Page 40

Gabe presses closer from behind, his breath warm against my skin. I should be satisfied. My body should be spent—but it’s not.

I’m burning.

Needy.

Every inch of me feels like a live wire, buzzing, desperate, my nerve endings singing with the torment of being denied again and again.

I ache for them. Their touch. Their warmth.

A raw, unbearable throb settles between my thighs, spreading outward, creeping into my limbs, my belly, my chest—everywhere.

I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming beneath my skin, my body betraying me, pleading for their touch, aching to be taken, to be used.

Hank’s fingers skim down my arm, wrapping around my wrist, pulling me forward, guiding me toward the massive four-poster bed.

The simple shift in pressure is enough to send another pulse of arousal crashing through me. I barely bite back a whimper, my thighs clenching involuntarily, the friction both exquisite torture and devastating in its insufficiency. My skin burns everywhere they touch, nerve endings singing with a need so primal it steals my breath.

Hank chuckles, dark and indulgent, the sound vibrating from his chest against mine. His grip tightens, strong fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave delicious marks I’ll find tomorrow—evidence of this moment branded into my skin.

“So needy,” he growls, his voice rough with controlled hunger.

Gabe hums behind me, his fingers tightening on my hips, firm, possessive, thumbs pressing into the dimples at the base of my spine. The heat of his body radiates against my back, his heartbeat a steady, commanding rhythm I feel through my shoulder blades.

“She’s desperate,” he observes, his breath hot against my ear, lips grazing the sensitive skin below.

I nod frantically, heat spreading through my cheeks and down my throat, pooling low in my belly. My body betrays me in the worst way, melting between them, surrendering even as my mind struggles to maintain some semblance of control.

Gabe tilts my chin up with inexorable pressure, his calloused fingers stroking along my jaw with surprising gentleness contrasting with his predatory intent. His smirk tilts higher, revealing the edge of a canine tooth. The expression makes him look dangerous, feral—a man who takes what he wants and makes no apologies for his appetites.

“We’ll start slow,” Hank promises, each word a silken threat that makes my pulse spike. “But by the end?” His voice dips, dropping to a register that bypasses my ears entirely and vibrates directly through my core. “You’ll know why you belong to us.”

Behind me, Gabe’s hands slide from my hips to my waist, then higher, fingertips grazing the undersides of my breasts, claiming territory.

A single word falls from his lips, low, satisfied, full of dark promise—each syllable weighted with ownership and anticipation: “Perfect.”

I shudder, breathless, my body buzzing, my skin too tight over my bones, my blood running hot through my veins. Hank’s grip tightens, anchoring me and keeping me from coming completely undone.

“Do you still trust me?” His voice is low, even, measured.

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate.

And God help me?—

I’ve never wanted to prove it more.

“Good girl. Now, have you ever done anal before, luv?” Hank’s thumb drags across my lower lip with deliberate slowness, the slightly rough pad catching on the sensitive skin. His smirk deepens, eyes darkening to the color of storm clouds as he studies my reaction.

The question shouldn’t make my stomach clench the way it does—shouldn’t send that electric pulse of heat straight to my core, shouldn’t make my skin flush with a mixture of apprehension and forbidden curiosity.

But it does.

“Only once.” A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine, raising goosebumps across my skin despite the heat of his proximity. The words feel raw in my throat, a confession I hadn’t planned to make.

“And how was it for you?” Hank’s gaze intensifies, turning molten with focus. His fingers gently cup my chin, the touch firm but not forceful—a connection rather than a demand. Heat radiates from his palm, seeping into my jawline as his thumb traces idle patterns against my skin.

I hesitate, something tight curling in my chest, my pulse hammering beneath the delicate skin of my wrists and my throat.

The memory flickers—disjointed, unremarkable. The dull ache, the way I endured it rather than experienced it. The way I counted the seconds and minutes, willing it to be over while pretending it wasn’t happening at all.

“It hurt. It wasn’t… ” My voice catches, throat constricting around words I’ve never spoken aloud. “It wasn’t something I enjoyed.” I swallow, my voice quieter, almost a whisper, as if speaking it at full volume might summon the ghost of that discomfort back into my body .

Hank watches me closely. Too closely.

His eyes narrow, pupils contracting to pinpoints of intense focus as if he’s peeling back the layers, reading more in my answer than I even know how to express. The muscle in his jaw jumps, a quick spasm of tension he can’t quite control.

“It hurt?” His grip remains firm, but his expression shifts—softening around the eyes while hardening everywhere else, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

Not for me. Never for me. But for someone who isn’t here, someone who left their mark on me in ways Hank can read like braille.

“He made me.” Saying it out loud feels like peeling back skin.

Raw. Exposed. Real.

The admission rips away a protective layer I didn’t know I’d wrapped around the memory. It makes something twist inside me—anger, maybe. Shame. Relief. All tangling together into a knot beneath my ribs.

Hank’s eyes flash, molten gold igniting in their depths, jaw tightening with an audible click of teeth. His nostrils flare slightly, and the controlled fury in his expression is both terrifying and strangely comforting.

“Whoever the fuck that guy was, he wasn’t invested in pleasing you. He didn’t care how it made you feel—just that he got what he wanted.”

I blink, my breath catching in my throat. The truth of his words hits hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. No one has ever named it so plainly—the selfishness, the one-sided taking disguised as mutual pleasure.

“Anal shouldn’t hurt.” His voice is low and rough, vibrating with conviction that sinks into my bones. “It should make you moan. Make you shake so hard you forget your name.” His fingers tighten fractionally, demanding my complete attention. “You should want it, crave it—not endure it.”

