Page 48

Hank’s hands slide over my skin, steadying me as he shifts beneath me, his breath still uneven, but his grip sure. He chuckles, low and knowing, brushing his lips against my shoulder. “Guess that means you’re not done yet, luv.”

I shiver at the promise in his voice, at the undeniable reality that I’ll never be done with them.

Hank moves first, lifting me effortlessly, setting me on unsteady feet. My legs shake as I breathe, but my body is already craving more.

Gabe’s already ahead of us, the door swinging open, revealing the space that belongs to him and him alone.

Sleek black walls.

The gleam of polished metal.

The glint of restraints hanging from the posts of the massive bed—waiting.

Whips. Floggers.

And that crop.

The one that kisses and bites in equal measure.

Neatly arranged. Ready.

Like instruments of seduction .

Gabe leans against the frame, arms crossed, watching me take it all in.

“Let’s see if you can handle what comes next.” His smirk is slow. Lethal. He steps forward, fingers grazing my jaw, tipping my chin up so I have to meet his eyes. “Tie her to the bed.”

“With pleasure.” Hank lowers me onto the cool sheets.

Gabe’s fingers skim my throat, his touch light but firm, tilting my face toward his so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Do you want to be taken hard ?” His voice is smooth and measured, but beneath it is a promise—a warning. “Or do you want it soft and gentle?”

His thumb traces my lower lip slowly, teasingly, a harsh contrast to the weight behind his question. My breath shudders, my body still thrumming from everything they’ve already done to me.

Soft and gentle would be safe .

It would mean slow kisses and lingering touches. The kind of pleasure that builds like a slow tide washing over me in waves, wrapping me in warmth.

But that’s not what I crave.

Not here. Not now.

Not from them.

Hard means giving up everything.

It means surrendering completely.

It means restraint—powerless beneath their hands, unable to stop what’s coming or do anything but take.

It means Hank holding me down, his strength unyielding, while Gabe pushes me past my limits, makes me feel every moment, every sensation, every second of my submission.

My pulse pounds. Heat coils low, thick, and consuming.

I know what I’m asking for.

And I want it.

My lips part, my voice is breathless but certain. “Hard.”

Gabe watches me, his expression unreadable for half a second. Then his smirk returns—slow, feral.

“You’re going to get exactly that.”

Behind me, Hank exhales, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Restraints?” His voice is deeper now, rough with approval.

Gabe doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.” His smile is sharp, electric. “She’s going to need them.”

They move around me—wrists first, buckled tight, then ankles, spread wide, leaving me open, exposed, completely theirs.

Hank’s fingers skim my thigh, soothing and teasing in the same stroke. His voice is soft, amused.

“Look at you.” His thumb traces lazy circles over my skin, eyes dark with possession. “Helpless. Just like you asked.”

Gabe hums in approval, fingers trailing over the crop, lifting it with care. He circles the bed, the whisper of leather against his palm sending a shiver straight down my spine.

Then, he presses it against my thigh—not striking yet, just letting me feel it.

“Last chance to back out.”

My heart pounds, breath shallow.

I have already made my choice.

I lift my gaze to his, unflinching.

“No, Sir.”

His eyes gleam. A flicker of pride, dark and hungry.

“Good girl.”

The first strike lands—a sting, sharp and delicious—and I moan, hips straining against the cuffs, already aching for more.

“Let’s see how much you can take.” Gabe chuckles, slow and knowing.

He gives it.

They give me everything.

Leather strains around my wrists, cool against overheated skin. I can’t move—not really—not with how they’ve bound me, stretched out, vulnerable, open. Every breath feels sharp, every nerve ending alive, anticipating.

They take their time.

Touching. Teasing.

Possessing .

There’s no mercy. Only them.

Taking everything .

Giving nothing but dominance. Power. Pleasure so sharp it borders on pain.

I break for them, over and over, shattered by their possession, reassembled by their touch.

When they finally stop—bodies pressed tight, breath ragged in my ears—I am nothing but wreckage in their arms.

Hank moves first, his fingers working the restraints loose from my wrists. The absence of them feels foreign, and my body is too spent to process the freedom. He sets me gingerly on my feet, but I crumple, limp and boneless.

But Hank doesn’t let me fall.

His strong arms catch me, hauling me up, keeping me steady.

I expect to be wrapped in warmth, to be eased back into something soft and comforting. Finished.

But Hank doesn’t take me to the shower.

He half-carries and half-drags me toward the center of the room.

My breath hitches.

Overhead, the restraints dangle—black leather and polished steel, gleaming ominously in the dim light. My stomach tightens, heat and anticipation twisting with something sharper.

