“Welcome to my world, sweetheart.”

I step inside?—

And stop dead.

The air feels thicker here—darker—as if the walls hum with the unspoken whispers of what happens within them.

Hank’s room is masculine and minimalistic.

But this?

This is something else entirely .

The walls are black, smooth, and cool, as if the room were designed to swallow the light.

The four-poster bed is massive, dark wood and iron, thick ropes tied and waiting at each corner. Along one side of the room, an entire wall is lined with neatly displayed implements—crops, whips, floggers, restraints.

But it’s the center of the room that makes my stomach flip.

Chains dangle from the ceiling, gleaming silver in the dim lighting. Another set of hooks are fixed to the floor, long ropes tied to them.

A perfect system of control.

A slow shudder ripples through me.

This is where Gabe plays.

His words whisper through my mind: Because I’m not done with you yet.

I gasp, my pulse rocketing, my body torn between thrill and trepidation.

Gabe steps behind me, his breath warm against my neck, his hands skating down my arms. “You see something you like?”

I can’t speak.

Because God help me, I do.

“Come here.” He chuckles, wrapping a hand around my wrist.

He leads me to the center of the room, to the space beneath the chains, and lifts my arms overhead, clasping my wrists in one of his large hands.

“Let’s see how much you trust me.”

The click of metal sends a sharp thrill through my veins. Leather straps encircle my wrists, snug but not painful. The cool weight of restraint settles over me, grounding me, holding me in place, exposing me.

I inhale and exhale, testing the movement.

I’m trapped.

I love it.

Gabe steps back, watching me, his eyes dark and knowing.

“You’re perfect like this.”

Then, the door opens.

A fresh wave of heat crashes through me as Hank steps inside.

The look on his face?

Pure possession.

“Do you remember your safeword?” His voice is a deep, measured rumble, his gaze sliding over my restrained form.

“Remind her,” Gabe says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if he’s perfectly happy to let Hank take over.

Hank prowls forward, stopping just close enough that I can feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t touch me.

“Tell me, luv.” He tilts his head.

I wet my lips, my body humming with anticipation. “Marshymellow.”

His lips twitch. “That’s right. And you can use it anytime. No questions. No judgment.”

I nod, my pulse hammering.

His fingers trail up my stomach, barely there, teasing, skimming over my ribs, my sides, my collarbone—everywhere except where I need him.

My body strains, desperate for more.

“You were so eager to reward me, luv,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing over my ribs, down my stomach. “Now it’s our turn to have some fun.”

I shudder, my thighs clenching, my body aching for them, for more.

“Look at her.” Hank clicks his tongue, amused. His knuckles skim up my inner thigh, just shy of where I need him, making me tremble. “Absolutely wrecked, and we’ve barely touched her.”

“Relax, sweetheart.” Gabe moves behind me, his hands settling on my hips, holding me in place.

I try.

But they know.

They know exactly how to unravel me.

Hank’s mouth brushes my ear. “We’re going to play a little game.”

Gabe’s fingers skate lower.

“Let’s see how long you can last. ”

And then?—

Pleasure.

Pure, agonizing, teasing pleasure.

Hank moves first.

His touch starts light, barely there, his fingertips skating along the sensitive dip of my collarbone, tracing the ridge of my shoulder, dipping lower—just enough to make me ache for more.

He explores me like he owns me, like he’s memorizing every inch of my skin.

I shiver, wrists straining slightly against the leather straps above me.

Somewhere behind me, Gabe chuckles.

I don’t know where he is exactly—whether he’s to my left, my right, behind me, watching—but I feel him.

His presence is a weight against my senses, his gaze like heat licking across my body, making my skin tingle with awareness.

But he doesn’t touch me.

And somehow, that is the cruelest part of all.

Hank’s lips curve as he watches me squirm, as he watches my body react to his hands.

“You’re already so sensitive, luv.” His voice is silk and sin, a slow, lazy drag over my nerves. “Tell me… what’s setting you off more?” He trails his fingers down my stomach, making my muscles tighten. “My hands?” His palm spreads over my ribcage, moving achingly slow. “Or?—”

Gabe shifts.

Moves.

He circles me like a predator, taking his time.

