Page 22 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

I drift through the days like a ghost in my own life, rattling around this too-big house with nothing but silence for company. Most of my friends from before grad school are gone, scattered across the world, wrapped up in careers and relationships that don’t leave room for me anymore. Dad is trying—God, is he trying—but his idea of helping is hovering, checking on me constantly, sending up meals I barely touch.

The security team is everywhere, their presence suffocating. I know better than to ditch them now, but it doesn’t stop the restlessness from clawing at my insides. I pace rooms that once felt safe but now feel like a gilded cage. I stare at my reflection in windows that only show a stranger’s haunted eyes staring back.

I need air. I need an anchor.

I needthem.

My fingers hover over my phone screen, hesitating.

Hank and Gabe.

They are the only ones who get it. Who know what it’s like to wake up gasping. Who understand the way trauma lingers in the spaces between heartbeats.

Without overthinking, I compose a message.

Hi.I just wanted to say thank youagain for everything. Hope you’re doing well.

My phone buzzesin my hand before I even have time to second-guess my decision. I jolt, my pulse skipping, and then swipe to answer.

“Sweetheart.” Gabe’s rich, velvety voice slides over me like warm whiskey. “It’s damn good to hear from you. How are you holding up?”

His concern loosens something tight in my chest. Before I can answer, he continues, “Listen, if you ever want to talk or grab coffee, let us know. And… it took some digging, but we found it.”

Relief crashes over me, my breath catching. “You found my USB?”

“Yeah,” Gabe confirms, and then another voice joins in, rougher, deeper—one that makes my stomach tighten.

“Ditto what Gabe said, luv,” Hank drawls, his accent sliding over the words like a slow caress. “Now, how about that coffee? We’re dying to see you again.”

We.

My breath hitches. Not just Gabe. Not just Hank. We… them.

Us.

The room tilts slightly, my grip tightening on the phone. It’s not my imagination. It’s not wishful thinking.

They are into me—together.

Heat curls low in my stomach, and I swallow hard, my heart hammering as I try to sound casual. “Coffee sounds good.”

I’m not sure if they hear the slight shake in my voice, but the satisfied hum in Gabe’s response tells me everything I need to know.

Warmth ignites in my chest, and my heart races at the invitation. Not just a polite courtesy but a genuine eagerness to see me again. Hank’s steady hands in that cramped shower flood my thoughts, Gabe’s lingering touches on the plane, the easy synergy they shared around me. The spark crackling between us wasn’t in my head—this message proves they felt it, too.

A thrill courses through me at the prospect of something more—something unconventional involving both men. Images flash: Hank guiding me with that calm, commanding presence, Gabechanneling pure, physical intensity, and the two of them weaving their energies around me.

The idea of exploring more with them glimmers in my mind; I’ve dipped my toes into surrendering control to a trusted partner, but never with two men who make me feel both safe and, frankly, so turned on. A flush warms me at the thought.

They haven’t shown any direct inclination to kink, but their natural dominance—Hank’s quiet certainty and authority, Gabe’s powerful hands-on approach—practically begs to be explored.

It’s a deliciously taboo fantasy, and I can’t help but want to indulge in it. Who doesn’t crave a little edge now and then?

The only question is how to bring it up.

Maybe a playful tease, a half-joking comment about ropes, or a blindfold, just enough to gauge their reactions. Because if they’re even a fraction as intrigued by the idea as I am, we might discover a whole new world of pleasure waiting for us.

With its lavish comfort and my father’s security detail, this mansion feels suffocating compared to the buzz of anticipation swirling under my skin. Each memory of their touch, each unreadable look, coils around my thoughts, ready to unravel into something electric. And now, there’s a perfect excuse: they’ve recovered my USB—the one holding my entire postdoc research, my whole future in bits and bytes.

---