Page 39

I whimper, shifting in my bonds, my wrists straining against the leather. My body is liquid fire, starving for touch, for more, for release.

But there is nothing.

No warmth.

No presence.

Just the deafening silence and the weight of my own desperation.

My knees buckle, my body sagging, but the restraints keep me standing.

My legs tremble, shaking, exhaustion creeping into my muscles, but the tension inside me is worse—frustration, arousal, my own body betraying me, keeping me teetering on the edge of need.

I cry out, a broken, breathless sound, my head tipping back.

“Please!”

Nothing.

“Come back!” My voice cracks, hoarse from moaning, from begging, from everything they’ve done to me.

I strain against the bonds, tugging, my breath coming in sharp, wrecked gasps.

The silence stretches.

And stretches.

And then?—

A click.

The door opens.

I still, my pulse slamming, every nerve sparking to life as their presence returns, as their warmth fills the space around me.

A hand cups my jaw—Gabe.

The dim light burns my eyes for a second before my vision clears?—

Hank.

Standing before me.

Completely bare.

I suck in a breath, my stomach twisting in pure, aching hunger.

Hank is sculpted perfection—broad chest, chiseled abs, a body carved by years of brutal training. He is strength incarnate, every line, every ridge, a testament to his sheer, unyielding power.

And his cock—hard, thick, waiting.

Gabe steps behind me. He releases the straps, holding me in place.

The second my arms fall, my body gives out.

I collapse into Hank’s waiting arms, gasping, shaking, my limbs boneless from the relentless torment. My entire body thrums—a sharp, aching need that coils so deep it feels like I might break from it.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Gabe murmurs, steadying me. His hands are soothing over my back, but there’s no mercy in his touch.

No relief.

Only the reminder of everything they’ve done to me.

Of how they’ve wrecked me.

Of how my body still pulses with unbearable, unfulfilled need.

I can feel it—between my thighs, a raw, desperate throb, heat spreading, slickness clinging to my skin, a constant, unrelenting ache that won’t go away until they let me come.

But they haven’t.

They won’t .

I whimper, my head lolling against Gabe’s shoulder, my breath shattered. I don’t even have the strength to fight them, to demand what I need.

I can only beg.

Gabe doesn’t acknowledge my pleading before handing me over—before I feel Hank’s solid, hot body press against mine. His arms wrap around me, cradling me like I weigh nothing.

His grip is firm, strong, possessive—the kind of hold that says he owns me, knows me, and he’ll take exactly what he wants from me.

I moan, arching instinctively, pressing closer, chasing the heat of him, the hard lines of his body against my soft, needy curves.

“You did well, luv,” he murmurs against my temple, his voice a low, approving rasp.

I shudder, another whimper spilling past my lips, my thighs clenching, my body pleading without words.

His chest rumbles, low and pleased. “So desperate.”

Yes.

I am.

I need—God, I need?—

Behind us, fabric shifts?—

Gabe.

Preparing.

For what?

I can’t think.

I can’t breathe.

I can only feel.

The unbearable, burning ache between my thighs, the slick heat that proves how thoroughly they’ve unraveled me, the sharp, primal hunger clawing at my insides, begging for relief.

I’m wrecked.

Ruined.

Made for this.

For them.

I whimper against Hank’s chest, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, my body trembling as I rub against him, seeking, pleading .

“Please.”

Hank chuckles, dark and indulgent.

“She’s so needy.” Behind me, Gabe hums, a slow, knowing sound.

My pulse pounds, my lips part—”Please…” My voice is wrecked, raw from begging, moaning, from denial. “Please, I can’t?—”

Hank tightens his grip, cutting me off, his fingers digging into my skin.

“You’ll take what we give you,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise against my ear. “When we give it.”

I sob, a fresh wave of frustration rolling through me.

Hank holds me steady, his body solid, unshakable, a firm anchor in the storm they’ve created inside me. My limbs feel heavy, my skin fever-hot, every nerve lit and buzzing from the endless torment of denial.

I know what’s coming.

I feel it in the way they move around me, the way Hank shifts, his grip tightening on my waist, the way Gabe steps in behind me, his presence a dark, heated weight against my back.

But knowing doesn’t prepare me.

Not for this.

Not for them.

Hank’s lips brush against my ear, his voice low, soothing, steady.

“I’ve got you, luv.” His hands spread over my hips, grounding me, his fingers possessive, commanding, sure. “We’ve got you.”

I nod, breathless, my body trembling in anticipation.

I trust them.

Completely.

Gabe’s hands skim up my arms, his fingertips tracing featherlight paths down my spine, making me shiver.

“Relax, sweetheart.” His breath fans against my neck, his voice a smooth, delicious tease. “Let us take care of you.”

Hank shifts, tilting my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “Feel.”

I do.

I feel everything.

The heat of Gabe’s body pressed behind me, the firm weight of Hank in front of me, the delicious push and pull between them as they move together, guiding me, owning me.

Hank’s hands slide lower, exploring, teasing, stroking, while Gabe’s lips press against my shoulder, his teeth scraping just enough to make my breath hitch.

They surround me.

Consume me.

Overwhelm me.

Every touch is deliberate. Every shift, every movement, a test of my willingness, my trust, my surrender.

Hank tilts my chin, his gaze burning into mine. His grip is steady, his presence solid, a grounding force that keeps me from spiraling into the intensity crackling between us.

“You trust me?” His voice is low, even, measured.

“Yes.” I nod, breathless.

His thumb drags across my lower lip, his smirk deepening. “Good girl.”

Behind me, Gabe chuckles, his hands tracing a slow, teasing path down my sides, over my waist, making me shiver.

“We’re going to take you together, luv. You want that, don’t you?” Hank leans in, brushing his lips over my ear, his voice turning darker. “You want us to fuck you at the same time?”

My breath catches.

I do.

God, I do.

But my pulse stutters, anticipation curling deep, tight, coiling with a mix of excitement and the unknown.

I’ve never had two men before.

Hank sees it—feels it.

His smirk softens, but his grip doesn’t. “I’ll guide you,” he murmurs. “Every step of the way.”