Page 40 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

“Just like that,” he gasped, his green eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip with nervous excitement. “Fuck, the way you look right now… those innocent eyes looking up at me while you take my cock so perfectly. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I had some idea, actually, given the way his cock seemed to grow even harder in my mouth, which I hadn’t thought was physically possible without medical intervention.

I hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder as I bobbed my head with enthusiastic determination, taking him deeper with each downward movement.

The stretch, the weight on my tongue, the taste, it was intoxicating, making me moan around his length with embarrassing eagerness.

The vibration drew another curse from him, his hips jerking upward involuntarily, pushing deeper into my mouth in a way that should have made me gag but somehow didn’t.

Apparently, my gag reflex had decided to take a vacation at the most convenient—or inconvenient—time, depending on your perspective.

“Fuck,” he gasped, immediately stilling himself with impressive control. “Fuck, you just feel so good. Too good. Pure heaven.”

I pulled off with a wet pop that should have been embarrassing but somehow wasn’t. “Don’t hold back,” I said, surprising myself with the request. “I want to feel it. Want to know I’m affecting you as much as you’re affecting me. That this isn’t just… one-sided biology.”

Mr. Enigma’s eyes darkened further, something primal flashing in their depths with dangerous intensity. “Dangerous words, little mouse,” he warned, though his cock twitched eagerly against my palm with obvious enthusiasm. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me,” I challenged, maintaining eye contact as I took him back into my mouth, deeper this time, relaxing my throat as much as I could, which was apparently more than I’d thought possible. Hidden omega talent unlocked: sword swallowing. Who knew?

With a growl that vibrated through both our bodies with primal power, Mr. Enigma’s control shattered completely.

His hips thrust upward, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth, not forcefully enough to choke me but enough to make me feel the power he’d been holding back.

The sensation of being used, of being wanted so desperately he couldn’t control himself, sent a thrill racing through me that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a desire I wasn’t ready to name.

“Look at him taking it,” Mr. Storm murmured, his hand still tracing soothing patterns on my back with gentle reassurance. “No gag reflex.”

“Omega biology,” Mr. Iceflare said, his voice rougher than usual. “Made to accommodate alpha size. All of us.”

The implication, that I was designed to take all three of them, in every way, sent another rush of heat through my core, enough that I was probably ruining the sheets beneath me.

Great, now I was going to have to explain omega biology stains to the laundry service.

“Sorry about the puddle, just omega mating biology in action, no big deal.”

I moaned around Mr. Enigma’s cock, the vibration drawing a sound from him that was half curse, half prayer.

“Fuck, little mouse,” he gasped, his hand tightening in my hair with delicious pressure. “If you keep making those sounds, this is going to be over embarrassingly quickly, and I have a reputation to maintain.”

I doubled my efforts, using every technique that had drawn the strongest reactions—swirling my tongue around the sensitive head with practiced precision, hollowing my cheeks for maximum suction with determined effort, using my hand to stroke what wouldn’t fit in my mouth in a counter-rhythm that had his thighs tensing beneath me with mounting tension.

His breathing grew more ragged, his control visibly deteriorating.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly. “Want to see your eyes when I come.”

I raised my gaze to meet his, still working him with my mouth, and something electric passed between us, a powerful connection.

His pupils were blown so wide that his eyes looked almost black, only a thin ring of green visible around the edges.

The naked hunger in his gaze should have frightened me, but instead, it sent a thrill racing down my spine with dangerous excitement.

“Perfect,” he breathed, the word barely audible. “So fucking perfect.”

The praise, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, made me moan around him again, a sound of pure omega need that would have mortified me if I’d had any dignity left to lose. His hips jerked upward, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth as his control finally shattered completely.

“Going to come,” he warned, his voice strained. “Pull off if you don’t want?—”

I doubled down instead, taking him as deep as I could, wanting to experience this completely, to taste his release, to know I’d done this to him.

With a broken cry that sounded suspiciously like my nickname, Mr. Enigma’s release flooded my mouth—hot, slightly bitter, but not unpleasant, with complex notes.

