Page 72 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Instead of answering, he dove back in, his tongue tangling with mine in a dance that was less waltz and more tango, all heat and barely controlled passion. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave fingerprint evidence, pulling me againsthim until I could feel every ridiculous muscle in his absurd alpha body pressing against mine.
The pathetic excuse for a towel De Luca called “bathroom linens” slipped from my waist, pooling around my feet and leaving me completely exposed. Not that it had been doing much in the modesty department anyway, the thing was barely bigger than a dishrag and about as absorbent as wax paper.
Mr. Storm’s teeth found my neck with unerring accuracy, grazing my scent gland with just enough pressure to make me arch involuntarily. The dual sensation, Mr. Iceflare claiming my mouth while Mr. Storm marked my neck, had my head spinning uncontrollably.
“Jesus Christ,” I yelped, my head falling back involuntarily to give him better access with embarrassing eagerness. “A little warning before you go vampire on me would be—oh God—would be nice.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Mr. Enigma’s voice was sin wrapped in velvet as his hand wrapped around my hard cock. His thumb swept over the sensitive head, spreading the pre-cum gathering there as he watched my face with hungry attention.
My breath hitched as he squeezed gently, my hips bucking into his grip without my permission. Each stroke sent sparks racing up my spine, building a heat in my core that had nothing to do with omega biology and everything to do with the three pairs of eyes watching me come undone.
This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to want this, want them, so desperately it feels like I might die if they stop touching me.
“Look at you,” Mr. Enigma murmured, his green eyes darkening as he watched me respond to his touch. “So beautiful for us. So perfect.”
The praise hit me harder than his touch, warming something inside me that had been cold for too long. My cheeks heatedwith a flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the genuine appreciation in his voice.
“This is—fuck—this is biological coercion,” I managed as Mr. Enigma’s thumb circled the head of my cock with devastating precision. “Three alphas against one omega. The Geneva Convention probably has something to say about this.”
“File a complaint,” Mr. Iceflare suggested before reclaiming my mouth, swallowing whatever clever retort I might have managed. This kiss was different—less conquering, more coaxing, as though trying to seduce rather than dominate. His tongue traced the seam of my lips before dipping inside, exploring with a thoroughness that made my toes curl.
When he finally pulled back, I was panting heavily, my lips swollen and tingling from his attention. His ice-blue eyes locked with mine, pupils dilated with a hunger that should have terrified me but instead made my entrance clench with anticipation.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I insisted, though the breathless quality of my voice undermined any attempt at conviction. “It’s just—just physical. Just an intense workout with inappropriate touching.”
The corner of Mr. Iceflare’s mouth lifted in what might have been a smile on anyone else but on him looked predatory. “Your scent tells a different story,” he said, leaning in to drag his nose along my neck, inhaling deeply at my pulse point. “You smell like need. Like want. Like ours.”
His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me with ease. My legs wrapped around his waist automatically—pure instinct, definitely not eagerness—bringing his already hard cock directly against my entrance.
“What are you—” I started, then yelped as he adjusted his grip, his hands sliding under my ass to support my weight. Theposition left me completely at his mercy, held aloft by nothing but alpha strength and determination.
“Bed,” he commanded, carrying me across the room with primitive dominance. Each step pressed his cock more firmly against me, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing up my spine.
“Always with the orders,” I said, though my body betrayed me by tightening its grip around him, thighs squeezing his waist with obvious encouragement. “Would it kill you to say ‘please’ occasionally? Just for variety? ‘Please, Ty, may I carry you to bed with my caveman tendencies?’”
“Please,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that made my insides turn to mush, “let me fuck you until you can’t remember all the reasons you’re pretending you don’t want this as much as we do.”
The unexpected “please” combined with the graphic promise sent a rush of heat through me that had nothing to do with lingering heat hormones and everything to do with the man currently carrying me with possessive intent. My cock throbbed, leaking pre-cum against his stomach.
“Well, when you put it that way,” I managed, aiming for sarcastic but landing somewhere closer to breathless, “how can a boy refuse? You had me at ‘fuck you until.’”
He deposited me on the bed with surprising gentleness given the hunger in his eyes, which had darkened to the color of arctic ice during a particularly nasty storm.
I should have made some attempt to cover myself or at least maintain the illusion that I wasn’t completely on board with whatever was about to happen. Instead, I spread my legs wider, an invitation so blatant it might as well have come with engraved cards and an RSVP.
What is wrong with me? When did I turn into this wanton omega stereotype? And why does it feel so right when it should feel so wrong?
“Look at him,” Mr. Enigma said, his voice rough with desire as he prowled toward the bed. “Already ready for us again. So eager despite all his protests.”
“My body’s a traitor,” I replied, watching as all three alphas positioned themselves around the bed with coordinated precision. “It has terrible taste in men. Absolutely the worst judgment.”
Mr. Iceflare’s laugh was unexpected, the sound doing weird things to my insides that I absolutely refused to examine too closely. “Your body has excellent taste,” he corrected, settling between my spread thighs with practiced ease. “It’s your mind that’s being stubborn.”
His cock pressed against my entrance, hot and hard and insistent. But instead of pushing forward immediately, he paused, his eyes finding mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat, my breath coming in short, shallow pants that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the way he was looking at me, like he could see through every defense I’d ever built.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded softly, one hand coming up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone with surprising tenderness. “I want to see every reaction, every moment of pleasure. No hiding, little mouse.”
My heart pounded violently against my ribs.
