Page 49

Gabe doesn’t ease me in.

No warm-up. No warning.

Just impact.

The first strike lands solid—not cruel, but deliberate. Steady. Unyielding.

A sharp thud against my skin, the thick leather strands of the flogger biting in deep, spreading heat through my flesh. Not a whisper. Not a taste.

A claim.

Suspended, exposed, helpless—I can’t run. I can’t hide.

I can only feel.

And Gabe makes damn sure I feel everything.

The relentless rhythm of leather against bare skin.

The sting blooming, spreading, sinking deep.

The slow, dizzying drop into that place only he can take me—where pain melts into pleasure, where the lines blur, where I stop fighting the ache and start craving it.

I arch against the restraints, my breath ragged, my body vibrating with every carefully placed strike.

I break apart with every lash, and yet, somehow, I am made whole.

Somewhere beyond the haze, I hear Hank’s voice—low, steady, grounding.

“She still with you?”

Gabe exhales hard, but there’s something raw in the way his voice dips when he answers.

“She’s flying.”

And he swings again.

I feel Hank before I see him, his hand brushing against my cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb gentle against my skin flushed with pain.

“Are you okay, luv?” His voice is quiet, coaxing. “Do you want to stop?”

“I’m okay.” My breath hitches. “I don’t want to stop.”

His hand lingers just long enough to anchor me, and then he kisses my temple, his voice a soft murmur in my ear. “That’s my girl.”

Then he’s gone again, fading into the background like a phantom protector—watching, always watching.

Gabe doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t slow.

Because today, I’m his.

And he intends to break me beautifully.

He takes his time—every strike deliberate, a symphony of sensation. The crop kisses my inner thigh. The whip sings across my shoulder. My moans turn wordless, primal, drawn from somewhere deeper than pleasure or pain.

Time unravels.

He fucks me once, slow and deep, his hands reverent as they explore the canvas he’s created. Then again—harder, rougher, like he needs to mark me from the inside out.

His hands are gentle, fingers skimming the welts with awe. His mouth brushes over the bruises like blessings.

The door creaks softly.

Hank returns .

He moves silently, his presence a quiet storm. I sense the shift in the air even before he speaks.

“You good?” he asks Gabe, voice low, clipped.

“She’s perfect.” Gabe doesn’t look away from me. “Like she was made for me.”

Hank’s boots cross the floor. I feel his warmth behind me before he steps into view. His gaze rakes over my bound body, the crimson lines that bloom across my skin like art. His expression tightens—not with concern, but with adoration.

Then his eyes find mine.

“You’re doing so well, luv.” His knuckles brush my cheek, rough skin against overheated flesh. “You look so fucking beautiful, wearing Gabe’s marks—his claim written across your skin.” His lips press a kiss to my temple, lingering. “Do you need to stop?”

“No, Sir.”

“You still want to continue?”

“Yes, please.” The words fall out of me, hoarse but certain. I don’t want to be the one who stops. I want Gabe to take everything he needs and prove that I can be everything he wants.

His thumb strokes the underside of my jaw. “That’s my brave girl.”

He steps back. And leaves again.

Leaves me with Gabe.

To suffer.

To endure.

To rise.

To fly higher than I’ve ever flown before.

Euphoria.

Gabe leans in, his breath hot against my skin, lips grazing my ear.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” he whispers, dark and coaxing. “You will take everything I give you. Do you remember your safeword?”

“Yes …”

“What is it?”

“Marshymellow. ”

“That’s right.” He steps back. “Do you need to use it?”

“No, Sir.” I stand straighter, finding a well of strength somewhere deep within.

His forehead presses to mine, anchoring me as his hands roam my body—not to hurt this time, but to remind me who I belong to. He always gives me moments like this between the lashes, bruises, and heat.

Soft. Fierce. Real.

He cups my face, his thumbs sweeping away a tear I didn’t feel fall.

