Page 81 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“It’s a gift,” I replied, aiming for flippant despite the way my heart was pounding rapidly. “That and my ability to fold fitted sheets. My two marketable skills in this apocalyptic hellscape we call life.”
Mr. Storm remained silent, but his eyes said everything his words didn’t—relief, hunger, a possessive satisfaction that I’d returned to them. He moved, positioning himself at my back, close enough that I could feel his heat radiating intensely but not quite touching. The hair on my nape stood at attention, responding to his presence.
I was surrounded—Mr. Iceflare before me, Mr. Enigma at my side, Mr. Storm behind me. The chains at their wrists glinted in the dim light, a reminder of their captivity and, paradoxically, my safety. These men were dangerous, powerful alphas who had threatened to hunt me down once free, yet in this moment, I felt safer with them than I had anywhere else.
A tear escaped before I could stop it, sliding down my cheek. My body was apparently determined to humiliate me in every possible way today.
Mr. Iceflare caught it with his thumb, the tenderness in the gesture making my chest ache with emotions I refused to name.
“You’re safe with us,” he murmured, misinterpreting my tears as fear rather than the emotional hurricane they actually represented.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? I didn’t feel safe—not from them, but from myself. From these feelings that threatenedto drown me more effectively than any physical danger ever could.
Before I could respond with something appropriately deflective about my exceptional ability to find trouble in any situation, Mr. Enigma’s mouth claimed mine. This wasn’t the demanding invasion I’d expected from an alpha in pursuit mode. Instead, his kiss was devastatingly gentle, like he was savoring something precious rather than conquering territory. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, requesting rather than demanding entry, and when I opened to him—because apparently my self-preservation instincts had completely abandoned ship—he explored my mouth with the thoroughness of someone mapping a place they intended to revisit often.
Meanwhile, Mr. Iceflare’s hands settled on my hips, his grip both steadying and possessive as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of my thin t-shirt. The flimsy fabric did nothing to hide my body’s response, especially with my omega scent growing stronger by the second.
Behind me, Mr. Storm’s solid presence radiated heat intensely, his breath tickling the nape of my neck and sending electric shivers racing down my spine.
I was surrounded, caught between three powerful alphas. It should have been terrifying, being trapped between three apex predators with their chains stretched to their limits, but instead, it felt right. Like finding a missing puzzle piece I hadn’t even realized was lost.
Which was, frankly, horrifying.
I gasped into Mr. Enigma’s mouth, momentarily overwhelmed by both the physical sensations and my own traitorous thoughts. He pulled back slightly, his green eyes scanning my face with an intensity that made me feel naked despite my t-shirt.
“Too much?” he asked, his voice husky in a way that did interesting things to my insides.
“Not enough,” I admitted before my brain could tackle my mouth to the ground and shut it up. “And also way too much. I’m having a full-blown contradictory crisis here. My therapist would have a field day with this—if I had a therapist, which I don’t, because who can afford mental health care in this economy?”
Mr. Enigma’s laugh vibrated against my lips, warm and genuine. “Only you could overthink a kiss while surrounded by three alphas, little mouse.”
“It’s my superpower,” I replied, desperately trying to rebuild my wall of snark even as it crumbled rapidly. “Overthinking and inappropriate sarcasm in life-threatening situations. I’m basically a neurotic superhero.”
Mr. Iceflare’s hands tightened on my hips, his fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp. They guided me to the bed—thebed I’d fled from just yesterday. The sheets still carried our combined scents, a potent reminder of what had happened between us. What was still happening, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
Mr. Iceflare sat against the headboard, arranging me between his legs with my back to his chest with commanding ease. His arms wrapped around me, one hand splayed possessively over my heart as if monitoring its erratic beating.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my ear, his breath hot against my skin and sending shivers down my neck. “We’ve got you.”
Which was exactly the problem. They did have me—body, mind, and increasingly, my traitorously soft heart.
Mr. Enigma knelt before me, his eyes never leaving mine as his hands slid up my bare thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His fingers caught the hem of my t-shirt, the onlybarrier between me and complete vulnerability. He slowly lifted the shirt, exposing inch by inch of my skin to their hungry gazes. When it finally cleared my head, leaving me completely naked between them, I fought the urge to cover myself. Not out of modesty, we were well past that, but because the way they looked at me made me feel completely exposed, in ways that had nothing to do with physical nudity.
“Beautiful,” Mr. Enigma breathed, his hands reverently tracing the contours of my torso with careful attention.
“You need your eyes checked,” I said, uncomfortable with the naked admiration in his gaze. “I’m basically a stick figure with anxiety issues and a smart mouth.”
“Perfect,” Mr. Iceflare contradicted, his lips finding my scent gland with unerring accuracy. The gentle scrape of his teeth against that sensitive spot sent electricity racing down my spine, making my back arch involuntarily.
Mr. Enigma took advantage of my position to capture one of my nipples between his lips, the warm, wet heat of his mouth sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. My scent intensified, filling the air with evidence of my need.
“Oh God,” I gasped, one hand flying to tangle in Mr. Enigma’s hair, the other reaching back to grip Mr. Iceflare’s thigh.
Mr. Storm positioned himself on my other side. His large hand came to rest on my thigh, fingers tracing teasing patterns that deliberately avoided where I was already aching for touch.
Mr. Enigma’s mouth continued its devastating assault on my nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before sucking hard enough to make me cry out. Meanwhile, Mr. Iceflare’s teeth and lips worked my scent gland with the precision of someone who’d made a study of exactly what drove me crazy. The dual sensation had my head spinning, coherent thought becoming increasingly difficult as pleasure built intensely.
“Please,” I heard myself beg, though what exactly I was begging for remained unclear even to me. “I need— I can’t?—”
