Page 57 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

“Holy fucking Christ on a pogo stick!” The oath burst from me, my hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into skin that would probably bear my marks tomorrow.

The stretch bordered on pain, my body struggling to accommodate his size despite being prepared by the others’ attentions.

“Did you somehow get bigger in the last hour? Is your dick affected by the lunar cycle? Should I be concerned about werewolf cock?”

Unlike the others, Mr. Iceflare didn’t start gentle.

His hips snapped forward with brutal efficiency, each thrust driving the air from my lungs in sharp gasps.

The wet sounds of our joining echoed obscenely in the room, punctuated by the slap of skin against skin and my increasingly desperate moans.

Yet even as his body claimed mine with almost violent intensity, his eyes told a different story.

Those ice-blue depths, usually so cold and calculating, now burned with something that looked dangerously close to devotion.

He stared into my eyes with such focus, such intent, that I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

It was as if he was trying to imprint himself on my soul even as his body imprinted itself on mine.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a whip-crack of authority that cut through the pleasure-haze clouding my mind. “I want to see your eyes when you come apart for us.”

Us. Not him. Us. The distinction shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

This wasn’t three separate alphas taking turns with me—this was a unified claiming.

They weren’t competing; they were sharing.

The realization should have terrified me, but instead, it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in my core.

Mr. Enigma’s hands cradled my face, turning me toward him for a kiss that was shockingly gentle compared to the brutal pounding Mr. Iceflare was delivering. Mr. Storm’s palm settled over my racing heart, his touch grounding me as pleasure threatened to sweep me away completely.

“You’re ours,” Mr. Iceflare growled, his pace never faltering even as sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto my chest where it mingled with the evidence of our earlier activities. “Say it, Ty. I need to hear it again.”

The words rose to my lips without hesitation this time, my brain’s Department of Self-Preservation apparently having taken an extended coffee break. “I’m yours,” I gasped, my voice breaking as he hit that perfect spot inside me. “All of yours!”

Something flashed in his eyes—triumph, possessiveness, and something deeper that made my chest ache. His pace became punishing, each thrust driving me up the bed until Mr. Enigma had to brace his arms above my head to keep me from getting a concussion on the headboard.

“Again,” Mr. Storm demanded, his hand pressing harder against my thundering heart.

“Y-yours—” I choked out, my body drawn tight as pleasure coiled tighter in my core. “Yours… Yours! Oh God… Please?—”

I wasn’t even sure what I was begging for anymore—release, mercy, or maybe for them to never stop this exquisite torture.

They seemed to understand whatever garbled message my brain was trying to send through my omega Morse code of moans and whimpers.

Mr. Iceflare shifted his angle slightly, the new position allowing him to drive even deeper.

Mr. Enigma swallowed my increasingly desperate sounds with hungry kisses.

Mr. Storm’s hand moved from my heart to my throat, his thumb pressing lightly against my pulse point.

My third orgasm hit without warning, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my body convulsed beneath them.

The world narrowed to pinpricks of sensation—Mr. Iceflare’s cock pulsing inside me, Mr. Enigma’s lips against mine, Mr. Storm’s hand at my throat.

Three points of contact anchoring me as pleasure ripped me apart and reconstructed me into something new.

Mr. Iceflare followed with a growl that sounded more animal than human, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside me.

Then came the unmistakable pressure of his knot beginning to swell, stretching me beyond what I thought possible.

The pain-pleasure of it sent aftershocks racing through my already hypersensitive system.

“Mine,” he snarled, his arms wrapping around me possessively as his knot locked us together. Then, softer, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter, “Ours.”

The way he looked at me in that moment—like I was something precious, something worth protecting, something worth keeping—broke something loose inside me.

More tears escaped, tracking hot paths down my temples and into my hair.

Great, I was crying again. I was becoming an emotional sprinkler system.

We remained tangled together, all four of us connected in ways that transcended the physical.

Their hands stroked my skin with a gentleness that belied the violence they were capable of, and their lips pressed soft kisses to my tear-streaked face.

