Page 59 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
As I approached the bed, their scents overwhelmed me completely—stronger, richer, more complex. Mr. Iceflare’s crisp winter pine with notes of bergamot made my skin tingle with heightened awareness. Mr. Enigma’s rich cinnamon and warm vanilla enveloped me in seductive warmth. Mr. Storm’s fresh rain and cedar grounded me even as it accelerated my pulse to dangerous speeds. Together, they created a symphony of alpha pheromones that made my head spin with dizzying intensity.
“That oil is affecting you more than you realize,” Mr. Iceflare said, reaching out to catch my wrist as I swayed slightly. His touch sent electric currents racing up my arm, both painful and pleasurable. “Your pupils are dilated, your skin is flushed, and your scent…” He inhaled deeply, his eyes darkening further. “It’s triggering rut responses in all of us.”
That explained the intensity of their gazes, the tension in their powerful bodies. Rut was the alpha equivalent of heat, a biological imperative to claim, to breed, to possess. Unlike omega heat, which left us vulnerable and desperate, alpha rut channeled that desperation into aggression and dominance. Just my luck to be trapped in a room with three rutting alphas while my body betrayed me by finding the whole situation arousing rather than terrifying.
“Great,” I said, trying to ignore how my body responded to that knowledge, my heart racing with anticipation rather than fear. “Just what we need, three rutting alphas in chains. This totally won’t end badly for the omega in the room.”
“We won’t hurt you,” Mr. Enigma promised, though the strain in his voice suggested it was taking considerable effort to maintain control—restraint pushed to its limits. “But this won’t be gentle, either.”
“When is it ever gentle with you three?” I countered, aiming for flippant despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. “I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”
“Bruises you enjoyed receiving,” Mr. Storm said, his knowing gaze making me flush with embarrassment. “Don’t deny it.”
He wasn’t wrong, which was the most humiliating part. I had enjoyed it—every mark, every claim, every moment of surrender. Had craved it, even, in ways that went beyond biology into territory I wasn’t ready to explore without extensive preparation.
“Whatever,” I said, the weak deflection all I could manage under the weight of their collective scrutiny. “So what’s the plan here? Another round of ‘pass the omega’ until De Luca gets what he wants?”
Mr. Iceflare’s grip on my wrist tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over my pulse point in a gesture that was both possessive and oddly soothing—predatory tenderness. “What do you want, little mouse?”
The question caught me off guard with emotional impact. What did I want? No one had asked me that since this nightmare began. It had all been about survival, about doing what was necessary to protect my father, to get through each day without breaking completely.
“I want my father safe,” I said automatically. “I want out of this hellhole. I want?—”
I stopped, the truth hovering on the tip of my tongue, dangerous and unspoken.I want you. All of you. In ways that terrify me.
“What else?” Mr. Enigma prompted, his green eyes softer than I’d ever seen them, vulnerability beneath hardness. “What do you want right now, in this moment?”
The oil’s effects made it hard to think clearly, hard to maintain the walls I’d built to protect myself from the confusing emotions these alphas triggered in me. Maintaining dignity while emotionally compromised was theoretically possible but practically hopeless.
“I want…” I swallowed hard, gathering what remained of my courage with desperate determination. “I want to stop pretending.”
“Pretending what?” Mr. Storm asked, though his knowing gaze suggested he already had the answer.
“That I don’t want this,” I admitted, the words barely audible even to my own ears. “That I don’t want you. All of you.”
The confession hung in the air between us, too honest, too vulnerable to take back. I waited for them to mock me, to use this admission of weakness against me in this unbalanced power game.
Instead, Mr. Enigma’s laugh was warm, genuine in a way that made something flutter in my chest with dangerous hope. “Start with what you’re curious about,” he suggested, his green eyes dancing with encouragement. “What you’ve thought about but haven’t tried yet.”
Several possibilities flashed through my mind, but one stood out, something I’d wondered about since our first encounter but had never had the courage to initiate. “I want to taste you,” I said, my cheeks heating at the admission. “All of you. Properly.”
The alphas exchanged looks, those silent communications that made me feel like I was missing half the conversation. ThenMr. Iceflare nodded, releasing my wrist. “Start with him,” he said, nodding toward Mr. Enigma. “He’s the most responsive.”
“Gee, thanks for that assessment,” Mr. Enigma replied dryly, though his eyes remained fixed on me with hungry anticipation. “Make me sound like a science experiment.”
“If the lab coat fits,” Mr. Iceflare retorted, the casual banter between them so unexpected it momentarily distracted me from my nervous anticipation.
Mr. Enigma shifted position on the bed, making room for me between his legs. The chain at his wrist jangled softly with the movement, a stark reminder of our circumstances despite the growing intimacy between us.
“Come here, little mouse,” he invited, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. “Let me show you.”
I climbed onto the bed, settling between Mr. Enigma’s spread thighs with feigned confidence masking complete inexperience. Up close, his scent overwhelmed me completely, warm spices and vanilla with amber undertones that made my mouth water embarrassingly. Great, now I was salivating over alpha scent. Just perfect.
His cock stood proudly against his stomach, and holy hell, it was… substantial. Not quite the terrifying monstrosity that Mr. Iceflare was packing, but definitely in the “anatomically challenging” category. It curved slightly upward with a pronounced head that looked specifically designed to hit all the right spots. My body responded immediately, my inner muscles clenching with eagerness. Traitor.
“I’ve never actually done this before,” I admitted, wrapping my hand around the base experimentally. It was hot velvet over steel, burning against my palm and pulsing with each heartbeat. “So constructive feedback is welcome. Emphasis on constructive. If you laugh, I’m biting. Hard.”
“Noted,” Mr. Enigma replied, his lips twitching with suppressed amusement as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch me with scientific interest. “Though I should warn you, some alphas enjoy a little teeth.”