The not knowing—the delicious anticipation of what he might do—makes my pulse slam against my ribs.

Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s holding back.

I want his touch. Crave it.

The denial of it, the teasing, the taunting restraint he’s using against me, is making my body beg in a way I didn’t even know it could.

Hank’s thumb brushes the underside of my breast, just barely skimming my skin.

“Oh, luv…” He presses his lips to my neck, humming against my pulse. “I think we know the answer to that.”

Was there a question?

“She likes suffering for your touch.” Gabe chuckles again, slow and knowing.

My breath hitches.

Because yes.

Yes, I do.

A low hum of approval vibrates through Hank’s chest. He drags his mouth lower, tasting, teasing, the heat of his breath like a brand against my skin.

Gabe moves again.

Circles closer.

A single fingertip traces the inside of my wrist—the only point of contact I get from him—before he pulls away.

I shudder.

Hank grins. “She’s trembling.”

“Not my fault she’s this easy to unravel.”

“Liar.” Hank’s teeth scrape my jaw, making me gasp. “You’re making her unravel.”

Gabe just laughs.

And then?—

Silence.

A pause.

My breathing is ragged, my body burning, and I wait.

Wait for a touch that doesn’t come.

Wait for something.

And it’s in that moment—the thick, aching space between pleasure and denial—that I realize… this is the game.

The Game They Play.

The moment the realization hits, it’s like a live wire snapping through my system.

The game isn’t restraint.

It’s not pain .

It’s not some display of dominance.

They’re going to torment me.

Tease me.

Keep me right at the edge, make me suffer for it, knowing I’ll break before they do.

I bite my lip, my breath shaky as understanding settles deep in my bones.

I am helpless.

Not because I’m restrained—because I want this.

Hank’s hands never rush, never give me what I need, only what he wants me to have. A slow drag of his thumb over my hipbone. A brush of his knuckles down the inside of my thigh. Just enough to make my breath hitch, to make my body reach for more.

But the worst part?

The truly maddening part?

Is Gabe.

He’s moving again, circling me, a dark presence in my periphery. He’s there but untouchable, his heat licking at my skin, his gaze everywhere, owning me with his restraint alone.

Not touching.

Not helping.

Not giving.

And it’s making me crazy.

A low chuckle rumbles from him, smooth, smug, satisfied. “She gets it now.”

Hank hums in agreement. “Took her long enough.”

“Please.” I make a small, desperate noise in the back of my throat, and Hank grins, brushing his lips over my shoulder.

“Struggling already, luv?” His voice is a deep, rich purr, all teasing indulgence. “We haven’t even started yet.”

Gabe steps closer, close enough that I can feel his heat against my back, but not touching.

Not giving me an inch.

I squirm, my body arching instinctively toward him, toward anything?—

A sharp tsk from Gabe makes me freeze.

“That’s adorable,” he murmurs, his breath a ghost against the nape of my neck. “She thinks we’re just gonna give her what she wants.”

Hank exhales a quiet laugh, dragging his fingertips up my sides, slow and deliberate.

“Oh no, luv. You’re going to earn it.”

My head falls back against the restraints, a frustrated whimper escaping before I can stop it.

Hank chuckles, low and satisfied, before pressing a kiss to my jaw. “That’s right, luv.” His lips brush against mine, featherlight. “You suffer for us first.”

Hank’s hands become more deliberate. No longer teasing. No longer skimming.

He cups my breasts, his palms rough and warm as he massages, rolling the weight of them in his hands. He flicks my nipples, the sensation sharp and aching, pulling a gasp from my lips. My back arches, instinctively offering myself to him, but the restraints hold me fast, keeping me exactly where they want me.

“Beautiful,” Hank murmurs, his voice thick with approval.

He pinches one peak just enough to make me whimper, his other hand sliding lower, fingers trailing over the softness of my stomach, tracing the curve of my hip, down the inside of my thigh.

And then?—

His fingers dip between my legs.

A whimper escapes me, my knees buckling slightly, but he holds me up, keeps me open, keeps me waiting.

I moan, tilting my head back, desperate for more, desperate for anything.

Hank exhales a soft chuckle. “So eager.” His fingers slide through the slickness there, slow, testing, his breath warm against my throat. “You like being teased, don’t you, luv?”

