Page 123 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Mr. Storm released my wrists then, but before I could take advantage of my newfound freedom (not that there was anywhere to go in a moving limo), he dropped to his knees between my legs. His large hands gripped my thighs, pushing them apart with zero regard for my personal space or dignity.
Mr. Storm looked up at me, then at my stomach, then back at me. He didn’t say anything—shocker—just inhaled deeply again, his expression softening just enough that I might have imagined it.
“Our child,” Mr. Iceflare confirmed, his hand sliding over my still-flat stomach like he was staking a claim. “Growing stronger every day, even as he tried to hide from us.”
His hand lingered there, warm and possessive, and something in my chest tightened unexpectedly. The look in his eyes as he stared at where his hand covered my abdomen wasn’t just alpha territorialism—it was something deeper, something that looked disturbingly like wonder.
“This child will want for nothing,” he said. “Neither will you.”
Mr. Storm nodded once, his hand joining Mr. Iceflare’s on my stomach like we were in some bizarre pregnancy blessing ceremony.
“A Trinity child,” Mr. Enigma said, completing the circle as his hand joined the others. “Born of all of us.”
I should have been fighting harder, should have been kicking and screaming and doing anything but sitting there while three mafia alphas held an impromptu baby shower on my abdomen. But months of dreams and fantasies, of waking up aching and empty, had worn down my defenses to tissue-paper thin.
My body knew what it wanted, even if my brain was screaming objections like a neglected toddler.
“You can’t just—” I started, but my words dissolved into a surprised yelp as Mr. Storm hooked his fingers into my pants and underwear and yanked them down in one smooth motion, exposing me completely to the air-conditioned limo interior.
The cool air hit my overheated skin, but that was nothing compared to the embarrassment of Mr. Storm staring at my cock, which was already hard and leaking against my stomach like it was auditioning for “Most Eager Omega of the Year.” Great. Three months of pretending I didn’t want these alphas, and my body was betraying me faster than a politician after taking a bribe.
“Already hard for us,” Mr. Enigma said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “So perfect.”
“It’s just biology,” I protested weakly, my face burning as three pairs of alpha eyes examined me like I was the main course at an alpha buffet. “Omega response to—FUCK!”
My explanation cut off abruptly as Mr. Storm leaned forward and swallowed my cock without so much as a “may I?” The sudden wet heat of his mouth short-circuited my brain completely. My hips bucked up involuntarily, seeking more of that incredible sensation with zero input from my higher brain functions.
“That’s it,” Mr. Iceflare growled against my ear, his lips finding my neck with unerring accuracy. “Let us hear you. Let us know how much you’ve missed this.”
The dual sensation—Mr. Storm’s mouth on my cock and Mr. Iceflare’s teeth grazing my neck—was overwhelming. My brain went completely offline, rational thought replaced by pure animal need. I gasped for air, my head falling back against Mr. Iceflare’s shoulder as my body surrendered completely to sensations I’d been denying myself for months.
Mr. Enigma moved then, sliding off the seat to kneel beside Mr. Storm, his mouth finding my nipple while his fingers traced teasing patterns on my inner thigh. The feeling of three alphas touching me simultaneously after months of nothing but my own hand and increasingly pathetic fantasies was mind-blowing.
“Look at him,” Mr. Enigma murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “Coming apart for us. So beautiful.”
Mr. Storm worked my cock with the same focused intensity he brought to everything—methodical, thorough, and devastating. He took me deep, his tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft in a way that made my eyes roll back.
At the same time, Mr. Iceflare’s teeth grazed my neck, sending shivers racing down my spine, while his free hand slid between my legs, fingers circling my hole without penetrating, the teasing bastard.
“Please,” I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for. More? Less? Everything? Nothing?
“Please what?” Mr. Iceflare asked against my skin, his teeth leaving marks that would linger for days. “Please stop? Please more? Please make you forget there was ever a time when you weren’t ours?”
“Just—please—” I couldn’t form coherent thoughts, not with Mr. Storm’s mouth on my cock, not with Mr. Enigma’s lips on my nipple, not with Mr. Iceflare’s fingers teasing my hole withmaddening restraint. My brain had reduced to the complexity of a goldfish—want, need, now.
“I think our little mouse needs more,” Mr. Enigma suggested, pulling back to look up at Mr. Iceflare with a grin that promised trouble. “He’s been empty for months. Aching for us.”
Mr. Iceflare’s smile was pure predator. “Then let’s fill him.”
Without warning, he pushed a finger inside me, the intrusion both shocking and desperately needed. My back arched, a cry tearing from my throat as he found my prostate with the precision of someone who’d mapped it thoroughly.
“Fuck!” I gasped, my body clenching around his finger like it was afraid he might take it away. “Right there—God—how do you remember exactly where?—”
“So tight,” Mr. Iceflare murmured, his finger working that spot inside me that made my vision blur. “Like your body’s been saving itself for us.”
The assessment sent another rush of heat through me, my hips moving between his hand and Mr. Storm’s mouth with desperate need. The pleasure was building to unbearable levels, my cock throbbing with each stroke of Mr. Storm’s tongue against the underside.
“I’ve thought about this for months,” Mr. Enigma admitted, his voice rough as he watched. “About finding you again. About reminding you where you belong.”
