"Look how beautifully you responded to us," Marco murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "How perfectly you surrendered."
"Delete it," I demanded, trying to look away but failing miserably as Stefano swiped to yet another video—this one from a different angle, closer, more intimate. In this footage,I was pressed against Stefano's chest, my head thrown back in ecstasy as Marco's mouth worked between my legs. My thighs trembled in the video, stomach muscles contracting as pleasure overwhelmed me.
The sounds I made—Christ, the sounds. High, desperate whimpers punctuated by broken pleas for more. I barely recognized my own voice, transformed by need into something wild and unfamiliar.
"Matteo's bodycam," Stefano explained, his voice dropping lower as he scented my growing arousal. "He likes to document everything. For security purposes, of course."
"I hate you," I breathed, unable to look away from the screen. "All of you. So much. I hate that you kept this, that you're showing it to me, that you're?—"
That I'm getting turned on, I couldn't finish. That watching myself surrender completely was sending electric pulses straight to my cock, making it strain against my jeans while my inner thighs grew damp with slick. That six months of midnight fantasies paled in comparison to the high-definition reality of what these alphas had done to me.
"No, you don't," Stefano said, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. "Your body remembers us, Leo. Remembers what we did to you. What we can do again."
He tucked the phone away but kept his hand on my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "We've been very patient. Six months of watching you fight what you need. Six months of giving you space to accept what happened between us."
"Space?" I echoed incredulously, trying to regain some semblance of control despite the way my heart was racing. "You call setting up a surveillance camp outside my house 'space'? That's not space—that's stalking with glamping equipment."
Matteo moved behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders with casual possession. His scent—cedar and rainand something darker—wrapped around me, mingling with Stefano's pine and Marco's cinnamon to create an alpha pheromone cocktail potent enough to make my head spin.
"You need us," he said quietly, his fingers kneading the tense muscles at the base of my neck with devastating precision. "Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to accept it."
"I need a restraining order," I corrected, though my voice betrayed me by going breathless as his thumbs found a particularly sensitive spot. "And maybe therapy. Lots and lots of therapy, with a special focus on why I keep making terrible life choices involving alphas with control issues."
Marco's hand landed on my thigh, fingers splayed wide as he leaned in closer. "Such a sharp tongue," he murmured, lips barely brushing my ear. "I remember how it feels against mine."
A shiver ran down my spine, memory flooding back with tactile precision—Marco's tongue dancing against mine, his teeth catching my lower lip, the taste of him flooding my mouth. My cock twitched in response, and I knew they could all scent my arousal intensifying despite the triple suppressants.
"That footage," Stefano said, his thumb tracing my jawline. "Would be very interesting to your father, don't you think? His precious omega heir, begging for three alphas to take him?"
The crude blackmail cut through the haze of arousal. "You wouldn't?—"
"I would," he corrected smoothly. "Unless, of course, you cooperate."
"Cooperate," I repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it now? A polite euphemism for blackmail?”
"Call it whatever you want," Stefano replied, his fingers trailing down my throat to rest at the hollow where my pulse hammered visibly. "But tomorrow night, you will come to our camp. After your guardians are asleep."
"And if I don't?" I challenged, though even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice when I was sandwiched between three alphas whose combined scent was making my omega hindbrain do the hormonal equivalent of rolling over and begging.
Stefano's mouth curved into a smile that was all predator. "Then those videos find their way to your father. And I wonder what the powerful Kenji Yamamoto would do when he sees his son begging for alpha cock like he was born for it."
The crude language made me flinch, but the threat was clear. My father would either disown me entirely or marry me off to the first suitable alpha who'd take damaged goods—either way, I'd lose what little freedom I'd managed to carve out in my gilded cage.
"You wouldn't?—"
"I would," Stefano interrupted, his hand sliding from my throat to cup the back of my neck. "But I don't want to. I'd much rather you come to us willingly."
"Willingly," I echoed with a bitter laugh. "Under threat of exposure and humiliation. That's not willing, that's coercion wrapped in alpha entitlement with a side of blackmail."
"Let us show you what we're offering," Marco murmured, his hand sliding higher on my thigh. "Remind you of what your body already knows it needs."
Before I could formulate a suitably scathing response, Stefano's mouth descended on mine again. This time, there was nothing brutal about it—his lips moved with deliberate slowness, coaxing rather than demanding. The gentleness was somehow more devastating than force would have been, making my resistance crumble like wet sand.
His tongue traced the seam of my lips, asking rather than taking, and I opened for him without conscious thought. The taste of him—pine and winter and something uniquely Stefano—flooded my senses, making my head spin as his tongue stroked against mine with maddening precision.
One large hand cradled my jaw while the other slid beneath my sweater to explore the heated skin of my stomach. The contrast between the cool night air and his burning touch made me shiver, a soft sound escaping my throat before I could stop it.
He swallowed the noise, deepening the kiss as his fingers splayed across my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my pectorals with deliberate slowness. Every sweep inched higher, closer to where my nipples had already hardened into sensitive peaks, but never quite reaching them—a calculated tease that had me arching unconsciously into his touch.
