"That's one," Stefano said, his voice carrying that infuriating calm that made me want to stab him with something sharp and rusty. "How many do you think it will take, Marco, to teach our little prince about punctuality and respecting his daddies' time?"
Daddies. Plural.The word shouldn't have affected me—it was ridiculous, condescending, completely inappropriate—but my treacherous body responded with a pulse of heat that settled low in my belly.
Marco settled onto the bed in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cinnamon-amber scent as it mingled with my own. "Given his particular brand of stubbornness? Ten seems appropriate. Two hours late, five strikes per hour."
"I'm not your punching bag," I hissed, muscles bunching as I tried again to crawl away. Stefano's palm flattened between my shoulder blades, pinning me as effectively as if he'd nailedme to the mattress. "And I'm definitely not your 'little prince' or whatever creepy pet name you've assigned to your kidnap victim this week."
Smack!
His hand landed on my left cheek this time, harder than the first. The sting radiated outward in a way that should have been purely painful but instead sent a confusing ripple of sensation straight to my cock. Because apparently my body had been secretly replaced with that of a masochistic porn star while I wasn't paying attention.
"That's two," Stefano counted, and I didn't have to see his face to know he was wearing that smug alpha smile that made me want to feed him his own teeth. "Keep fighting, and Daddy will add more. Is that what you want, baby? More reasons to turn this pretty ass red?"
"I'm not your baby," I growled, though the word sent another treacherous wave of heat through me. "And if you call yourself 'Daddy' one more time, I'm going to vomit all over your expensive sheets. How's that for a mood killer?"
"Such a sharp tongue," Marco said, reaching out to trace my lower lip with his thumb. "Always so quick with the threats, even when you're at our mercy. It's one of the things that makes you so irresistible, sweet boy."
Sweet boy.Another childish pet name that should have made me recoil in disgust but instead sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with some hidden part of me I'd never acknowledged.
"You sadistic fucks," I hissed, even as heat pooled low in my belly. "Is this how you get your rocks off? Spanking unwilling omegas who are only here because you're blackmailing them? What's next on the creepy alpha agenda—making me call you 'sir' while wearing a French maid outfit?"
"Unwilling?" Marco's eyebrow rose as his hand captured my chin, tilting my face up until I couldn't avoid his gaze. His thumb traced my lower lip, which had fallen open on panting breaths I couldn't control. "Your scent tells a different story, baby. Even through those suppressants, I can smell how wet you're getting. Just like that night in the forest, when you melted for us with every strike."
The forest. God, the forest. Memories crashed over me in vivid technicolor—Stefano's hand connecting with my bare skin, the impossible transformation of pain into pleasure, the way I'd hardened and leaked and ultimately begged for more. For six months, I'd convinced myself it was just the heat cycle making me respond that way, but deep down, I'd known.
I'd known it was me. Just me, responding to something I'd never admitted I craved.
"Biological response," I insisted, the lie tasting like battery acid on my tongue. "Means nothing. I could be sexually attracted to a lamp if you attached an alpha pheromone diffuser to it. Or maybe an especially curvaceous refrigerator. Don't feel special."
Crack!
The third strike caught me mid-sentence, blindsiding me with its ferocity. Stefano's palm landed precisely where the first had, overlaying the already sensitive tissue with fresh fire. A sound escaped me that I would deny making until my dying day—something between a yelp and a moan that wasn't entirely pain.
"Fuck!" I gasped, my body lurching forward like I'd been electrocuted. The impact traveled through my flesh in a wave, starting as sharp pain that somehow, impossibly, dissolved into liquid heat that pooled at the base of my spine before traveling lower. My cock, already half-hard, jumped to full attention so quickly it made me dizzy.
"Three," Stefano noted, his fingertips trailing over the spot he'd just struck. The gentle touch after the sharp impact sent shivers racing across my skin that I couldn't suppress. "Your ass flushes such a lovely shade of pink, even through these shorts. I think Daddy needs to see his handiwork properly, don't you, Matteo?"
Matteo moved to the other side of the bed, those amber eyes watching me with an intensity that was somehow both detached and burning. "The shorts need to come off," he agreed, his voice carrying that same dangerous quiet I remembered from the forest. "I want to see his skin change color with each strike."
"Of course you do," I muttered, trying desperately to cling to sarcasm as my last line of defense against the rising tide of arousal. "Nothing says 'normal, healthy interaction' quite like three grown men debating the merits of my bare ass like it's a paint swatch at Home Depot. Should I spin around so you can get a three hundred and sixty degree view, or would you prefer I just email you photos for your personal collection?"
"Such a mouthy baby," Marco said, his voice warm with amusement despite the heat in his eyes. "Always fighting even when your body is begging to surrender. It's what makes you so perfect for us."
"I'm not perfect for anyone," I insisted, the words coming out breathier than intended as anticipation of the next blow wound through me. "Especially not three alphas with god complexes and a shared delusion that 'no' means 'spank me harder, Daddy.'"
Smack!
The fourth blow landed with surgical precision, right at the curve where ass met thigh—that tender junction where nerve endings clustered close to the surface. The pain was immediate, sharp and bright, like someone had pressed a hot iron against my skin.
"Holy mother of—" I bit off the curse, teeth sinking into my lower lip as the initial sting transformed into something entirely different. It was like some demented alchemist had discovered how to transmute pain directly into pleasure, the sensation melting from one form to another until my cock throbbed against the mattress like it had a personal vendetta against the sheets.
"Four," Stefano counted, his voice dropping to that register that vibrated through my bones and made my inner omega sit up and beg. His hand lingered this time, not just resting but actively caressing the spot he'd just struck. "Such a good boy for Daddy, taking your punishment so beautifully."
"I'm not your good boy," I managed, though the protest sounded weak even to my own ears when I could feel slick gathering between my thighs. "And if you keep calling yourself Daddy, I'm going to?—"
"You're going to what, baby?" Stefano asked, his hand sliding to the waistband of my shorts. "Make more empty threats while your body begs for my touch? I think it's time we see exactly what we're working with, don't you?"
Without waiting for my answer—not that I could have formed coherent words anyway—his fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down my thighs in one smooth motion.