He leans in, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips, his thumb still brushing my lower lip, the gentle pressure anchoring me with that touch. The scent of him—woodsy and masculine with a hint of whiskey—envelops me, making my head swim.

“Listen to me.” His voice is silk and steel—commanding, undeniable, laced with a dominance that makes my inner muscles clench with a visceral response. “While Gabe and I might take you for our pleasure from time to time—” his lips curve into a wicked smirk that promises sin and salvation in equal measure, “—and yeah, sometimes we’ll be selfish bastards about it… this.” He gestures between us, the movement sharp and definitive, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes escape impossible, unwanted. “This is about you.”

A tremor runs through me, starting at the base of my spine and radiating outward, leaving me shaking in its wake. My breath emerges shaky, uneven, lips parting beneath the pad of his thumb as something unfamiliar and dangerous unfurls in my chest—trust, perhaps.

Or surrender.

The knowledge that beneath his dominant exterior lies a man who sees me—who wants what I want, who will push me to the edge but never over it without my consent.

“We want you to feel good. To enjoy every second. We want you to want it as much as we do. But not if you’re afraid. Not if it makes you tense up or shut down.”

His fingers tilt my chin with gentle command, holding me steady in a grip that’s both tender and uncompromising.

“Do you trust me to make it feel good?” His voice drops lower, the timbre rich and dark as aged bourbon, wrapping around me like a tangible promise. “To show you how good it can feel?”

“Yes,” I whisper, the word carried on a breath that shudders past my lips. “I trust you.” My heart pounds against my ribs like a caged thing, my body already aching for him—for them—nerve endings awakening with anticipation I’ve never allowed myself before.

The way he says it—so sure, so certain, conviction etched into every line of his face—makes my stomach clench in a way that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with raw, unfiltered need. Heat pools low in my belly, spreading outward in molten waves that leave me dizzy with want.

I do trust him. Not blindly, not carelessly, but with the bone-deep certainty that comes from seeing someone’s true nature laid bare.

I want this—with them.

Not just physically, but something deeper, more primal. I want to feel what they can give me. I want them to take me as one, claiming every part of me. I need that sense of possession, of being theirs—even if just for this moment.

I take a deep breath, anticipation coiling inside me like a spring wound too tight, trust solidifying in my chest like something unshakable and immovable. My skin hums with sensitivity, every cell in my body straining toward what’s to come.

“Good.” His fingers trail lower, leaving fire in their wake as they trace along the curve of my jaw, setting my skin ablaze with the barest touch. The pads of his fingertips are slightly rough, a delicious friction against my heated flesh. “Then let us show you what it can be like.”

My pulse skips, something hot and undeniable curling deep in my belly, clenching with such intensity I almost gasp. Desire sharpens to a knife’s edge, so acute it borders on pain.

Hank’s gaze flicks to Gabe, the silent communication between them charged with electricity that crackles in the air around us. A single look containing volumes—command, agreement, shared anticipation.

“Lie on your back.”

Gabe complies without hesitation, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he positions himself on the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight, the movement subtle but enough to make my breath catch. His hard cock stands at attention, thick and imposing, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. The sight makes my mouth water, my inner muscles clenching around emptiness that soon will be filled.

Hank turns his gaze back to me, his voice commanding yet gentle, the perfect balance of dominance and care. “Straddle him, luv. Take him inside you.”

I obey, my limbs shaky but willing, muscles trembling with nervousness and desperate anticipation. Gabe’s eyes lock onto mine, dark and intense as midnight, every muscle in his body taut with restraint—visible in the corded tendons of his neck, the rigid set of his jaw, the controlled rise and fall of his chest.

His hands move to my hips, fingers splaying wide to cup the curve of my waist, firm and guiding. The heat of his palms sears through me, branding me with touch. I slowly lower myself onto him, hovering for one breathless moment as the head of his cock nudges against my entrance, my body already slick and ready.

The moment he slides inside—bare—my breath catches violently in my throat, the sensation raw and real, nothing between us but skin against skin. The stretch is exquisite, perfect, my body yielding to accommodate him inch by delicious inch. Every nerve ending ignites as he fills me completely, reaching places inside me that make sparks dance behind my eyelids.

A deep, guttural sound rips from Gabe’s throat, primal and unrestrained, his grip tightening to the edge of pain as his head falls back against the pillow for a beat, jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His hips twitch upward, driving deeper, and I gasp at the sudden sensation of being impossibly fuller.

“ Fuuuuck ,” he growls, voice rough and wrecked, stripped of all pretense and control. “You feel… different.” His eyes snap back to mine, dark with heat and something deeper—something undone, vulnerable in its rawness. “So warm. So wet. So fucking bare.”

The words vibrate through me, heightening every sensation until I’m drowning in it—in him, in the knowledge that Hank watches us in anticipation of what comes next.

My body trembles around Gabe’s intrusion, adjusting, accepting, craving more even as I process the overwhelming intimacy of this moment.

His fingers dig into my skin, not to control, but to feel—like he’s anchoring himself, grounding the surge of sensation that’s threatening to pull him under.

“Sweetheart…” His voice is hoarse, reverent, shaken. “You feel like heaven. Like I could lose my goddamn mind inside you.”

I let out a soft moan, pleasure rippling through me as I adjust to the fullness, the intimacy of him truly inside me, no barriers, no distance.

“She’s ours now,” Gabe murmurs, his hands moving up my sides, slow and possessive. “No more holding back.”