"Come for us," Stefano commanded, his finger pressing harder against that spot inside Leo that made his vision white out at the edges. "Show us how good we make you feel."
Leo came with a broken cry, his body convulsing between them as pleasure crashed through him in devastating waves. Matteo didn't pull back, his throat working around the head of Leo's cock as he swallowed everything the omega had to give. His amber eyes remained fixed on Leo's face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every surrender of that sharp mind to pure sensation.
The intensity made Leo's hole clench around Stefano's finger, his body milking the intrusion as if desperate for more. His hands clutched desperately at whatever they could reach—Marco's hair, Stefano's thigh, the silk sheets beneath them—as his body shook with the force of his release.
Savage satisfaction coursed through Stefano's blood as he watched Leo fall apart for them a second time.This is just the beginning, little prince.The thought was a promise and a threat combined.By the time we're done with you, you'll be begging for our cocks, begging to be filled and claimed and owned.
Before Leo could even recover, Matteo was moving up his body, claiming his mouth in a kiss that made Leo taste himself on the alpha's tongue. The flavor of his own release combinedwith Matteo's unique taste sent another shudder through his oversensitive system. Matteo's kiss was different now—less dominating, more consuming, like he was collecting Leo's surrender through the connection of their mouths.
Matteo's tongue explored every corner of Leo's mouth, tracing his teeth, tangling with his tongue, claiming him from the inside out. The alpha tasted of Leo's release and something darker, something that made Leo's omega biology respond with instinctive submission. His hands came up to frame Leo's face, holding him steady as he devoured him with methodical thoroughness.
"Beautiful," Marco praised, pressing gentle kisses to the marks they'd left on Leo's throat, his tongue tracing the indentations left by his teeth. "So perfect for us. But we're not done with you yet, baby."
Not even close to done.Stefano's alpha nature growled with anticipation as he felt Leo tremble against him, exhausted but still responsive to their touch. They would push him further, drive him higher, break him down completely until nothing remained but pleasure and surrender and the alphas who owned every inch of him.
By the time they finished with him tonight, Leo Yamamoto would understand exactly where he belonged—with them, between them, taking everything they chose to give him.
seventeen
. . .
How long had I been in this tent? Minutes? Hours? Days? Time had lost all meaning since they'd started their methodical dismantling of my sanity. At some point between orgasm number two and whatever round of "Let's Break Leo's Brain" we were currently playing, my body had officially staged a coup against my mind.
My limbs weren't even mine anymore—just hypersensitive nerve endings attached to a quivering mass that once resembled a person with actual dignity. Every inch of me had been claimed, marked, tasted, and tortured with pleasure so intense it bordered on cruelty. My cock deserved hazard pay and workers' compensation for the abuse it had endured. If sexual organs could file workplace complaints, mine would be compiling a multi-page report with color-coded exhibits and eyewitness testimonials.
"Beautiful," Marco praised, pressing gentle kisses to the marks they'd left on my throat, his tongue tracing the indentations from teeth that had broken skin at some point. "So perfect for us. But we're not done with you yet, baby."
Not done? My mind struggled to process the words through the syrupy haze of exhaustion and oversensitivity. Not done implied there was more. More than the three—or was it four?—orgasms they'd already wrung from my body. More than the endless stream of "good boy" and "perfect omega" that kept short-circuiting my brain's resistance centers. More than the humiliating discovery that being called "Daddy's little prince" made something in my chest tighten with desperate need. The same chest that used to house my pride before it was surgically removed by three alphas with boundary issues and a shared fetish for breaking omegas.
"Can't," I managed, the word slurring past lips swollen from their kisses. My voice was unrecognizable—hoarse from screaming their names, begging for mercy, pleading for more. I sounded like I'd swallowed gravel and chased it with sandpaper. "No more. Broken. Everything… broken."
Stefano's laugh rumbled against my back, his chest vibrating with dark amusement. "You underestimate yourself, little prince. And you definitely underestimate what we can make your body do."
"Consider it a scientific experiment," Matteo added, his amber eyes studying my flushed face with that unsettling intensity. "Testing the upper limits of omega pleasure response."
A scientific experiment? Is that what they're calling this methodical breakdown of my defenses, this systematic dismantling of every barrier I've ever constructed? Omega Torture 101 with these three as tenured professors. Next, they'll be publishing their findings in theJournal of Inappropriate Alpha Research, complete with footnotes and a bibliography of "Innovative Ways to Break Omegas While Making Them Like It."
"N-not lab rat," I muttered, though the protest lacked any real heat when I was still sprawled across Stefano's lap, myspent cock already twitching with renewed interest despite my exhaustion. My reproductive system was clearly suffering from short-term memory loss, forgetting that it had already performed the "get hard and ejaculate" magic trick multiple times tonight. "Research… ethics… violation. So many… violations."
"Our only guideline," Stefano murmured against my ear, his hands already moving to lift me, "is your pleasure. And teaching you who you belong to."
Before I could attempt a suitably scathing response, I was being repositioned with the casual efficiency of men who'd clearly planned this choreography in advance. My back hit cool silk sheets, and something was being tucked beneath my lower back—pillows, I realized, arching my spine at an angle that left me feeling exposed and vulnerable in entirely new ways. Like a virginal sacrifice on the altar of Alpha Pleasure Gods, positioned for optimal access to all available orifices.
"Wha—?" My question died as Marco and Matteo each took one of my legs, spreading them wide enough that I felt the stretch in my inner thighs. The position left me completely open, my head tilted slightly back over the edge of the pillows, blood rushing in a way that made my already dizzy state even more disorienting. If the Kama Sutra had an appendix titled "Positions That Make Omegas Feel Like Sexual Display Objects," this would be center page, with a five-star difficulty rating and a warning label.
"Perfect," Stefano approved from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "Look at him—displayed like the precious treasure he is."
The casual objectification should have infuriated me. Instead, something deep in my omega hindbrain preened at being called precious, at being admired by these powerful alphas who could have anyone but seemed obsessed with mespecifically. That treacherous part of me was currently doing backflips of joy while my rational brain tried desperately to hold an emergency strategy meeting on how to regain even a shred of dignity.
What the fuck is wrong with me? They're talking about me like I'm a particularly appetizing dessert, and my body is eating it up like it's starved for compliments. Stockholm syndrome speedrun: new record holder. Someone alert Guinness—we've got a contender in the Fastest Omega to Develop Inappropriate Attachment to Kidnappers category.
"Hate… all of you," I managed, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the way my cock had hardened again, lying heavy against my stomach in mute betrayal of my words. "So much. When I… move again… consequences. Thinking elaborate… revenge plots. Involving… your kneecaps and… household tools."
Marco laughed, the sound warm and appreciative as his hands slid up my inner thighs, thumbs pressing into sensitive flesh. "Listen to him—still fighting even when he's spread out for us like a feast. That mouth is going to get you in trouble, little wildcat."
His lips descended without warning, claiming mine in a kiss that stole what little breath I had managed to recover. His tongue pushed past my parted lips without resistance, exploring with possessive thoroughness that made my toes curl. I should have bitten him, should have fought—instead, I responded with embarrassing eagerness, my tongue meeting his in a dance that felt too much like surrender.
When he finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected our mouths for a moment before breaking. "God, I missed that smart mouth," he murmured, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Even when it's struggling to form complete sentences."
