Page 84 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“I see you, little mouse,” he whispered, his voice reverent despite the bruising grip of his hands. “All of you. Even the parts you try to hide behind those walls of sarcasm and deflection.”
His rhythm faltered as his release approached, but his gaze remained locked with mine—forcing me to witness the moment when his usual playful mask fell away completely. For that breathless instant, I saw the man beneath the mafia alpha exterior—saw his vulnerability, his wonder, his… God help me, his affection. It was startling honesty from someone who usually hid behind charm.
His cock pulsed inside me, filling me with his release as his forehead dropped to mine. Then came the distinctive increasing pressure at my entrance as his knot began to swell, stretching me wider with each heartbeat. The burn of it mixed with pleasure in a way that had me gasping, clinging to his shoulders as my body struggled to accommodate him.
“That’s it,” he murmured against my lips, his voice strained as his knot reached full size, locking us together with perfect connection. “Take all of me.”
The pressure against my already sensitive nerves sent aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me, smaller waves following the tsunami of my orgasm. For a heartbeat, we shared the same air—his breath coming in harsh pants against my lips,his eyes still holding mine with an intensity that made my spent body shiver.
“Perfect,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my forehead with such tenderness that tears pricked at my eyes. How could the same man who’d probably dismembered enemies have such gentle hands? How could a mafia enforcer look at me like I was something precious? “So perfect for us.”
I should have had a snappy comeback ready, something about omega biology or his questionable taste in breeding partners, but all I could manage was a shaky exhale as his knot finally subsided enough for him to carefully withdraw. The sudden emptiness made me whimper, my body clenching around nothing, already missing the fullness of his knot.
Before I could recover any semblance of dignity, strong hands were turning me. Mr. Storm arranged me on my side, his powerful body curling around mine from behind. The contrast between his lethal reputation and the way he cradled me against his chest made my heart stutter. These hands had likely ended lives, yet they touched me with extreme care.
“My turn,” he rumbled against my ear, his voice deep and commanding.
His cock pressed against my entrance, thicker than I remembered, the blunt head stretching me open as he pushed forward. Unlike Mr. Enigma’s careful entry, Mr. Storm claimed me with one powerful thrust that punched the air from my lungs and made my vision blur momentarily.
“F-fuck—” I choked out, my body jerking against his hold. His arm tightened around my waist, anchoring me as he buried himself to the hilt in one savage movement that made me feel completely filled.
“Too much?” His voice strained with the effort of holding still, his muscles trembling against my back with obvious restraint.
“N-not—” I struggled to form words, my brain short-circuiting from the overwhelming fullness. “More… please…”
The sound he made—half growl, half purr—vibrated through my entire body. His hips pulled back slowly, dragging his length along oversensitive nerves before snapping forward with enough force to jolt me forward. Each thrust was punctuated by the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, of my slick squelching around his cock.
Mr. Iceflare moved into my line of sight, his ice-blue eyes burning with an intensity that made my stomach clench. Those eyes had likely watched the light fade from countless enemies, had calculated the demise of rival families without remorse—yet now they traced my face with something like wonder.
He reached between us, wrapping one large hand around my cock, which was somehow hard again despite having just experienced what felt like a life-altering orgasm. His palm engulfed me completely, the calluses on his hand evidence of a life spent dealing violence, now creating pleasure that bordered on pain.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “Taking him so perfectly. Made for us.”
My back arched as Mr. Storm hit something inside me that sent white-hot pleasure shooting up my spine. “N-not made for—” I tried to protest, but another brutal thrust cut my words into a broken moan. “Just—biology?—”
Mr. Storm’s laugh, an actual laugh, vibrated against my neck, the sound so unexpected it momentarily distracted me from the relentless pounding of his hips. It was remarkably rare from him. “Still fighting,” he said, his free hand sliding up to grip my throat—not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of his strength. “Strong.”
“Stubborn,” Mr. Iceflare corrected, though his eyes held something that made my chest ache. This close, I could seethe tiny scar bisecting his right eyebrow, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes—humanizing details on a man who’d built an empire on blood and fear. “Willful. Perfect.”
Their praise hit harder than their hands ever could, finding cracks in my defenses I hadn’t known existed. How could men who’d orchestrated violence I couldn’t even imagine look at me with such… reverence? It was deeply confusing and made me question everything I thought I knew about them.
“I don’t—” My voice broke as Mr. Storm’s cock dragged across that spot inside me again, making my toes curl and my vision blur. “Don’t know how… to do this…”
Mr. Storm’s teeth scraped over my scent gland, his thrusts never faltering. “Do what?” he demanded, the words hot against my skin.
“Feel this—” Each word punched out of me with his thrusts, my thoughts scattered and disjointed. “You’re fucking… mafia killers?—”
“Yet here you are,” Mr. Storm growled, his grip tightening as his pace became punishing. My body jolted with each impact, caught between his brutal rhythm and Mr. Iceflare’s merciless strokes. “Taking us. Wanting us.”
“Choosing us,” Mr. Iceflare added, his gaze burning into mine as his hand twisted on the upstroke, making my vision white out momentarily. “Despite knowing exactly what we are.”
That was the terrifying truth, wasn’t it? I knew what they were—had pieced together enough from overheard conversations and De Luca’s not-so-subtle warnings. These weren’t misunderstood antiheroes from a romance novel with troubled pasts and hearts of gold. They were killers, criminals, men who’d built empires on suffering and fear. The kind of men who probably had “make enemies disappear” penciled into their weekly calendars between “arms deal” and “intimidate local businesses.”
Yet here I was, arching into their touch with eager need, begging for more, crying out their names like prayers. My judgment had completely abandoned me, replaced by desperate desire.
My second climax blindsided me completely, crashing through my body with such force that my vision actually darkened at the edges. A broken wail tore from my throat as my cock pulsed in Mr. Iceflare’s grip, painting my stomach with streaks of white. My inner muscles clamped down on Mr. Storm’s length with brutal force, spasming around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me.
Mr. Iceflare’s release joined mine moments later, hot spurts landing on my already soaked skin as his jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck standing out sharply. The sight of this powerful alpha coming undone because of me sent another aftershock of pleasure through my system, my spent body twitching.
