Page 83 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Mr. Enigma’s smile was soft as he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that felt nothing like the claiming I’dcome to expect from these alpha powerhouses. “You don’t need those defenses with us,” he whispered against my mouth. “Not anymore.”
Right. And sharks don’t need teeth, and politicians don’t need lies, and I don’t need oxygen. Before I could verbalize this particularly cutting comparison, he was kissing me again—not the tongue-first invasion I’d come to expect, but something gentler, almost tentative. It was disconcerting, unexpectedly gentle from someone so powerful.
Meanwhile, Mr. Iceflare was rearranging us with that casual strength that always made my insides quiver. He settled back against the headboard, positioning me between his legs with my back to his chest. His arms wrapped around me, one hand splayed over my heart like he was checking to make sure it was still functioning after the emotional hurricane of the past few days.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “We’ve got you.”
Which was exactly the problem. They did have me—body, mind, and increasingly, my traitorously soft heart. I’d spent the last hour alone in my room trying to convince myself that what I felt for them was just biology, just circumstance, just my omega instincts going haywire. But deep down, I knew better. What scared me wasn’t that I might be developing feelings for them—it was that I already had, feelings so intense they threatened to consume me entirely.
Mr. Enigma knelt between my spread thighs, his eyes never leaving mine as his hands traced patterns on my skin. Behind him, Mr. Storm watched with that intensity that always made me feel completely exposed, seeing straight through to parts of me I kept hidden from everyone.
This wasn’t like before—not like any of the other times we’d been together. There was no rush, no desperate need tosatisfy biological imperatives. This was something else entirely—something that made my chest ache with emotions I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t feel.
“What are you doing to me?” I whispered, the question slipping out before my internal censor could tackle it to the ground.
“Loving you,” Mr. Enigma replied simply, the word hanging in the air between us with devastating impact.
My heart seemed to stop, then restart at double speed. I’d known, of course I’d known, had felt it in their touches, seen it in their eyes, heard it in the softening of their voices when they spoke to me. But hearing it stated so plainly, so unapologetically, made it impossible to keep hiding from the truth.
“You can’t,” I said, my voice cracking on the words. “You don’t even know me. Not really. And I don’t know you—not your real names, not your real lives. Just these… versions of you that exist in this twisted captivity bubble.”
“Does it matter?” Mr. Iceflare asked, his lips brushing my temple. “Names are just labels. You know us—who we are, what matters to us. And we know you, Ty Hart. The real you, not just the snarky exterior you present to the world.”
I wanted to argue, to point out all the reasons why what he was saying couldn't possibly be true—trauma bonding, biological manipulation, the simple fact that they were literal mafia bosses and I was a nobody omega with far too many problems—but the words died in my throat as Mr. Enigma positioned himself at my entrance.
“May I?” he asked, his voice rough with a gentleness that felt more dangerous than any threat.
The question—so simple, so respectful—undid me more effectively than any dominant command could have. It was disarmingly considerate; I had no defense against this kind ofrespect. I nodded, not trusting my voice as he pushed forward with agonizing slowness, filling me inch by excruciating inch.
“Look at me,” he urged when I tried to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation—not just physical but emotional, completely exposed. “Stay with me, little mouse. Don’t hide from what you’re feeling.”
I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he began to move within me. Each thrust was deliberate, measured, hitting spots inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. But it was the eye contact that truly undid me—the naked vulnerability in his gaze, the way he seemed to be looking straight into my soul with complete focus.
Behind me, Mr. Iceflare’s arms tightened around my waist, his lips finding my neck with unerring accuracy. His teeth grazed my scent gland, not hard enough to break skin but with enough pressure to make me gasp. The dual sensation—Mr. Enigma inside me, Mr. Iceflare at my neck—had my head spinning with overwhelming intensity.
“You’re ours,” Mr. Iceflare murmured against my skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down my spine. “Say it.”
I wanted to say it—God, how I wanted to. The words pressed against my lips urgently, but fear kept them locked away. Because admitting I was theirs meant admitting they were mine, and that terrified me more than any physical threat they could pose. It was dangerous vulnerability with no protection, just blind faith that something would catch me.
“I can’t,” I gasped, though my body betrayed me by responding to his command, inner muscles clenching around Mr. Enigma’s cock hard enough to make him groan. “If I say it—if I admit it—then it’s real. And when this ends—when you leave—I’ll be left with nothing that can ever fill the emptiness.”
“We’re not leaving you,” Mr. Enigma promised, his rhythm never faltering as his hands tightened on my hips. “Not now, not ever.”
Mr. Storm moved closer, his chain stretching to its limit as he positioned himself beside us. His hand came up to cup my face, turning me toward him with unexpected gentleness. When his lips met mine, it wasn’t the demanding kiss I’d expected but something softer, more questioning—almost tender. From Mr. Storm, this level of gentleness was more shocking than any aggressive action would have been.
I was surrounded, enveloped in alpha scent and alpha heat and alpha intent. It should have been terrifying—being caught between three apex predators with nowhere to run—but instead, it felt like coming home. Like finding a place I belonged after a lifetime of searching. It was as if my soul had finally found where it fit perfectly.
The realization broke something loose inside me—a dam I’d built to hold back emotions I’d been fighting since the moment I’d first walked into their cell. Tears gathered in my eyes, spilling over before I could stop them, tracking hot paths down my cheeks as Mr. Enigma continued his relentless rhythm, each thrust pushing me closer to an edge that felt like more than just physical release.
“Let go,” Mr. Iceflare urged, his voice a gentle command against my ear. “We’ve got you. We’ll catch you.”
And God help me, I did. I surrendered completely, not just my body but something deeper—something I’d kept locked away my entire life. My back arched as pleasure ripped through me, tearing a broken cry from my throat that I barely recognized as my own.
“I’m yours—” The words stuttered out between desperate gasps, my body jerking with each pulse of release. “All of yours?—”
Three simple words, fractured by pleasure, yet they carried the weight of everything I’d been fighting since they first touched me. It was complete surrender, and somehow it felt like freedom.
Mr. Enigma’s fingers dug into my hips, but his eyes, those vivid green eyes, never left mine. The connection between us transcended the physical joining of our bodies. He was looking straight into me, past all my defenses, all my carefully constructed walls, to something raw and vulnerable I’d never shown anyone.
