Page 124 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“I don’t— I’m not—” I tried to protest, but Mr. Iceflare chose that moment to add a second finger, stretching me in ways that made forming complete sentences impossible. Words? What were words? I only knew sensation.
“You are,” he contradicted, his fingers finding my prostate again with devastating accuracy. “You’ve always been ours. From the moment we first saw you. From the moment you first took us. From the moment our child began growing inside you.”
The possessive declaration should have pissed me off, should have triggered my fight-or-flight response. Instead, it sent me racing toward orgasm, my brain completely offline as three alphas claimed me with hands and mouths and words that rewrote my reality.
Outside the windows, normal people were living normal lives—walking dogs, checking phones, waiting for buses—completely unaware that just feet away, an omega was being systematically dismantled by three alpha mafia lords in the back of a luxury limo. The contrast was surreal, like I’d slipped into some alternate dimension where this was somehow my life now.
Mr. Storm took me deeper, his throat relaxing to accommodate my length in a way that had me seeing stars. Mr. Iceflare’s fingers worked inside me, stretching and filling and claiming, while his teeth left marks across my shoulders and neck like he was determined to label me as “property of Trinity” for anyone who might see. Mr. Enigma’s mouth moved between my nipples, giving each one attention that bordered on torture given how sensitive pregnancy had made them.
I was drowning in sensation, my body responding to their collective attention like an instrument they’d been playing for years. My balls tightened, my cock throbbing against Mr. Storm’s tongue as pressure built at the base of my spine.
“Oh God,” I gasped, my thighs trembling as I teetered on the edge. “I’m going to— You’re making me?—”
Mr. Iceflare’s fingers pressed hard against my prostate as he commanded, “Come for us, Ty. Show us how much you’ve missed us.”
It was the use of my actual name—not “little omega” or “little thief” or “little mouse”—that pushed me over the edge. I came with a shout that probably violated noise ordinances in several states, my cock pulsing in Mr. Storm’s mouth as he swallowedeverything I had to give, my hole clenching rhythmically around Mr. Iceflare’s fingers.
The orgasm hit me like I’d been hit by a truck, obliterating conscious thought and reducing me to pure sensation. Waves of pleasure crashed through me until I was limp and gasping, held upright only by the alphas’ hands on my body. Mr. Iceflare continued to work his fingers inside me, prolonging the sensation until I was trembling and oversensitive and making embarrassing little whimpering sounds.
When it finally subsided, leaving me boneless and vulnerable, I realized there were tears on my cheeks that I didn’t remember shedding. My body hummed with satisfaction, a deep ache that had been present for months finally, temporarily, quieted.
Mr. Storm pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he’d just enjoyed a particularly good meal. His eyes were dark with satisfaction and hunger. “Perfect,” he said simply, the single word making me flush with renewed warmth.
Mr. Enigma rose, looking at me like I was a particularly impressive piece of art he’d just created. “Beautiful,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead with unexpected tenderness.
Mr. Iceflare withdrew his fingers slowly, making me whimper at the sudden emptiness. “Just a taste,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “A reminder of what awaits you at home.”
Home. The word sent a jolt of reality through my pleasure-hazed mind. This wasn’t over. This was just the beginning.
The limo had stopped moving, I realized belatedly. Outside the windows stood an imposing mansion of glass and stone, modern and massive and intimidating. My new prison, apparently.
“Welcome home, Ty,” Mr. Iceflare said, his lips brushing my temple in a gesture that was almost tender. “To where you and our child belong.”
I should have had some cutting remark ready, some final act of defiance to prove I hadn’t surrendered completely. But all I could think was that for the first time in months, the constant ache inside me had quieted. My body had gotten what it needed, even if my mind still rebelled.
And as the door opened and Mr. Iceflare lifted me into his arms to carry me into the mansion, I caught myself wondering what else my body might need that my mind hadn’t yet accepted.
The thought terrified me almost as much as it intrigued me.
