Page 63 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“Good boy,” he praised, the words sending a ridiculous surge of pleasure through me that had no business being there. “So good for me.”
I hummed around him in response, unable to form words but wanting him to know his praise had been received. The vibration drew a sharp intake of breath from him, his hand tightening in my hair with increased pressure.
“Do that again,” he commanded, his voice strained with the effort of control.
I obliged, humming longer this time, letting the vibration travel through him. His reaction was immediate and gratifying—his hips jerked forward involuntarily, pushing deeper into my mouth, and a growl rumbled from his chest that sounded more animal than human.
“Careful,” Mr. Enigma warned from his position on the other bed. “You’ll choke him if you lose control.”
“He can take it,” Mr. Iceflare replied, his eyes never leaving mine. “Can’t you, little mouse?”
The challenge in his voice was impossible to ignore. I doubled my efforts, taking him deeper than I thought possible, using my hand to work what wouldn’t fit in my mouth. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but the satisfaction of reducing this powerful alpha to ragged breathing and tense muscles was worth every moment of discomfort.
Mr. Iceflare’s breathing grew more ragged, his control visibly slipping as I worked him with increasing confidence. His hand tightened in my hair, guiding me into a rhythm that had his thighs tensing beneath me.
“That’s enough for now,” he said, pulling me off him. His cock was coated with my saliva, flushed dark with need, the head swollen and leaking.
fifteen
. . .
“Come here, little mouse,” Mr. Enigma said. “Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
“I’m pretty sure I haven’t been missing anything for the past twenty minutes,” I retorted, though my traitorous legs were already carrying me toward him with magnetic precision. “Unless there’s some secret alpha technique you’ve been hiding in your back pocket alongside your ego.”
“Oh, there’s plenty I’ve been holding back,” Mr. Enigma assured me, his voice dropping to a register that made my skin prickle with heightened awareness. The rut-induced scent rolling off him overwhelmed my senses completely, the spicy-sweet aroma intensified to apocalyptic levels with something darker and more primal underneath. “Get on your hands and knees.”
“Demanding much?” I said, though I was already moving into position with complete surrender to my hormones. “Do I get a please with that order? Maybe a thank-you card afterward?”
“Please,” Mr. Enigma amended with a predatory grin, “get on your hands and knees so I can fuck you until you forget your own name. Better?”
“Your manners are improving,” I acknowledged, settling into the requested position while trying to ignore how eager my body was for whatever came next. “Gold star for effort. We’ll make a gentleman out of you yet.”
My attempt at nonchalance probably lost all credibility considering my arms were trembling uncontrollably. The position left me completely exposed, my ass in the air, presenting to Mr. Enigma while facing Mr. Storm. It was possibly the most vulnerable position imaginable, the main attraction at an alpha feast. Mr. Iceflare moved to sit beside the bed, those ice-blue eyes never leaving my face with penetrating intensity.
“Beautiful,” Mr. Enigma murmured, his hands landing on my hips with bruising force. His fingers dug into my flesh hard enough to leave marks by morning. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“If your standards of beauty include ass-up omegas, you really need to visit a museum sometime,” I quipped, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the breathless quality of my voice and the fact that my body was eagerly preparing itself for what was to come. “Broaden your horizons beyond the pornographic.”
His laugh was warm against my back as he leaned over me, his chest pressing against my spine in a way that made me feel simultaneously trapped and protected. The hard planes of his muscles formed an inescapable cage, reminding me that despite the playfulness, I was at the mercy of an apex predator.
“My horizons are perfectly broad, thank you,” he said, his breath hot against my ear. “And right now, they’re filled with the most gorgeous view imaginable.”
Mr. Enigma positioned himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me without actually breaching. The pressure was both promise and threat, my body simultaneously craving and bracing for what was coming.
“So ready for me,” he growled, teasing his cockhead against my entrance in a motion that had me biting my lip to prevent embarrassing sounds from escaping. He prepared himself, creating obscenely intimate sounds that would haunt my dreams forever. “For us. This oil really is something, isn’t it? You’re practically melting for us. I can smell how much you want this, how much you need it.”
“Thanks for the commentary,” I managed, trying to sound unaffected despite the way my body was sending desperate invitations for him to get on with it. “Maybe save the play-by-play for sports, not my bodily functions. Not all of us need a narration of the obvious.”
Instead of responding verbally, Mr. Enigma slammed forward in one brutal thrust that had me screaming. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, his rut-swollen cock splitting me open in a way that blurred the line between pleasure and pain. My arms buckled beneath me, face pressing into the mattress as he buried himself to the hilt in one savage movement.
“FUCK!” I shrieked, my voice muffled against the sheets. “Holy shit—you can’t just—fucking hell!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Mr. Enigma snarled, his voice barely recognizable through the rut-driven growl. His hips were flush against my ass, his cock buried impossibly deep. “Besides, your body was made for this. Look how perfectly you’re taking me, squeezing me like you never want to let go.”
He was right, damn him. Despite the brutal entry, my treacherous body was already adjusting. The oil was definitely working its dark magic, amplifying every sensation until I feltlike I might combust from the inside out. Each pulse of his cock inside me sent electric shocks racing up my spine, my nerve endings firing in chaotic patterns that short-circuited my brain’s sarcasm center.
“Move,” I demanded, pushing back against him impatiently despite feeling completely stuffed. “Unless you’re planning to just stay there all day as a permanent fixture.”
