Page 34 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Mr. Iceflare’s eyes had darkened to midnight blue, his jaw clenched so tight I could see a muscle jumping beneath his skin. His chain rattled as his hands formed white-knuckled fists at his sides.
“Mr. Storm’s getting quite a show too,” Mr. Enigma continued, pushing deeper, the stretch making me gasp. “He can’t wait for his turn. Can you, Mr. Storm? Can’t wait to feel how tight and hot our little omega is?”
Mr. Storm didn’t respond verbally, but the darkening of his stormy eyes and the quickening of his hand on his cock spoke volumes.
“They’re both imagining it’s them inside you right now,” Mr. Enigma murmured. “Both wishing they were the ones making you moan like this.”
Just as he was about to fully seat himself inside me, a snarl cut through the room—a sound so primal, so dangerous, that both Mr. Enigma and I froze.
“Get away from him,” Mr. Iceflare growled, each word precise and deadly.
Mr. Enigma didn’t immediately comply, his cock still partially inside me, his hands still gripping my thighs. “He came to me,” he pointed out, his tone light but with an undercurrent of steel. “Asked for what you wouldn’t give him.”
“And now I’m telling you to let him go,” Mr. Iceflare replied. “He’s mine.”
“Yours?” Mr. Enigma echoed, amusement coloring his tone. “I don’t see your claim on him. In fact, I’m the one currently inside him.”
The reminder seemed to push Mr. Iceflare over the edge. With a roar that sounded barely human, he lunged forward. The chain housing made a mechanical whirring sound as it released additional length, allowing him to reach us. His hand shot out, gripping Mr. Enigma’s shoulder with bruising force, yanking him away from me.
“Playing your fucking games again,” he snarled at Mr. Enigma before turning his fury on me. His hand closed around my throat, not squeezing but establishing dominance as he leaned in. “And you. You think you can manipulate me? Play me against my brothers? That was your first and last mistake.”
Before I could respond with a suitably snarky comeback, he’d yanked me from the bed with one powerful arm, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. The chain at his wrist rattled violently as he carried me back to his bed, his grip bruising enough to leave marks. Great. I’d gone from desperate omega to territorial dispute in under five minutes.
Mr. Enigma’s laughter followed us, rich and amused. “You’re welcome!” he called. “Someone had to break through that ice!”
Mr. Iceflare didn’t respond to him. Instead, he threw me onto his bed with calculated force, immediately pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while the other gripped my jaw, forcing me to look at him. His eyes weren’t just angry; they were predatory, assessing, like a man deciding exactly how he would take what belonged to him. I’d seen less intimidating looks from actual wolves.
“You wanted this?” he growled, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid motion. His hand pressed between my shoulderblades to keep me pinned while the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise. “You wanted to be taken? Claimed? Bred? Then that’s exactly what you’ll get. Let me make something perfectly clear,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I don’t share what’s mine. I don’t negotiate. I don’t ask permission. When I want something, I take it.” He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. “And right now, I want you. Not because you need it. Not because you’re begging for it. Because you’re mine to claim.”
“Has anyone ever told you that your communication style could use some work?” I managed, though the effect was somewhat undermined by my breathlessness. “There are these things called ‘please’ and ‘thank you’—”
The sharp crack of his palm against my ass cut me off mid-sentence, the unexpected sting drawing a startled yelp from my lips. Before I could recover, he’d done it again, the other cheek this time, leaving a matching handprint that I was sure would be visible for days.
“No more talking,” he commanded. “No more games.”
In another swift movement, he flipped me onto my back, his powerful body caging mine against the mattress. His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back at an angle that exposed my throat completely. “The only sounds I want to hear from you are the ones I force out when I’m buried so deep inside you that you forget your own name.”
Well, that was certainly direct. No mixed signals with this alpha.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Mr. Enigma commented from where he stood watching, his hand moving lazily over his cock. “He’s going to break you, little mouse. And you’re going to love every second of it.”
“Primed,” Mr. Storm stated, his eyes dark with hunger. “Ready.”
My lungs burned for air as he dominated every corner of my mouth, his teeth scraping my bottom lip before biting down hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste mixed with his natural flavor—pine and power. One hand remained locked around my wrists while the other slid down to grip my throat again, thumb pressing against my pulse point as if measuring my surrender.
“Every man who’s ever touched you,” he growled against my lips, “is already dead. They just don’t know it yet.”
Well, that was certainly a creative way to say “I’m jealous.” Most people just sent passive-aggressive text messages.
The chain swung between us as he shifted his weight, pressing me deeper into the mattress. His chest heaved against mine, muscles tense with barely contained violence. When he finally broke away, we both gulped air, but his eyes never left mine, midnight blue rings around pupils blown wide with a hunger that went beyond mere desire.
“Mine,” he growled, the word a decree rather than a question. “Say it. Now.”
“Yours,” I whispered, the word pulled from somewhere primal inside me.
“Louder,” he commanded, his hand sliding from my throat to grip my hair, pulling just hard enough to expose my neck to him. “I want them to hear it.”
“Yours!” I gasped, louder this time, as his teeth grazed my scent gland.