“You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” His voice trembles with something deeper than need. His eyes lock on mine, a mirror of possession, pain, and love.

And I let go.

Completely.

Because with him, I can.

He drops the whip, his hands moving to my breasts, fingers rolling my nipples until I arch into his touch, a moan escaping my lips. He trails kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing my collarbone, drawing a gasp from deep within me. His hand slides between my legs, fingers finding my clit, circling it with a precision that has me writhing in my bonds.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers thrusting inside me, curling to hit that spot that makes me see stars. The pleasure is sharp and sudden, erasing the pain that came before. “You’ve earned it.”

I cry out, my body convulsing as an orgasm rips through me, leaving me gasping and shaking. But he doesn’t stop. He drops to his knees, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue lapping at my sensitive flesh, drawing out my pleasure until I’m a sobbing mess.

He fucks me with his tongue, his fingers digging into my thighs, holding me open and vulnerable. He stands, his body pressing against mine, his cock hard and insistent at my entrance. He captures my mouth in a brutal kiss, his tongue invading, claiming. He thrusts into me, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm, each movement a declaration of his love, his need, his possession.

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” he growls, his voice rough with emotion. “Every scream, every tear, every fucking orgasm—mine.”

And he proves it—again and again.

For every strike of the crop, he follows with the glide of his mouth. For every tear I give him, he rewards me with a kiss. For every tremble of my body, he whispers promises laced with devotion and demand. He takes me to the edge with pain, then pulls me back with pleasure so overwhelming it steals my breath.

Hank returns, quiet but commanding, eyes sweeping over me—bound, marked, gloriously undone. Gabe doesn’t pause. Doesn’t flinch. He simply steps back, hands lifting as he surrenders control.

Hank steps into the space Gabe vacates.

No words.

Just the warm press of his body, the slow slide of possession that grounds me in ways Gabe’s sadism never could. Hank takes me with reverence, fucking me slowly, gently, each thrust a tether to something safe and solid. I moan into the restraint, overwhelmed all over again by how differently they love me—how completely.

When he’s done, he kisses my shoulder, then my cheek. Then he looks to Gabe, nods, and steps back.

Gabe returns with fire in his eyes.

The cycle begins again.

Pleasure. Pain.

Worship. Control.

The hours blur as I give everything—mind, body, soul—to the two men who demand it all. I float, weightless and suspended, as Gabe breaks me open just to piece me back together with his hands, his voice, and his body.

He keeps me into the night.

His rhythm is relentless, his focus absolute. Not a moment of my surrender goes unclaimed, unnoticed.

I’m wrecked in the most exquisite way… and nowhere near ready to stop.

Gabe steps back, his chest heaving, eyes filled with a softness that belies the harshness of the past hours. He was true to his word. For all the pain he gave me, Gabe rewarded me with twice the pleasure .

Now, his touch is gentle and reverent.

Hank returns, his touch tender as he releases the restraints. His fingers are careful around the welts and marks left by Gabe’s ministrations.

“You did so well, luv,” Hank murmurs, his voice filled with pride and tenderness. “So fucking well.”

Once the last restraint disappears, my body slumps, exhaustion crashing over me like a tidal wave.

Hank catches me, sweeping me into his arms and cradling me against his chest. I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent, finding comfort in his strength.

Gabe leads the way to the bathroom, turns on the shower, and steam billows out as he adjusts the temperature. Hank steps in, still holding me, and Gabe follows, closing the glass door behind us.

The hot water cascades over us, soothing my aching muscles and washing away the sweat and tears of the night.

Hank gently sets me down, supporting me with an arm around my waist as Gabe begins to wash me. He lathers soap in his hands, running them over my body, careful around the marks he left. His eyes follow his hands, a look of awe and love in his gaze.

“You’re so fucking strong, sweetheart,” Gabe murmurs, his voice hoarse with emotion. His hands move lower, gently cleaning between my legs, his touch lingering, igniting a soft spark of pleasure despite my exhaustion.