The contrast was jarring—these dangerous men, these killers, these mafia kings, handling me with incredible care.

As Mr. Iceflare’s knot finally began to subside, I drifted on the edge of consciousness, utterly spent.

The magnitude of what had just happened—what I’d just admitted—was starting to sink in, bringing with it a strange mixture of peace and terror.

I’d given myself to these men completely, had surrendered not just my body but something deeper, something I’d kept protected my entire life.

But they weren’t done with me yet. Because apparently three alphas have the recovery time of teenagers discovering internet porn for the first time.

Mr. Enigma pulled me from Mr. Iceflare’s arms with a possessive growl, arranging me on my hands and knees at the edge of the bed. The chain at his wrist rattled as he positioned himself behind me, his hands gripping my hips with bruising force.

“Need you again,” he growled, his usual playfulness replaced by raw hunger. “Can’t get enough.”

You three should come with warning labels , I thought, though my body was already responding eagerly. Caution: Insatiable Alpha Ahead. May Cause Inability to Walk Straight for Days.

Then he was pushing inside me, the stretch less painful but no less intense after Mr. Iceflare’s claiming. I gasped, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as he filled me completely in one powerful thrust.

“Fuck—” I choked out, my oversensitive body somehow responding eagerly despite my exhaustion. “Are you kidding me? My ass is going to need its own zip code after this.”

Mr. Storm appeared before me, his eyes dark with desire as he knelt on the bed, his cock level with my face in intimidating proximity. “Take us both.”

My inner sarcastic commentator wanted to point out that I was already being rearranged internally by the Enigma Express, but my mouth was quickly occupied by several impressive inches of alpha anatomy. My snark was effectively silenced by Mr. Storm’s considerable girth.

The dual sensation—Mr. Enigma claiming me from behind while Mr. Storm filled my mouth—sent my mind spiraling into a place beyond thought.

I existed purely as sensation, as pleasure, as the vessel for their desire.

The wet sounds of their possession filled the room, punctuated by their growls and my muffled moans.

Mr. Iceflare’s hand tangled in my hair, forcing my head up so he could see my face as Mr. Storm’s cock slid between my lips. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his ice-blue eyes burning with something that looked dangerously like possession. “Ours.”

The word sent heat flooding through me, making my inner muscles clench around Mr. Enigma’s invading length. My omega hindbrain was practically purring with satisfaction, reveling in being the center of attention for three powerful alphas.

It was like my body and brain were having a civil war, with my hormones staging a successful coup against my common sense. My dignity had already surrendered unconditionally and was probably sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere far away.

“He loves this,” Mr. Enigma said, his voice strained as he drove deeper. “Look how wet he is for us. How eager.”

Oh, sure, announce it to the room like I’m not already aware of my body’s treachery , I thought as Mr. Storm’s thumb traced my stretched lips, his eyes darkening as he watched his cock disappear into my mouth.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

My second orgasm hit without warning, tearing through me with such force that I screamed around Mr. Storm’s cock, my body convulsing between them with overwhelming intensity.

The vibration pushed Mr. Storm over the edge, his release flooding my mouth in hot pulses that I had no choice but to swallow.

Mr. Enigma followed moments later, his knot swelling to lock us together as he emptied himself inside me with a triumphant growl.

As Mr. Enigma’s knot began to subside, Mr. Iceflare moved.

The chain at his wrist rattled ominously, a reminder of the leashed power he contained.

Without a word, he pulled me from Mr. Enigma’s grasp, ignoring the other alpha’s half-hearted growl of protest. To my surprise, he didn’t immediately position me for his pleasure.

Instead, he guided me toward Mr. Storm, who had stretched out on his back, his cock already hardening again.

The silent communication between them was eerie—some unspoken agreement passing between them that excluded me entirely.

“On him,” Mr. Iceflare instructed, his hands guiding my trembling thighs to straddle Mr. Storm. “Face him.”

Right, because verbal communication is overrated , I thought, though I complied anyway. My body was apparently taking direct orders from my omega hindbrain now, bypassing all rational thought processes.