Page 48 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

eighteen

. . .

He pushed forward, entering me with a slow deliberation that was somehow more devastating than if he’d just slammed in last night.

The stretch was significant, like usual—he was built with impressive proportions—but my body welcomed him with eagerness, still loose and ready from our activities the night before.

“Fuck!” I gasped, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders as he filled me inch by excruciating inch. My inner walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper with each pulse. “How are you even bigger than last night? Is that an alpha thing? Do you grow overnight with remarkable efficiency?”

Mr. Enigma’s laugh was warm against my ear as he stretched out beside us, his hand coming to rest on my chest directly over my racing heart. “There’s our sassy little mouse,” he said, affection evident in his voice. “I was wondering when you’d come back to us.”

“Never left,” I managed, though the words ended on a moan. “Just temporarily overwhelmed by the sheer audacity of alpha anatomy.”

Mr. Iceflare’s lips curved in what might have been a smile on anyone else but on him looked predatory. “Keep your eyes on me,” he reminded me, beginning to move with slow, deliberate thrusts that had me seeing stars.

Each drag of his cock against my inner walls sent sparks of pleasure racing through my system, building a heat in my core that threatened to consume me entirely.

The angle let him hit my prostate with unerring accuracy, each thrust sending a jolt of oh God, yes through me that had my toes curling and my back arching.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his eyes never leaving mine as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross my face. “Let me see how good it feels. How much you need this. Need us.”

“Not fair,” I gasped, my hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into solid muscle. “You can’t just—oh fuck—you can’t just say things like that while you’re—holy shit—while you’re rearranging my internal organs with your impressive anatomy.”

“While I’m what?” he prompted, his pace increasing slightly as his control began to fray around the edges. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by my increasingly desperate moans. “While I’m fucking you? While I’m claiming what’s mine? What’s ours?”

The possessive declaration sent another wave of heat through my body, my inner muscles clenching around him with eager possession.

The part of me that had been fighting this, fighting them, was rapidly surrendering, overwhelmed by the part that craved exactly what they were offering: belonging, protection, care.

“Yes,” I admitted, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me that I’d been pretending didn’t exist. “While you’re doing all of that.

It’s cheating. Cognitive—oh God—cognitive impairment during sexual activity.

Can’t form—fuck—can’t form coherent arguments when you’re hitting my prostate with incredible precision. ”

Mr. Iceflare’s laugh rumbled through his chest and into mine where our bodies pressed together, the vibration doing interesting things to where we were connected.

“Then stop arguing,” he suggested, his hips driving forward with enough force to make the breath catch in my throat.

“Stop fighting what we all know is happening here.”

Mr. Enigma’s mouth found mine, his tongue invading with the same thoroughness as Mr. Iceflare’s cock. The dual penetration—one claiming my mouth, one claiming my body—left me feeling thoroughly owned in ways that should have terrified me but instead made my body surrender completely.

Mr. Storm’s hand wrapped around my neglected cock, his strokes perfectly synchronized with Mr. Iceflare’s thrusts. The calluses on his palm created a delicious friction that had me moaning into Mr. Enigma’s mouth, my hips bucking helplessly between the dual stimulation.

The combination was overwhelming—Mr. Iceflare’s cock hitting my prostate with every thrust, Mr. Enigma’s tongue claiming my mouth with possessive thoroughness, Mr. Storm’s hand working my length with ruthless precision.

Every nerve ending fired simultaneously until I couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and another began.

And something strange was happening beneath the physical pleasure, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the way Mr. Iceflare was looking at me.

His eyes had softened around the edges, the usual cold calculation replaced by something that made my heart stutter in my chest. Not just lust or possession, but something I wasn’t ready to name.

My orgasm built with unstoppable intensity, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter at the base of my spine until I thought I might actually die if I didn’t get release soon.

When it finally hit, it wasn’t so much a climax as a complete detonation, obliterating conscious thought and reducing me to a creature of pure sensation.

I came with a scream that Mr. Enigma swallowed completely, my body convulsing between them as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me with devastating force. My release painted my stomach and Mr. Storm’s hand in stripes of white, the evidence of my surrender stark against my flushed skin.

Through it all, I somehow managed to keep my eyes on Mr. Iceflare’s, watching as his expression shifted from controlled desire to something rawer, more primal. His rhythm faltered, becoming more erratic as his own release approached. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

I felt the base of his cock begin to swell, stretching me wider than I thought possible.

The pressure against my already sensitized walls sent aftershocks of pleasure racing through my system, my spent cock twitching valiantly in response.

His release pulsed inside me in hot waves, each one accompanied by a subtle tightening of his knot that had me seeing stars.

The sensation was indescribable—not just the physical fullness, though that was overwhelming enough, but the primal satisfaction of being claimed so completely.

Each pulse of his seed inside me triggered something ancient and instinctual, something that made my omega hindbrain purr with contentment while my conscious mind reeled with the implications.

But it wasn’t just the physical connection that had me trembling beneath him.

It was the way his eyes never left mine, creating a bridge between us that felt more intimate than the knot locking our bodies together.

In his gaze, I saw something I’d never expected from the cold, calculating alpha— vulnerability, wonder, a question he couldn’t quite voice but was writing across his face in neon letters.

And to my horror, I answered that unspoken question, something in my own expression softening as the walls around my heart developed hairline fractures.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to be immune to alpha charm, especially the mafia variety with a side of kidnapping.

Yet here I was, feeling things that went way beyond the “how to survive captivity” manual.

Mr. Iceflare’s hand came up to stroke my cheek with a tenderness that made my chest ache in ways I couldn’t blame on physical exertion. “Mine,” he murmured, the word both claim and promise. “Ours.”

And God help me, I nodded. No witty comeback. No sarcastic deflection. Just a simple acknowledgment of a truth I wasn’t ready to voice but couldn’t deny. In that moment of silent honesty, I felt more exposed than I had with his cock inside me.

The realization hit me with crushing force. This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just biology or circumstance or necessity. This was something real, something that made the walls around my heart feel suddenly inadequate and fragile.

What the hell am I doing? I can’t be falling for them. Not like this. Not when they could break free any day and decide I’d make a lovely decorative rug for their criminal headquarters.

“What is happening to me?” I whispered, the question escaping before I could strangle it back. My voice sounded strange to my own ears—raw, vulnerable, stripped of its usual protective layer of snark. “This isn’t— I don’t— I’m not supposed to?—”

“Shh,” Mr. Enigma soothed, his fingers combing through my hair with gentle strokes that made my scalp tingle. His green eyes, usually dancing with mischief, had gone soft around the edges as he looked at me. “Don’t overthink it, little mouse. Just feel.”

How could I explain that “just feeling” was exactly the problem? That the emotions swirling through my chest were more terrifying than any physical threat they could pose? That I’d built my entire personality around not feeling too deeply, not connecting too completely?

Mr. Iceflare shifted slightly, his knot tugging at my sensitive rim and sending another wave of pleasure-pain through my system. The movement reminded me of our physical connection, but it was the emotional tether forming between us that truly terrified me.

“My turn next,” Mr. Enigma announced, his voice lighter than the charged moment called for, though his eyes remained serious as they studied my face. “Once our ice king here decides to release you from his clutches.”

“Patience,” Mr. Iceflare replied, though there was no heat in the word. His thumb continued to trace patterns on my cheekbone, each touch feeling like it was imprinting on more than just my skin. “Some things can’t be rushed.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant his knot or the fragile connection forming between us, but either way, the words sent another shiver racing down my spine.

This was dangerous territory, not just physically, but emotionally.

I was already in too deep, already caring too much about men who had every reason to hate me.