Page 87 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
The burn was intense, bordering on too much as Mr. Iceflare pushed inexorably forward, his cock sliding in alongside Mr. Storm’s, stretching me beyond what I thought possible. My body trembled with the effort of accommodating them both, sweat beading on my forehead as I panted against Mr. Storm’s neck.
I’m being split in two, I thought wildly,and somehow, I’m letting it happen. Somehow, I want it to happen. My brain is definitely filing for divorce from my body after this.
When Mr. Iceflare was finally seated to the hilt, both alphas’ cocks buried deep inside me, I felt impossibly full, stretched to my absolute limit. The sensation of being so thoroughly filled, of being claimed so completely, sent shivers racing through my entire body.
“Perfect,” Mr. Iceflare growled against my neck, his teeth grazing my scent gland. “Taking us both so beautifully.”
They began to move in tandem, one withdrawing slightly as the other thrust forward, never leaving me empty for even a moment. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure mixed with pain, submission tangled with resistance. My mind struggled to process the dual invasion, the competing sensations, the sheer vulnerability of being stretched around both of them simultaneously.
It was incredibly overwhelming, caught between them with no escape.
Mr. Enigma watched from the side, his eyes tracking every expression that crossed my face, every reaction to their shared claiming. His hand moved lazily over his own cock, stroking in rhythm with their thrusts as he observed with intense focus.
“Look at him watching you,” Mr. Iceflare murmured, his voice strained with the effort of control. “See how much he wants you. How much we all do.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Mr. Enigma’s face, from the naked hunger in his eyes as he watched his brothers claim me. There was no jealousy in his observation, only satisfaction and anticipation—as though enjoying their shared pleasure.
The realization that they enjoyed watching each other take me, that my pleasure and submission were relished by each one of them, should have disgusted me. Instead, it sent another wave of heat through my system, my body clenching around both invading cocks.
What kind of omega was I, to respond this way? What kind of person found pleasure in being used so thoroughly by men who had built empires on violence and fear? I was definitely developing a concerning attraction to danger.
“He’s close,” Mr. Storm said, his hand wrapping around my neglected cock. “Look at him. So beautiful when he falls apart for us.”
The thought was lost as pleasure crested, washing over me in a wave that obliterated conscious thought. I came with a broken cry, my release painting Mr. Storm’s chest in white streaks as my body convulsed around both alphas. The rhythmic clenching pushed them both over the edge, Mr. Iceflare emptying himself inside me with a growl that vibrated through my entire body while Mr. Storm’s knot began to swell.
The sensation of Mr. Storm’s knot expanding while Mr. Iceflare was still inside me was indescribable—stretched beyond what I thought possible, filled so completely that there was no room for anything but sensation. I trembled between them, overwhelmed by the physical and emotional intensity of what had just happened.
“I think you’ve broken me,” I mumbled against Mr. Storm’s chest, too exhausted for proper snark. “I’ll never be able to look at a sandwich the same way again.”
As we lay tangled together, waiting for Mr. Storm’s knot to subside, Mr. Iceflare pressed gentle kisses along my shoulder, his touch a stark contrast to the brutality of his earlier claiming. The tenderness in the gesture made my chest ache in ways I couldn’t blame on physical exertion.
Time blurred into a haze of pleasure and exhaustion as they continued to claim me throughout the night. Mr. Iceflare took me against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into me with incredible force. I half expected De Luca to send in a maintenance request form.Reason for repair: Omega got fucked so hard he damaged infrastructure.
Mr. Enigma bent me over the small table bolted to the floor, the metal edge digging into my hips as he claimed me with relentless enthusiasm. The fact that the table was bolted down suddenly made sense—not to prevent it from being used as a weapon, but to keep it from collapsing under the force of alpha sex.
Mr. Storm had me on my back, my legs over his shoulders as he stared into my eyes with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. His stormy gaze burned into mine, demanding a connection that went beyond the physical, beyond the moment. It was as if he was trying to see into my soul, which was inconvenient because I’d locked that away years ago in a box labeled Do Not Open: Contains Emotional Fragility.
They used me in combinations I hadn’t known were physically possible, sharing me between them with a coordination that spoke of deep trust and understanding. Through it all, they watched each other claim me with appreciation rather than jealousy, their eyes tracking every reaction, every expression, every moment of surrender.
“Look at him taking Mr. Storm so perfectly,” Mr. Enigma would murmur, his hand stroking my hair as Mr. Storm claimed me. “Made for this. Made for us.”
Made for this? I’m pretty sure the omega design specifications didn’t include ‘must accommodate multiple alpha cocks simultaneously,’I thought, though my body eagerly accepted everything they gave me.
“Beautiful with your cock in his mouth,” Mr. Iceflare would say as Mr. Enigma fed his length between my lips. “Taking you so deep.”
“Perfect,” Mr. Storm would growl as Mr. Iceflare’s knot locked inside me. “Ours.”
Their praise, their observation, their shared possession should have made me feel used, objectified. Instead, it created a strange sense of power—the knowledge that I could bring these dangerous men to their knees with nothing but my body and my submission. That I could make mafia lords tremble with need, could reduce ruthless killers to tender caresses and whispered praise.
What did that make me? Not just a victim of circumstance, not just a captive omega, but something else entirely—something that both thrilled and terrified me. Someone who found pleasure in their possession, who craved their touch even knowing what their hands had done.
Apparently, trauma bonding came with amazing orgasms. They really should mention that in the psychology textbooks.
In a rare moment of gentleness, they arranged me in the center of the bed, all three surrounding me with their heat and scent. Mr. Iceflare’s fingers traced the bite marks on my neck, the bruises on my hips, the evidence of their possession written across my skin.
“Did we hurt you?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
The question caught me off guard, the concern in his eyes at odds with the ruthless efficiency with which he’d claimed me earlier. How could the same hands that had held me down with bruising force now touch me with such care? How could the same mouth that had bitten hard enough to draw blood now press such gentle kisses to those very marks?
