Page 195 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

The world shifts—my body is no longer my own, strung up like art, bound tight and helpless.

As Hank secures the final knot, my body is fully suspended, an intricate web of silk rope cradling and supporting me.

Rendering me helpless and open.

The playroom is quiet, the air thick with anticipation, and the scent of rope and desire permeates every breath.

Hank steps back, his eyes roving over his handiwork, a look of satisfaction and hunger on his face. This is his domain, his art, and I am his canvas. He circles me, his fingers trailing over the rope, adjusting and checking the tension, his touch clinical yet intimate.

Gabe stands to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes burning with lust as he watches. He respects Hank’s scene and Hank’s control, but his desire is palpable, his cock already hard and straining against his jeans.

Hank moves closer, his hands sliding over my skin, his touch shifting from methodical to sensual. He cups my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, drawing a gasp from deep within me. His eyes meet mine, his gaze intense and focused.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, threaded with dark desire. “Bound. Helpless. Mine.”

Hank steps back, eyes tracing over every knot, every line of ropestretched tight across my skin. His expression shifts—appreciation, possession, a flicker of pride in the art he’s created. He doesn’t rush.

He never does.

Slowly, deliberately, he undresses.

His shirt comes off first, dragged over his head with unhurried precision. Muscles ripple beneath golden skin, the low light catching on the defined lines of his chest, the cut of his abs. He folds the shirt, setting it aside, calm and collected. Then, his fingers move to his belt, unfastening it with the same quiet intensity, his gaze never leaving mine.

My breath catches—not just from the suspension, but from the weight of his attention, the way he consumes me with his eyes alone.

He peels off the rest, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left between us but the rope and the tension.

Hank moves behind me, hands trailing down my thighs, gripping my hips to position me just so. His fingers skim the ropes where they bite into my skin, checking tension, adjusting slightly—perfecting his masterpiece.

And I can feel it—him—the heat of his body, the hard line of his cock pressing against me, eager, unyielding. But still, he waits.

Savoring every heartbeat.

Every breath.

His control is absolute.

His need, contained.

His desire is undeniable.

Suspended, bound, and utterly his, I can do nothing but tremble—and wait.

He takes his time slowly pushing into me, inch by inch, filling me completely. I moan, my body arching into his touch, the rope creaking as it holds me in place. The way I’m bound, there’s nothing I can do to move. I rely solely upon Hank.

His thrusts are measured and precise, his focus unyielding. He fucks me with a controlled intensity, his hands never leaving my hips, his eyes never leaving mine. It’s different from Gabe’s wild, passionate storm—this is a slow burn, a steady build, a testament to Hank’sunwavering control.

Gabe watches, his breath ragged, his eyes never leaving the sight of Hank moving in and out of me. He palms his cock through his jeans, his restraint visible in the tense set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw.

Hank leans forward, his body pressing against mine, his lips brushing against my ear.

“You feel so good, luv,” he murmurs, his voice strained with effort. “So tight, so warm. You’re perfect.”

He straightens, his grip on my hips tightening, his thrusts becoming harder, more insistent. The rope digs into my skin, the sensation heightening my arousal. The bite of pain mixes with pleasure until I’m a writhing, moaning mess.

Hank groans, his body tensing as he finds his release, his cock pulsing inside me. He holds me close, his breath hot and ragged against my shoulder, his heart pounding against my back.

As Hank steps away, Gabe moves in, his eyes locked onto mine, a dark promise in their depths.

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