Page 39 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

“Great,” I said, trying to ignore how my body responded to that knowledge, my heart racing with anticipation rather than fear. “Just what we need, three rutting alphas in chains. This totally won’t end badly for the omega in the room.”

“We won’t hurt you,” Mr. Enigma promised, though the strain in his voice suggested it was taking considerable effort to maintain control—restraint pushed to its limits. “But this won’t be gentle, either.”

“When is it ever gentle with you three?” I countered, aiming for flippant despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. “I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”

“Bruises you enjoyed receiving,” Mr. Storm said, his knowing gaze making me flush with embarrassment. “Don’t deny it.”

He wasn’t wrong, which was the most humiliating part. I had enjoyed it—every mark, every claim, every moment of surrender. Had craved it, even, in ways that went beyond biology into territory I wasn’t ready to explore without extensive preparation.

“Whatever,” I said, the weak deflection all I could manage under the weight of their collective scrutiny. “So what’s the plan here? Another round of ‘pass the omega’ until De Luca gets what he wants?”

Mr. Iceflare’s grip on my wrist tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over my pulse point in a gesture that was both possessive and oddly soothing—predatory tenderness. “What do you want, little mouse?”

The question caught me off guard with emotional impact. What did I want? No one had asked me that since this nightmare began. It had all been about survival, about doing what was necessary to protect my father, to get through each day without breaking completely.

“I want my father safe,” I said automatically. “I want out of this hellhole. I want?—”

I stopped, the truth hovering on the tip of my tongue, dangerous and unspoken. I want you. All of you. In ways that terrify me.

“What else?” Mr. Enigma prompted, his green eyes softer than I’d ever seen them, vulnerability beneath hardness. “What do you want right now, in this moment?”

The oil’s effects made it hard to think clearly, hard to maintain the walls I’d built to protect myself from the confusing emotions these alphas triggered in me. Maintaining dignity while emotionally compromised was theoretically possible but practically hopeless.

“I want…” I swallowed hard, gathering what remained of my courage with desperate determination. “I want to stop pretending.”

“Pretending what?” Mr. Storm asked, though his knowing gaze suggested he already had the answer.

“That I don’t want this,” I admitted, the words barely audible even to my own ears. “That I don’t want you. All of you.”

The confession hung in the air between us, too honest, too vulnerable to take back. I waited for them to mock me, to use this admission of weakness against me in this unbalanced power game.

Instead, Mr. Enigma’s laugh was warm, genuine in a way that made something flutter in my chest with dangerous hope. “Start with what you’re curious about,” he suggested, his green eyes dancing with encouragement. “What you’ve thought about but haven’t tried yet.”

Several possibilities flashed through my mind, but one stood out, something I’d wondered about since our first encounter but had never had the courage to initiate. “I want to taste you,” I said, my cheeks heating at the admission. “All of you. Properly.”

The alphas exchanged looks, those silent communications that made me feel like I was missing half the conversation. Then Mr. Iceflare nodded, releasing my wrist. “Start with him,” he said, nodding toward Mr. Enigma. “He’s the most responsive.”

“Gee, thanks for that assessment,” Mr. Enigma replied dryly, though his eyes remained fixed on me with hungry anticipation. “Make me sound like a science experiment.”

“If the lab coat fits,” Mr. Iceflare retorted, the casual banter between them so unexpected it momentarily distracted me from my nervous anticipation.

Mr. Enigma shifted position on the bed, making room for me between his legs. The chain at his wrist jangled softly with the movement, a stark reminder of our circumstances despite the growing intimacy between us.

“Come here, little mouse,” he invited, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. “Let me show you.”

I climbed onto the bed, settling between Mr. Enigma’s spread thighs with feigned confidence masking complete inexperience.

Up close, his scent overwhelmed me completely, warm spices and vanilla with amber undertones that made my mouth water embarrassingly.

Great, now I was salivating over alpha scent. Just perfect.

His cock stood proudly against his stomach, and holy hell, it was…

substantial. Not quite the terrifying monstrosity that Mr. Iceflare was packing, but definitely in the “anatomically challenging” category.

