"What—?" I started, but the question died as the vehicle emerged from the dense tree line.
An airstrip. A fucking airstrip carved into the middle of the wilderness, the runway stretching out like a dark ribbon against the green forest. And at the far end, gleaming white against the afternoon sun, sat a private jet.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
twenty-three
. . .
The SUV door opened, letting in cool forest air that did absolutely nothing to calm my overheated skin. Stefano shifted, preparing to carry me out, and I made one last attempt at maintaining some shred of dignity.
"I can walk," I protested, even as my legs visibly trembled with combined weakness and arousal. "It's just stairs. I've been climbing stairs successfully for twenty-two years without alpha assistance."
"Have you?" Marco asked with obvious amusement as he exited the vehicle. "Because thirty seconds ago you could barely form complete sentences, and now you want us to believe you can navigate aircraft stairs in your current… state?"
My current state being 'practically boneless, wearing nothing but a jacket and diamonds, with coordination that would make a newborn giraffe look graceful.' Fair point, actually.
Before I could formulate a suitably scathing response, Stefano was lifting me from the vehicle, his jacket wrapped more securely around my shoulders as he cradled me againsthis chest. The air hit my bare legs, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with being carried half-naked across a tarmac.
"Anyone sees me like this and I'm adding it to the list of reasons you're all going to die painful deaths," I muttered against his shoulder, too exhausted to put real venom behind the threat.
"The pilots are extremely well compensated for their discretion," Stefano replied, already mounting the stairs with smooth, confident strides. "And everyone on this aircraft answers directly to me. They've seen nothing, they'll say nothing."
Right. Because threatening someone's employment is definitely the same as respecting my dignity. Though I suppose in mafia logic, it's practically chivalrous.
The moment we crossed the threshold into the jet, my mouth fell open despite my best efforts to remain unimpressed. This wasn't just a private aircraft—this was a flying palace. Cream leather seats, polished wood accents, and the kind of luxury that made commercial first class look like a budget bus service.
"Close your mouth, little prince," Marco said from behind us. "We haven't even shown you the best part yet."
"The best part better involve some actual relief," I managed, my voice cracking as another pulse of unfulfilled need made my cock throb painfully. "Because I'm approximately thirty seconds from either dying or developing a permanent grudge that will haunt you into the afterlife."
"So dramatic," Matteo murmured, moving past us toward the rear of the aircraft. "The bedroom is this way."
Bedroom. Of course there's a bedroom. Because why have a normal jet when you can have one equipped for mid-flight omega ravishment? I'm sure the FAA has very specificregulations about in-flight sexual activities, and these three are definitely violating all of them.
Stefano carried me through the main cabin, past the leather seats and polished surfaces, toward a door at the rear that Matteo had just opened. When I got my first glimpse of what lay beyond, my breath caught in my throat for entirely different reasons than the persistent arousal.
The private suite was obscenely luxurious—a California king bed dominated the space, covered in silk sheets that caught the light filtering through shuttered portholes. Soft lighting created an intimate atmosphere, and every surface screamed wealth and careful preparation.
They built a sex dungeon in the sky. An actual luxury nest at thirty thousand feet. The commitment to my captivity is almost admirable in its thoroughness.
"Welcome to your transportation accommodations," Marco said with obvious satisfaction as Stefano carried me across the threshold. "We spared no expense for our precious cargo."
The door clicked shut behind us with a finality that made my stomach clench. We were sealed in now—me and three alphas in an intimate space designed specifically for what was about to happen.
"Put me down," I said, trying for commanding but landing somewhere closer to breathless. "Before we take off. I should probably be… seated. With a seat belt. Following proper aviation safety protocols."
Stefano's laugh was rich and dark as he moved toward the bed, the engines' vibration already intensifying beneath our feet as the jet began taxiing. "Oh, you'll be very securely fastened, little prince. Just not in the way you're imagining."
Well, fuck.
He settled onto the edge of the massive bed, silk sheets sliding beneath us as he arranged me in his lap. The jetaccelerated down the runway, the force pressing me back against Stefano's solid chest. Within moments we were airborne, climbing steeply as the forest fell away beneath us. The sensation of altitude combined with persistent arousal made my head spin.
Great. Now I'm literally trapped. Can't exactly jump out at thirty thousand feet, can I? Though given my current level of sexual frustration, the idea has a certain appeal.
Marco and Matteo had stripped off their blood-spattered jackets, revealing shoulder holsters and the lean muscle beneath expensive shirts. They moved through the suite with predatory grace, closing shutters on the portholes to ensure complete privacy.
"Now then," Marco said, settling onto the bed beside us, his dark eyes burning with hunger as they traveled over my barely covered form. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by transportation logistics?"