Hank reaches for the shampoo, massaging it into my hair, his fingers gentle against my scalp. I lean back into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips.

Their hands move over me in sync, their touch tender and loving, washing away the remnants of the night, leaving me feeling cherished and adored. Gabe cups my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spill from my eyes. He leans in, his gaze locked onto mine, the intensity of his emotions laid bare.

“Thank you for giving me that,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you more than words can say.”

I lean into his touch, my own emotions surging to the surface. “I love you, too,” I whisper, my voice choked with tears.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he closes the distance between us. His lips brush against mine, gentle and reverent, a stark contrast to the punishing kisses of the night. I sigh into him, my body melting into his touch, my heart swelling with love.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. I open for him, our tongues tangling in a slow, sensual dance. His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.

Hank presses closer, his body warm and solid against my back, his arms wrapping around me, enveloping me in love. He kisses my shoulder and neck, his touch tender and loving. They surround me with their love, a tangible force that wraps around me, making me feel safe, cherished, and adored.

When Gabe finally pulls back, his eyes are soft, his expression filled with love. “You’re our world,” he murmurs. “Our everything. And we’ll show you how much you mean to us daily.”

I smile, my heart full, my body exhausted but content.

We stand there, the three of us, under the cascading water, lost in the softness of the moment. Their gentle touch, their tender words, and their love are palpable forces that wrap around me, making me feel safe, cherished, and revered.

They wrap me in a soft towel, drying me carefully, their touch lingering, their eyes filled with adoration. Hank carries me to the bed, laying me down gently. Gabe follows close behind. They crawl in beside me, their bodies warm and comforting, their arms wrapping around me, holding me close.

The day was a storm of sensation, a test of my limits, but the aftermath is a soft haven of love and tenderness.

I never want to be anywhere else.

Sleep comes easily, their bodies bracketing mine, their breathing syncing with mine in a lullaby of peace. The storm has passed, but its echoes remain—not in pain, but in the profound sense of being seen, cherished, and claimed.

This time, when I close my eyes, there are no nightmares.

No texture. Only warmth. Only them.

The days quickly blur into a comfortable rhythm .

My nights belong to Hank and Gabe—our oceanside home a sanctuary of tangled limbs, whispered conversations, and increasingly adventurous explorations of my limits…

With Hank, it’s steady dominance—a slow, relentless build that leaves me gasping. Controlled. Cherished. He knows exactly how to play my body, how to make me beg with nothing more than a look or the precise press of his hand.

And when he brings out his rope and ties me up…

There’s power in his stillness, command in his quiet. He doesn’t need to raise his voice. A single word and I fall into place, relinquishing control with a trust so deep it borders on reverence.

With Hank, I surrender.

Not just my body but my mind.

The time I spend with Gabe is different.

Darker.

He takes me deeper into his world, where pain and pleasure merge into something exquisite and addictive—floggers, paddles, a riding crop that kisses my skin with fire.

Gabe is methodical and exacting in his work. He watches me with that dark, focused intensity as I unravel for him, stroke by stroke. He’s physical, raw, and visceral in his need to take, but never without purpose, love, and reverence.

Every sting of his hand is matched by a gentling touch after, his voice low, praising, always pulling me back, and he certainly delivers pleasure in equal measure to pain.

Gabe claims me with fire.

Hank masters me with control.

Between them, I’m undone—rebuilt, cherished, and wanted in ways I never dreamed possible. But at the core of everything—the heart of us—is the three of us.

Sometimes they take turns, one holding me down while the other fucks me until I scream. Sometimes, they take me together, leaving me wrecked and begging for more.

And through it all, I forget the world outside this home—the pressure, the past, the future waiting just beyond the cliffs.

While my nights belong to them, when the sun rises, I don’t stay tangled in bedsheets and surrender.

I learn to fight.

Over coffee—my muscles deliciously sore, skin still humming from the night before—I stir my mug and glance between them. “Jenna has a panic room.”

