This feels too good. Way too good. How is this even possible? It’s just a hand, but it feels like he’s rewiring my entire nervous system.
“No,” I moaned, the word completely contradicted by the way my hips thrust up into his moving hand. “I don’t want?—”
“Liar,” Stefano whispered, his teeth grazing my earlobe as his fist twisted on the upstroke, wringing another desperate sound from my throat. “Your body’s screaming for more. Feel how hard you are, how desperate.”
His hand moved faster, setting a rhythm that had me trembling against him. Each stroke sent lightning through my veins, pleasure building at the base of my spine with frightening intensity.
Movement in my peripheral vision made me turn my head. Matteo had moved closer, much closer, until he was standing just feet away. His amber eyes were fixed on my face with laser focus, tracking every expression, every reaction, like he was cataloging each response for future reference.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I gasped, my face burning with humiliation as Stefano’s hand continued its maddening rhythm. “Stop staring, you pervert!”
“You’re beautiful like this,” Matteo said quietly, his voice rough with barely contained desire. “Falling apart. Fighting and surrendering at the same time.”
“He likes to watch,” Marco added with a wicked grin, his hands still trailing up my thighs. “Studies every expression you make. He’ll replay this in his head for weeks.”
Replay this in his head for weeks? How long have they been watching me? Oh God, what else has he been cataloging?
“You’re all sick,” I panted, but my protest dissolved into a broken moan as Stefano’s grip tightened, his thumb pressing against that spot that made me see stars. Each stroke sent lightning through my veins, pleasure building at the base of my spine with frightening intensity. The difference between my own inexperienced touch and his skilled manipulation was devastating.
Years of doing this myself and I had no idea it could feel like this. No wonder omegas go crazy for alphas—they apparently have magic hands along with their superiority complexes.
“Please,” I gasped, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for anymore. More? Less? For him to never stop?
“Please what?” Stefano prompted, his strokes slowing to a maddening crawl. His grip loosened just enough to make me whine with frustration, a sound that should have embarrassed me but only seemed to encourage him. “More? Faster? Tell me exactly what you need.”
What I need is for this to be over before I completely lose my mind. But also maybe for him to never stop touching me because this feels incredible and I hate myself for thinking that.
“I need—” My words dissolved into a strangled moan as Marco’s hands reached for the waistband of the sweatpants, fingers hooking under the fabric with clear intent.
“Making things easier,” Marco murmured, his knuckles brushing against my hip bones as he began tugging the sweatpants down my thighs. “Can’t properly take care of you with all these clothes in the way.”
Properly take care of me. Right. Because this is totally about my well-being and not about three alphas getting off on controlling an omega.
I should have protested, should have fought, but all I could do was whimper as cool night air hit my exposed skin. My cock sprang free, hard and leaking, the tip flushed dark with arousal. I could feel slick soaking into the fabric bunched around my thighs, the evidence of my body’s complete surrender on full display.
The worst part was my complete nudity—not just the obvious arousal, but the smooth, hairless skin around my groin that had always made me feel like a freak. Not even the fine hairthat normal omegas had, just completely bare like some kind of genetic defect.
Great. Now they can see how abnormal I am. Just another thing that makes me a defective omega.
“Fuck,” Marco breathed, his gaze fixed hungrily on my exposed body. “Look at you. Absolutely perfect. Not a single hair anywhere.”
My face burned with humiliation. “Don’t,” I gasped, trying to close my legs despite Stefano’s grip. “It’s not normal, I know it’s weird?—”
“Weird?” Marco’s eyes darkened with something that looked almost predatory. “It’s exquisite. Like you were designed to be claimed by alphas. So smooth, so perfect.”
Designed to be claimed? What the hell does that mean? I thought I was just genetically screwed up.
Matteo’s sharp intake of breath drew my attention back to his face. His pupils were blown wide, nostrils flared as he scented my arousal. “Perfect,” he murmured, his gaze moving from my face to my exposed cock and back again. “Even more responsive than I imagined.”
Than he imagined? Fuck, how long have they been thinking about this?
“You don’t understand,” I said desperately, my voice cracking with embarrassment. “Something’s wrong with me. I’m defective?—”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Stefano growled against my ear, his hand tightening possessively around my cock. “You’re exactly what you’re supposed to be. Exactly what we’ve been waiting for.”
What they’ve been waiting for? What does that even mean?
“Look at you,” Stefano murmured, his free hand sliding under the borrowed shirt to explore my chest, fingers finding one nipple and pinching until I cried out. “So responsive. Soperfect. Every inch of you reacting to our touch like you were designed for it.”