I swallowed reflexively, surprised by my own eagerness to taste him, to take everything he had to offer with unexpected enthusiasm.

When the pulses finally subsided, I pulled back, licking my lips unconsciously. Mr. Enigma stared at me with something like awe, his chest heaving with exertion.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, his hand coming up to cup my cheek with surprising tenderness. “Are you sure you’ve never done that before? Because that was… that was something else. Absolute perfection, except I would never tell anyone’s mother about this because I’m not a complete degenerate.”

I felt a ridiculous surge of pride at having reduced this powerful alpha to incoherent praise. “Beginner’s luck,” I deflected, though I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “Or maybe you’re just easy to please. A guaranteed win.”

“Only for you,” he countered, the sincerity in his voice making something twist in my chest with emotional impact. “Only with you.”

I sat back on my heels, absurdly proud of myself despite the circumstances. Bringing a mafia alpha to his knees (metaphorically speaking) with just my mouth was definitely going on my résumé under “special skills.” Right after “can fold fitted sheets” and “survived being kidnapped.”

“How’d I do? Scale of one to ten, ten being ‘life-changing experience’ and one being ‘needs serious practice but A for effort’?”

“Eleven,” Mr. Enigma replied without hesitation, his green eyes dark with residual need. “Especially considering it was your first time. Are you sure you haven’t been secretly practicing on popsicles?”

Before I could come up with a suitably cutting response to that ridiculous question, Mr. Storm shifted position, drawing my attention with subtle movement.

“My turn,” he said simply, his stormy eyes intense with hunger.

I moved to him next, settling between his legs with newfound confidence. His scent enveloped me completely, fresh rain and cedar with dark chocolate undertones that made my head swim with intoxicating effect.

His cock was impressive, to put it mildly. Slightly longer than Mr. Enigma’s, with a more pronounced upward curve that looked anatomically optimized for pleasure. The kind of equipment that would make sex toy designers take notes.

“Same rules apply,” I warned, wrapping my hand around the base. His skin was hot against my palm, radiating heat, and I could feel his pulse hammering beneath the velvet-soft surface. “Constructive feedback only. No laughing or I bite. And not in the fun way alphas apparently enjoy.”

The corner of Mr. Storm’s mouth lifted in what might have been a smile on anyone else but on him looked more like a momentary crack in stone. “Understood,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual. “Though he was right about the teeth.”

“You alphas and your pain kinks,” I said, though the idea sent another thrill through me that I absolutely refused to examine too closely. “Is it an evolutionary thing or just a personal preference? Did alpha cavemen also enjoy a good nibble while clubbing their mates over the head?”

Instead of answering my perfectly reasonable question about prehistoric sexual preferences, Mr. Storm reached out, his hand cupping my cheek with surprising gentleness, treating me with unexpected care.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, the single word of praise hitting me with emotional impact.

I ducked my head, uncomfortable with the naked admiration in his gaze.

This was supposed to be about physical release, about satisfying biological imperatives, not whatever this was becoming, this dangerous intimacy that threatened to crack my carefully constructed defenses with frightening effectiveness.

“Let’s not get carried away with the compliments,” I deflected, my voice shakier than I’d have liked. “I’m just doing what needs to be done. Like taking out the trash or paying taxes, except with more bodily fluids involved.”

Mr. Storm didn’t respond verbally—shocker—but his thumb brushed across my cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made something in my chest ache. Great, now I was developing feelings for the strong, silent type. Next, I’d be writing his name in my diary surrounded by little hearts.

Focusing on the task at hand before I could embarrass myself further, I leaned forward and took him into my mouth.

The taste was entirely different from Mr. Enigma’s—fresher, cleaner, with an undertone of earthiness that reminded me of forests after rain.

If Mr. Enigma had tasted like a decadent dessert, all spice and warmth, Mr. Storm was the first breath after a thunderstorm—crisp, invigorating, with a hint of danger.