Page 169 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

And I feel it—the shift. The part of Gabe that’s been buried under loss and guilt and silence is finally clawing free.

His teeth find my neck, not gentle now, biting hard enough to leave a mark. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, holding me in place as he pounds into me with the kind of force that shatters thoughts and breath and pain.

This isn’t soft, sweet, or apologetic.

This is him.

Us.

My moans echo off the kitchen walls, sharp and desperate. He curses, thrusts deeper. The counter jerks beneath us with every slam of his hips.

“You’re mine,” he growls against my ear. “Still mine. Always fucking mine.”

I can’t speak. Can’t do anything but feel him. Take him.

He lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, changing the angle. The next thrust hits something explosive—my back bows, a scream ripped from my throat.

He doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t let me come down. Just keeps driving me higher, harder, until my vision blurs and the world narrows to the man fucking me like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His name breaks from my lips over and over.

“Gabe—oh God—don’t stop, don’t stop?—”

“I’m not stopping till you fall apart on my cock.”

And I do.

The orgasm rips through me, brutal and consuming, white-hot and endless. My muscles clamp down, pulsing around him. He groans like it’s killing him, curses, then shudders with his own release, buried deep inside me.

For a moment, we just breathe.

Sweat slicks our skin. His forehead rests against mine. My legs still shake.

Then he pulls back, cups my cheek.

“That was… Fuck, Ally.”

I nod. Can’t speak. Still floating.

He lifts me into his arms, carries me down the hallway like I weigh nothing. Lays me in bed, pulls the sheets over us, and climbs in behind me. His body wraps around mine, strong and solid.

And when he whispers, “I love you,” into the shell of my ear, I don’t cry this time.

I believe it.

He doesn’t stop.

Not after the kitchen. Not after I come apart in his arms.

He laid me down like I’m breakable, but the look in his eyes says I’m not. Not tonight. Tonight I’m something to be claimed. Taken. Worshipped.

“I’m not done with you,” he says, voice low, rough velvet laced with grit. “Not even close.”

My body aches in the best possible way, but I open for him anyway. Wanting him.

Needing to feel the way he used to take me. The way he and Hank would pass me between them, relentless and hungry and so fucking loving, it ruined me.