I can’t even form words.

I nod, gasping when he circles my most sensitive spot, just the barest touch, just enough to taste pleasure before?—

He pulls back.

I cry out, my body trembling, aching, clenching around nothing .

Hank tuts, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat. “ Tsk, tsk, luv. What did I say?” His lips brush against my ear, the whisper almost tender. “You suffer for us first.”

A frustrated whimper slips from my lips, my fingers curling into fists above my head.

And then?—

Gabe.

He steps away from me, slow and measured, his boots soft against the hardwood floor.

Not toward the bed.

Not toward Hank.

But toward?—

The wall.

My stomach flips, heat racing through me as I realize exactly where he’s going.

He runs his fingers across something—a soft, dragging sound, like leather against wood.

The wall of crops.

He’s taking his time.

Considering.

Choosing.

My breath catches, anticipation a sharp, tight thing inside my chest.

Hank chuckles, his fingers trailing lightly over my stomach. “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

I swallow, every nerve on high alert, every inch of my skin tingling.

Hank’s lips graze my ear. “The game is simple, luv.” He drags his knuckles down my side, soothing, even as his words set me on fire. “You want my touch?” His fingers slide lower, brushing just barely between my legs again. “You earn it.”

I make a desperate noise, shifting against the restraints.

Hank tilts my chin with two fingers, making me look at him.

“Five strikes,” he murmurs. “Of whatever Gabe chooses.”

I shudder, my breath coming in fast, uneven bursts.

Gabe hums from behind me, still at the wall, still taking his time. “And here I thought you’d make it harder on her.”

Hank smirks. “I thought I’d start her off easy.”

A thrill rushes through me, sharp and eager, my body already waiting for what’s to come.

“Only five?” I barely recognize my voice, and I have no idea why I just said that. This is not the time to challenge them.

Hank nods, his fingers soothing over my jaw, contrasting the storm building inside me. “Five not enough?”

I don’t hesitate.

“No, Sir. Five is enough.”

Gabe laughs, soft and dark.

Behind me?—

A whip-crack of leather against the air.

The first test.

And then?—

The sound of his boots moving toward me.

I glare at Hank. “You’re torturing me.”

Hank doesn’t answer, but Gabe does.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “This isn’t torture.”

I bite my lip, trying not to let the sharp ache between my thighs take over my brain.

“She’s desperate for it.” Hank watches the struggle, his gaze dropping to where I ache for him, his smirk deepening.

“Is that right, sweetheart?” Gabe reaches out and trails his fingers up my inner thigh, light, teasing, not nearly enough, his touch stopping just shy of where I need him.

I jolt, my thighs tensing, trying to push forward—closer.

Hank’s grip tightens. “Uh-uh. Stay still.”

The command in his voice wrecks me.

My pulse pounds, my body caught between desperation and submission, between the sharp bite of frustration and the intoxicating high of obeying.

They are toying with me.

But God, I love it .

Gabe watches me, tracking every breath, every subtle shift in my body, every clench of my thighs. He rolls his shoulders like he’s settling in, like he has all the time in the world to toy with me.

I can’t see what he’s holding, but I hear it—the whisper of leather dragging over his palm, and his grip shifts as he tests the weight.

Then, slowly—so slowly—he circles me.

I track his movements with my breath alone, my pulse ticking faster, my body hyperaware of every step, every shift, every pause.

Hank keeps me still, his hands flexing against my thighs, a steady weight, a reminder that I am held, contained, theirs.

Gabe makes one full round.

Then another.

The third time, he stops behind me, and I brace, every nerve vibrating with expectation.

I can hear the hum of his breath, feel the space he’s leaving between us, and love the way he makes me wait.

Then—

Contact.

A barely-there sting against the curve of my ass, a sharp kiss of sensation that vanishes almost as soon as it lands.

I gasp, my body jolting before I realize it’s done.

Hank chuckles.

Gabe hums low, dragging the leather across my skin, tracing where he struck. “That’s one.”

I shudder, my body buzzing, more alive than it was before the impact.

He circles again; the wait intolerable. Dragging by. Teasing me.

Then—

The leather bites just slightly harder, enough to make my back arch and my thighs tense.

