"I believe," Matteo added, positioning himself on my other side, effectively trapping me between the three of them on the silk sheets, "we were teaching our little prince about whom he belongs to."
The intimate suite immediately filled with their scents, intensified by adrenaline and violence. The jet's engines hummed beneath us, the vibration traveling through the silk sheets and into my oversensitive body. The knowledge that we were climbing toward cruising altitude while I sat trapped between three alphas made the luxurious cabin feel impossibly small, impossibly intimate.
"I don't belong to you," I insisted, though the words felt hollow, undermined by the way my body trembled with need in Stefano's arms.
His smile was dangerous, all predator recognizing wounded prey. "Then why does your body remember us so perfectly? Whyhave you spent six months calling our names in the dark? Why does your scent spike with need the moment I touch you?"
His hand moved to my chest, fingers finding a nipple through the gap in his jacket. The brush of contact sent electricity racing through me, my back arching before I could stop the reaction. Another memory surfaced—Matteo's mouth on my chest, teeth grazing sensitive flesh while Marco held my wrists and Stefano's fingers worked inside me in that tent.
"I hate you," I gasped, the words lacking conviction when my body was actively contradicting them. "I hate all of you."
"Lie to yourself if you must," he murmured, his fingers continuing their torment. "But your body knows the truth. It's been waiting for us to come back and finish what we started."
"Your scent says otherwise," Marco said, suddenly much closer, his knees pressing against mine as he leaned forward on the silk sheets. The movement brought his face inches from mine, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes—eyes that shouldn't have been so beautiful on a man with someone else's blood decorating his collar.
His fingers traced along my collarbone where Stefano's jacket had slipped, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Sweeter than honey. More intoxicating than anything we've tasted." Then his mouth was on mine, and every coherent thought evaporated like steam.
Where Stefano's kiss had been brutal possession, Marco's was playful seduction—his lips moving against mine with teasing precision, his tongue dancing at the seam of my mouth until I opened for him with a soft gasp that I'd definitely deny making later.
The moment my lips parted, he swept inside with confident strokes, his tongue curling around mine in ways that made my toes curl involuntarily against the silk sheets. He tasted like cinnamon and amber and something wild that made myhead spin with want. Each touch of his tongue was calculated torment, giving me just enough to make me crave more.
His mouth remembered mine—the exact pressure that had made me melt in the tent, the precise pattern of teasing withdrawal followed by deeper penetration that had turned me into a whimpering mess. My body recognized his technique like a favorite song, muscle memory taking over as I tilted my head just so, seeking the angle that would let him claim me more thoroughly.
This is different from Stefano's claiming. This is seduction, pure and simple. Marco making me want to chase what he's offering, making me lean into him despite every rational brain cell screaming about the violence he's just committed.
His tongue retreated slightly, and I leaned forward, chasing the contact like some desperate omega in heat. Which, let's be honest, was exactly what I was becoming.
"There's our eager little prince," he murmured against my lips, his smile sharp with satisfaction. "Already melting for us. Already forgetting why you should be running."
"I'm not melting," I protested weakly, though my voice came out breathless and needy in a way that completely undermined my credibility. "I'm just… processing. Processing the fact that my kidnappers apparently moonlight as professional kissers when they're not busy committing mass murder."
Matteo's quiet laugh drew my attention to where he sat on the bed beside us, watching my reactions with that intensity that made me feel like a particularly interesting science experiment. His amber eyes tracked every micro-expression that crossed my flushed face, cataloging data for whatever psychological profile he was building.
Even now he's taking notes. Even now I'm just data to be collected and analyzed. 'Subject exhibits classic signs ofStockholm syndrome with enhanced omega responses due to prolonged separation from compatible alphas.' Wonderful.
"Fascinating," he murmured.
"Stop analyzing me like I'm your fucking lab rat," I snapped, trying to inject some venom into my voice despite the way my body was humming with want. "I'm a person, not a science experiment for your doctoral thesis in Creepy Alpha Behavior."
His smile was small but genuine, transforming his usually stoic features into something almost tender. "You're extraordinary," he said simply, and the way he said it—like I was some priceless work of art rather than a kidnapping victim—sent unwelcome warmth spiraling through my chest.
Great. Now I'm getting emotional about being objectified by a mafia enforcer with a psychology degree. My standards have officially hit rock bottom and started digging.
The jet leveled out, the captain's voice coming through an intercom I hadn't noticed. "We've reached cruising altitude. Flight time to the estate is approximately thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes. I had thirty minutes before being delivered to their fortress, before whatever they had planned became reality rather than threat.
Thirty minutes trapped in this suite with three alphas and absolutely no relief in sight. This is either going to be the longest or shortest flight of my life, depending on whether they decide to continue their torture or actually give me some mercy.
"We've missed you," Marco added, his fingers finding the edge of Stefano's jacket where it covered my chest. The contact was electric, sending sparks racing across my oversensitive skin. "Missed watching you. Missed touching you. Missed the way you fall apart so beautifully when you stop fighting what your body needs."
"What my body needs," I repeated, trying for scathing but landing somewhere closer to breathless, "is to not be kidnappedby three psychotic alphas with boundary issues and murder hobbies."
What my body needs is apparently exactly what it's getting, because my omega biology is throwing a celebration parade complete with fireworks and inappropriate slick production.
"Is that what you really want?" Stefano asked, his hand sliding higher on my thigh until his fingers were dangerously close to where the jacket ended and my modesty began. "For us to leave? To go back to watching you try and fail to satisfy yourself? To spend another six months calling our names into your pillow?"
The heat of his palm against my bare skin was overwhelming, made worse by the knowledge that his touch was the first in six months that felt right. My body recognized his hands, welcomed them, even as my conscious mind recoiled from what that meant.