It curved slightly upward with a pronounced head that looked specifically designed to hit all the right spots.

My body responded immediately, my inner muscles clenching with eagerness. Traitor.

“I’ve never actually done this before,” I admitted, wrapping my hand around the base experimentally. It was hot velvet over steel, burning against my palm and pulsing with each heartbeat. “So constructive feedback is welcome. Emphasis on constructive. If you laugh, I’m biting. Hard.”

“Noted,” Mr. Enigma replied, his lips twitching with suppressed amusement as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch me with scientific interest. “Though I should warn you, some alphas enjoy a little teeth.”

“Kinky,” I said, though the thought sent an unexpected thrill through me that I absolutely refused to examine too closely. “File that under ‘information I didn’t need but will definitely remember for my future therapy sessions.’”

Before I could overthink it and talk myself out of this spectacularly bad idea, I leaned forward and licked a tentative stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip.

Holy shit. The taste exploded across my tongue, salt and musk and something uniquely Mr. Enigma that made my omega hindbrain celebrate while my conscious mind questioned my life choices.

A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip, and I swiped my tongue over it, surprised by the slightly sweet tang that mingled with the saltiness. Not what I expected.

Above me, Mr. Enigma made a sound of shocked pleasure. His abs tensed visibly—and seriously, was an eight-pack really necessary? Show-off—as his hips twitched upward involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he growled, visibly fighting for control with admirable restraint. His hand came up to stroke my cheek with surprising gentleness. “You just… your mouth… Christ, the way you look right now should be illegal.”

“Is my mouth magical? Transcendent? Worth writing poetry about?” I suggested, emboldened by his reaction and the way his pupils had expanded until only a thin ring of green remained, darkness consuming light.

“Feel free to elaborate while I figure out how not to accidentally bite off more than I can chew. Literally.”

His laugh turned into a strangled groan as I took the head into my mouth, the silky-smooth skin hot against my tongue as I experimented with pressure and suction with determined exploration.

The width stretched my lips in a way that should have been uncomfortable but somehow wasn’t, my body responding as if designed for this exact purpose—a thought I immediately filed under “examine never.”

“Fuck, look at those pretty lips stretched around me,” he breathed, his voice dropping an octave to something that vibrated through my bones. “Sassy even with your mouth full. That’s our little mouse.”

The possessive plural—our—shouldn't have sent warmth blooming in my chest with alarming intensity, but it did. What was wrong with me? Trauma Bonding: The Advanced Course ?

I used my hand to cover what wouldn’t fit in my mouth, creating a tight, wet channel that had him cursing in what sounded like three different languages.

I redoubled my efforts, taking him deeper until he bumped the back of my throat, making me pull back slightly with a gagging sound. Smooth, Ty. Very sexy.

Mr. Enigma’s hand moved to tangle gently in my hair, not pushing or controlling, just maintaining contact as his other hand stroked down my back with unexpected tenderness. The gentleness was almost worse than if he’d been rough, at least then I could have hated him properly.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice strained with effort. “Use your tongue more. Yes, just like that. Perfect. You’re a natural at this, little mouse. You were born for this.”

Behind me, I felt the mattress dip as Mr. Storm moved closer, his large hand coming to rest on the small of my back, warm and steadying. From his position on the other bed, Mr. Iceflare watched with predatory focus, his ice-blue eyes tracking every movement of my mouth.

“Look at him taking you,” Mr. Iceflare said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. “Made for this.”

“For us,” Mr. Storm added quietly, his thumb tracing circles on my lower back that somehow managed to be both comforting and arousing at the same time, which was a neat trick I hadn’t known was possible.

The praise shouldn’t have affected me as strongly as it did, shouldn’t have made me flush with pleasure and redouble my efforts with eager determination.

But something about these alphas, about the connection forming between us, made me crave their approval in ways I’d never experienced before and frankly found deeply concerning.

I swirled my tongue around the sensitive spot just under the head, a move I’d read about in an omega magazine. Mr. Enigma’s reaction was immediate and gratifying, a sharp intake of breath, his hand tightening in my hair just enough to sting pleasantly.