That gets their attention.

“And a pistol,” I continue. “Stitch reconfigured the biometric lock. It’ll recognize all of us now. She brought more weapons, too—we’ve been hiding them around the apartment.”

Gabe lifts a brow. “Smart move.”

“I thought so. And… Mia, Rebel, and Sophia are learning self-defense. I want in.”

Gabe nods slowly, something shifting in his gaze. “We figured you would. We just didn’t want to push too soon.”

I meet his eyes. “Because of… the trauma.”

His jaw flexes, but his voice stays gentle. “Yeah. You’ve been through enough. We weren’t going to risk retraumatizing you before you had solid ground under your feet.”

“But now? You’re ready.” Hank sets his coffee down and holds my gaze with that steel-eyed certainty that always settles something in me. “You need more than a weapon. You need to know how to use it. A gun in untrained hands is a liability. We’ll teach you to shoot. From scratch.”

“You don’t think I’m overdoing it?” I ask, quieter now.

“Not at all.” Hank leans in, steady and calm. “We’ve been waiting for this. For you.” His words hit me low and warm, coiling deep in my chest. “You’re not just someone we protect, Ally. You’re someone we arm .”

Gabe taps his knuckles on the table, his eyes softer now. “We want you to be able to save yourself—if it ever comes to that.”

“I don’t want to be helpless anymore.”

Their approval lands like a promise I didn’t know I needed.

“Then you won’t be,” Hank says.

And just like that, my days find a new rhythm.

Mornings start early, with Hank dragging me from warm sheets and into tight ponytails, stretch bands, and breathless reps on the back deck. Hank shows me how to drive power from my hips. Gabe corrects my form and catches my wrists when I overextend. Every strike earns praise. Every improvement, a nod of silent pride. The work is brutal. Beautiful.

Mine.

After breakfast, we go again—this time with holds and leverage. Gabe pins me fast and shows me how to break out. Hank shows me how to hurt if I need to. My body starts remembering things: how to fight back; how to win.

The first time I knock Gabe off balance, he grins like I handed him the moon.

Midday, I pull espresso at The Guardian Grind, pour over thesis edits between orders, and pretend the register isn’t possessed. Sometimes Max curls at my feet. Sometimes Malia catches me smiling like I’m not trying to hide it.

Lunch breaks mean the shooting range. Hank walks me through stance, breath, trigger discipline. Gabe stands behind me, his hand steadying mine. My shoulders bruise from recoil.

I love it.

Afternoons blur with quantum equations and hard-earned focus. I start plotting test revisions, the shape of what comes next. Something that’s mine.

And evenings? Evenings begin with discipline and always end in surrender.

A spar on the deck that slides—inevitably—into something darker. Sweat slicks my skin; fists turn into grips, holds into commands. Rope finds my wrists before the moon finds the sky. The burn of restraint, the ache of trust, the kind of surrender that leaves no space for fear.

I train. I fight. I fuck.

And the promise they made? That I’d never be helpless again.

It wraps around me tighter than any rope.

Because here, with them, I’m not just safe. Every bruise from training, every shiver of restraint, every whispered command in the dark—it’s a thread, binding me to something fierce and unbreakable. To them.

Their hands on my body.

Their voices in my head.

Their dominance woven into every hour of the day.

I belong to Hank in the quiet, relentless way he controls a room without raising his voice.

I belong to Gabe in the wildfire heat of his possession, in the way he looks at me like I’m a question he’s already answered.

I am theirs. And I crave every second of it.

But the outside world hasn’t forgotten me.

Not even close.

It waits beyond the ocean breeze and coffee-scented hours.

Lurking. Circling. Watching.

And no matter how tightly they hold me…

Some things can still slip through the cracks.

My phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a name I can’t ignore.

Dad.

My stomach tightens. The perfect stillness around me cracks, the illusion threatened by that single name. Hank’s rule echoes in my head— always answer your father’s calls.