Hank doesn’t say a word as he positions me beneath them, his grip firm, guiding.

Then—Gabe steps in.

His presence shifts the air, heavy with intent.

His heat wraps around me before his hands even touch my skin, his energy a dark, living thing.

He moves in close—so close I can feel the ghost of his breath at my temple, his fingers brushing the cuffs as he lifts my wrists.

One by one, he secures me.

Leather bites into my skin, snug, unyielding.

Then he bends, fastening my ankles wide—spreading me open, leaving me completely exposed.

The click of the last buckle is a quiet death knell to my will.

I’m his now .

Hank releases me.

Steps back. The space between us opens, vast and irreversible.

A single glance passes between them—silent, absolute—a language spoken in power and trust, in a bond older than my presence between them.

Hank gives a slight nod.

And then, the words.

“She’s yours now.” His voice is low.

Final.

A chill snakes down my spine, my stomach twisting as I realize Hank intends to leave me alone with Gabe.

Gabe, who is a sadist.

Who won’t take mercy on me.

Who is looking at me now like I’m the most exquisite thing he’s ever seen—bound and waiting, his for the taking. The smirk that usually plays on his lips is gone. In its place, something deeper.

Darker.

Deliciously wonderful.

His touch is deliberate as he lifts my chin, his fingers pressing lightly into my jaw, holding me still. His lips curve slowly, but there’s nothing soft about the expression.

Nothing merciful .

The room narrows.

There’s only him.

Only his breath mingling with mine.

Only his voice, rough with devotion and need.

“For every ounce of pain I give you, I will give you a pound of pleasure.”

His thumb sweeps my lower lip, dragging over it, pressing just enough to make me part my mouth.

“You have my promise.”

My stomach tightens.

My pulse stutters.

But then—his grip tightens.

Just enough to make me feel it. To warn me.

“But first—” his voice drops lower, rougher, “you suffer. You take the pain. ”

My breath catches, my body already bracing for what’s coming.

Gabe doesn’t move yet. He stays right there, his fingers firm at my jaw, his breath ghosting over my lips, his control absolute.

“Tell me you remember your safeword.”

A test. A demand. A moment of clarity before the plunge.

I swallow, steadying myself, my voice firm. “Marshymellow.”

His smirk is slow, knowing. “Good girl.” Then, softer— “You won’t need it.”

My breath shudders, but not from fear.

His thumb drags down my throat, tracing my pulse, feeling the wild beat beneath his touch.

“I’m going to spend the rest of the day testing your limits,” he murmurs. “Finding them. Devouring your pain. Watching it bloom across your skin—” his fingers tighten briefly, possessively “—a canvas of my art. Of my ownership.”

Heat coils low, twisting, tightening.

His voice dips, slow and deliberate.

“Do you want that?” His other hand trails down, barely ghosting over my ribs, my waist, teasing—but not touching. “Do you crave the marks of my ownership?”

Something inside me snaps.

Not in fear. Not in hesitation.

But in need.

My body strains against the restraints, my fingers flexing, my spine arching, pressing myself closer to him even while I have nowhere to go.

I meet his stare head-on. Unwavering. Unafraid.

“Yes, please.”

His nostrils flare, his jaw ticking as something dark, something hungry, flares behind his eyes. For a second, just a second, his fingers trail down my cheek. Soft. Reverent.

Then he moves.

Not toward me.

Toward the wall.

My heart hammers.

A shiver of something deeper, sharper than anticipation rolls down my spine as his fingers trace over the neatly arranged implements—familiar ones, ones I’ve felt before.

Then—his hand stops.

I can’t see what he’s chosen, but I hear it.

A whisper of leather as he pulls it free, something heavier, more ominous than the crop.

He turns.

Something dark and wicked gleams in his eyes as he lifts it.

A flogger.

But not just any flogger—this one is different.

Long, black leather strands, thicker, heavier, meant to bruise and mark.

My breath stutters.

Gabe watches me—waiting. Gauging.

Waiting to see if I’ll break before he even touches me.

He gives me one last chance.

A final out.

A single step forward, his fingers tracing my wrist where the leather binds me. His voice dips, low and lethal.

“Ask now, and I’ll release you.” A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “But stay, and you won’t leave this room without wearing my marks for days.”

I don’t hesitate.

I lift my chin, meeting his stare. My voice is steady, unwavering.

“I’m not leaving.”

His lips part, a slow breath exhaling, his eyes darkening with something almost reverent.

“That’s my girl.”

He steps closer and swings.