Page 62 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
The commentary should have embarrassed me, but instead, it intensified my body’s reaction. Apparently, being the center of alpha attention was doing it for me in ways I hadn’t anticipated and definitely wouldn’t be sharing with my therapist, if I ever got out of this mess and could afford one.
“Look at me,” Mr. Storm commanded softly, his voice rougher than usual, deep and commanding.
I raised my eyes to meet his, still working him with my mouth, and something electric passed between us, a powerful connection that made my skin prickle with awareness. The naked hunger in his gaze should have frightened me, but instead, it sent a thrill racing down my spine with dangerous excitement.
“Perfect,” he murmured, the single word of praise affecting me deeply.
I redoubled my efforts, wanting—needing—to hear that approval again. My jaw was beginning to ache with exertion, but I ignored the discomfort, too caught up in the power of reducing this stoic alpha to ragged breathing and tense muscles. There was something intoxicating about bringing someone so controlled to the edge of losing that control, watching his restraint gradually crumble.
His hand tightened slightly on the back of my neck, not painfully but enough to guide me into a rhythm that had his breathing growing more ragged with each passing second. The muscles in his abdomen tensed visibly, a roadmap of defined ridges that flexed with each careful thrust of his hips.
“Your mouth,” he managed, the words sounding dragged from somewhere deep inside him. “So hot. So perfect.”
Coming from Mr. Monosyllable, this was practically a Shakespearean sonnet. I hummed around him in acknowledgment, the vibration drawing a sharp intake of breath that sounded almost pained.
“Enough,” he finally said, gently pulling me off him. His cock was shiny with my saliva, flushed dark with need and visibly throbbing. “Don’t want to finish yet.”
I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand in a gesture that should have been undignified but somehow felt powerful. “Too much for you?” I teased, my voice hoarse from my recent activities. “I thought alphas were supposed to have legendary stamina. Was that just propaganda from the Alpha Marketing Board?”
The corner of his mouth twitched again, practically a belly laugh by his standards. “Want more than your mouth,” he said simply, his gaze dropping to my thighs. “Want all of you.”
The blunt declaration sent a fresh wave of heat through me, my body responding with eager anticipation. Two down, one to go. I turned toward Mr. Iceflare, who had been watching the entire time with those ice-blue eyes that seemed to see right through me, penetrating every defense.
“Saving the best for last?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
“Or building up my stamina for the most difficult task,” I countered, moving toward him with legs that felt unsteady. “You’re not exactly fun size in any department, especially not that one.” I nodded toward the impressive erection that looked anatomically impossible. “Do they make you register that thing as a deadly weapon?”
A dangerous smile curved his lips, transforming his normally stoic expression into something that made my insides flutter with nervous anticipation. “Afraid, little mouse?”
“Cautious,” I corrected, trying to sound flippant despite the nervous anticipation curling in my stomach. “There’s a difference. Swimming with dolphins versus swimming with sharks. One is an adventure, the other is a death wish.”
“And yet here you are, diving into the deep end.” The chain at his wrist clinked ominously as he shifted, making room for me between his legs. “Curious.”
I settled into position, trying to ignore how right it felt to be here, how his scent, crisp winter pine with notes of aged whiskey, made my head spin with intoxicating effect. “Don’t read too much into it. I’m just being thorough. Crossing all my t’s and dotting all my i’s in this bizarre sexual scavenger hunt.”
“Of course,” he agreed, though the knowing glint in his eyes suggested he didn’t believe me for a second. “Just biology.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, or tried to anyway. My fingers couldn’t even come close to meeting around the girth, whichwas both impressive and mildly terrifying. He was anatomically intimidating.
“Jesus,” I said, unable to hide my reaction. “Were you exposed to radiation as a child? Is this some kind of alpha superpower? Because this is just… excessive.”
Mr. Iceflare’s laugh was unexpected, a deep rumble that vibrated through the air between us. “You’ll manage,” he said, his voice dropping to a register that made my insides clench with anticipation. “Your body was made for this. For me.”
“Pretty sure my body wasn’t designed with baseball bats in mind,” I retorted, though the bravado was undermined by my body’s eager response to his words. “But I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”
I leaned forward, determined to prove I could handle him despite the obvious difficulties. The first tentative lick along his length made him hiss, his hand coming up to tangle in my hair with possessive intent. The taste exploded across my tongue—clean and masculine with a hint of something I couldn’t quite identify but that made my omega instincts sing with recognition.
Taking the head into my mouth required a jaw stretch that would have impressed a yoga instructor. The velvety skin was hot against my tongue, pulsing with each beat of his heart as I tried to accommodate his size without dislocating something.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “Open wider for me.”
I shot him a glare that I hoped conveyed “I’m doing my best here with the limited facial structure I was born with,” but the effect was probably somewhat diminished by the fact that my mouth was stretched around his cock.
Unlike the others, who had mostly let me set the pace, Mr. Iceflare didn’t hesitate to take control. His hand in my hair guided me with gentle but firm pressure, showing me exactly what he wanted, how deep, how fast. The control should havebothered me. I’d spent my entire life fighting against alpha control, but there was something freeing about not having to guess, about being directed with such certainty.
“Relax your throat,” he instructed. “Take more.”
I tried, pushing past my comfort zone with determined effort. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes from the effort. There was only so much a jaw could stretch, after all, but the sense of accomplishment when I managed to take him deeper was worth the discomfort.