My breath catches, heat blooming through me in waves, pooling low, deep in my stomach, making me ache.

“Two,” Gabe murmurs.

I bite my lip. Moan in desperation .

God help me.

I like this.

The next strike comes quicker, a sharp snap of contact, the sting immediately melting into warmth, into anticipation, and into a desperate need for more.

Hank chuckles again, running his fingers up my ribs, calming me, keeping me exactly where they want me.

“Three.”

Another.

“Four.”

The sting lands just above my thigh, a perfect contrast to the warmth already lingering there.

I moan, my fingers flexing uselessly above my head, my body screaming for release.

“Five.”

Gabe steps away, dropping the implement somewhere nearby.

The absence of his presence, of his touch, of his attention is almost worse than the torment of waiting for the next strike.

But then?—

Hank moves.

He tilts my chin up and forces my gaze to meet his.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my lips before he claims my mouth.

The kiss is deep, consuming, rewarding.

His hands slide down my arms, over my ribs, and along my stomach, until he finds the place where I burn.

My moan melts into him, my legs trembling when his fingers part me, slipping just enough between my thighs to make my breath stutter.

But it’s not enough.

Not nearly enough.

He strokes me, slow, lazy, his thumb circling, coaxing, sending fire curling through my blood.

I whimper, tilting my hips, seeking more?—

And then he stops.

Withdraws completely.

“No!” My head falls back, my body trembling .

Hank grins, his lips brushing my jaw. “Not so easy, is it, luv?”

“She needs five more.” Gabe chuckles from somewhere nearby, pleased.

“Please…” I pant, every inch of me aching, my restraints the only thing keeping me from chasing after him, forcing them to finish what they started.

Time loses meaning.

It’s a cycle, a rhythm, a relentless, deliberate torment.

Strike.

Pleasure.

More.

Again.

Gabe’s strikes grow sharper each round, the leather biting deeper, sending shockwaves of pain rippling through me.

The impact burns enough to make my muscles tense, enough to make my pulse slam against my ribs. Enough to steal my breath, blur the lines between pain and pleasure, and leave me aching for the next strike.

And every time?

Hank follows.

Rewarding.

Teasing.

Taking me to the very edge of bliss—only to pull away at the last second, leaving me trembling, desperate, needing to come more than I’ve ever needed to in my life.

Strike.

Pleasure.

Denial.

Again.

Faster now, more merciless.

Gabe’s next strike makes me cry out, the heat blooming through me, deep and throbbing. I’m gasping, writhing, my body helplessly seeking more, knowing exactly what’s coming next?—

Hank’s touch.

Soft this time. Soothing. His lips part mine, swallowing my needy whimper as his fingers stroke just right, just perfect, setting off firecrackers beneath my skin.

So close.

So unbearably, painfully close.

But before I can fall?—

He pulls back.

Again.

Over and over.

I don’t know how many times they did it.

I don’t know how many times they built me up and dragged me to the peak, only to steal it away.

My body shakes, my breath is wrecked, and my mind is lost in a spiral of need.

I beg.

Not just with my words—with everything. My breathless whimpers, the way I arch, the way I plead with my body. The restraints are the only thing keeping me from sinking to my knees and surrendering completely.

I need it.

I need them.

And then?—

Gabe’s lips curl. “Now you wait.”

The words slam into me, my heart plummeting.

“No!” I shake my head, breathless, wild with desperation.

Hank chuckles, his grip shifting, sliding lower, cupping the curve of my ass. “She’s got a defiant streak, Gabe.”

“Shame. And she was doing so well.” Gabe sighs, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “We’ll have to add a strike.”

Hank tilts my chin up, forcing my dazed gaze to meet his. “You’re going to wait for us now, luv.”

I blink, my breath ragged, my body trembling, skin burning from their touch, from their denial.

“We won’t be gone long.” Gabe soothes me, his palm sliding over my ribs, grounding me.

I jerk against the restraints, my body desperate, on fire, aching for them, my nerves screaming in protest .

“Please,” I whisper.

“Be patient, luv.” Hank presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “That’s an order.”

Their heat vanishes.

The sound of their retreat makes my stomach plummet.

Then—

The soft click of the door.

They’re gone.