"Fuck," I breathed, testing the ring's grip and finding it immovable. The pressure wasn't painful, but it was a constant reminder of their control. I couldn't come even if I wanted to, not with this thing preventing any release. "You sick, controlling bastards. This is—this is?—"
"Beautiful," Matteo interrupted, his gaze dropping to where the diamonds sparkled against my skin. "Such a pretty cock, even prettier with our jewelry. The contrast between the platinum and your skin tone is quite striking."
He's giving my dick an art critique. This is my life now. Being aesthetically evaluated by a mafia enforcer with a psychology degree and an apparent hobby in omega decoration.
My face burned with humiliation, but there was something else underneath—something that looked disturbingly like pride at their approval. My omega hindbrain was apparently thrilled to be praised by these apex predators, even if the rational part of me wanted to die of embarrassment.
"FUUUCK!" The word tore from my throat as Marco's mouth engulfed my cock without warning, hot and wet and devastating.No teasing, no buildup—just sudden, overwhelming heat that made every nerve ending explode with sensation.
My back bowed off the silk sheets like I'd been electrocuted, my spine arching so violently I thought it might snap. "Oh God— Marco, what—" The words dissolved into incoherent gasps as his tongue swirled around the head, tracing patterns that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Look at him," Stefano's voice was rough with satisfaction as his hands found my nipples, rolling them between his fingers until I cried out. "Our little prince falling apart already. So responsive. So perfect."
Marco's mouth worked with devastating precision, his lips sliding down my shaft in one smooth motion that had me sobbing against the expensive sheets. The wet heat was indescribable—nothing like my own desperate attempts with my hands, nothing like fantasy. This was consuming fire that rewrote every nerve pathway in my body.
His rhythm was exactly as I remembered—the perfect alternation between suction and tongue, the exquisite pressure that had taken me apart that night in the tent. He knew exactly how to play my body, remembered every weakness, every spot that made me tremble. I'd spent months trying to recreate this sensation with my own hand, and nothing had come close to the real thing.
"Please—oh fuck—please—" I didn't even know what I was begging for anymore. My hips bucked up involuntarily, seeking more of that incredible sensation, but Marco's hands clamped down on my thighs, holding me exactly where they wanted me against the silk.
"Stay still," Stefano commanded, his fingers pinching my nipples hard enough to make me arch again. "Let him work. Let us hear every sound you make."
Holy shit. This is what I've been missing. This is what my pathetic attempts could never replicate. The wet heat, the suction, the way his tongue knows exactly where to—but the ring—fuck, I can't?—
My chest heaved as I tried to breathe around the overwhelming pleasure. Slick poured from me, coating my thighs and soaking into the silk sheets beneath us. The scent filled the intimate suite—desperate omega arousal that made all three alphas' eyes darken with hunger.
Marco's tongue found that spot just under the head that made me see white, and I screamed—actually screamed—my hands clawing at Stefano's arms as pleasure crashed through me like lightning.
"Beautiful," Matteo murmured from where he knelt on the bed beside us, his amber eyes fixed on my face with laser intensity. "The way his pupils blow wide. How his mouth falls open. Exquisite."
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as Marco hollowed his cheeks, the suction so perfect it bordered on torture. My whole body trembled against Stefano on the silk sheets, every muscle taut with desperate need.
Then, just as the pressure began building toward something earth-shattering, Marco pulled off with an obscene pop that echoed in the cabin. I sobbed at the loss, my cock pulsing desperately in the cool air, the diamond ring preventing any relief.
"Not yet, baby," Marco said, his lips glistening as he smiled up at me with wicked satisfaction. "We want to reacquaint ourselves with what's ours. Slowly. Thoroughly."
Slowly. They're going to torture me. Actually torture me with pleasure I can't finish. This is what I get for fantasizing about psychotic alphas for six months—they turn it into psychological warfare.
"You bastards," I panted, my hands clenching into fists against the silk sheets. The diamonds on the ring caught the light with every frustrated twitch of my cock. "You can't just—I need?—"
"What do you need?" Stefano asked, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my toes curl. His hand slid down to cup my ass possessively, fingers tracing patterns that made me shiver against the expensive bedding. "Use your words, little prince. Tell us exactly what you need."
I need to come. I need you to stop playing games and just let me—but that's exactly what they want me to say. They want me to beg like some desperate omega in heat. Which I am, but they don't need to know that.
"I need you three to develop basic human decency," I snapped, though my voice faltered as Stefano's hand slid lower, fingers trailing down my spine. "Maybe take a class in… Read a pamphlet about…"
His finger traced the sensitive rim of my hole, and my body recognized the touch instantly—like muscle memory awakening after six months of desperate attempts to replicate this exact sensation.
Oh God, this. This is what I've been trying to recreate for six months. The perfect pressure, the exact teasing touch that drove me insane that night in the tent. My pathetic attempts with my own fingers never came close.
Electric fire cascaded up my spine and exploded through every nerve ending, more intense than I remembered. My body seized—muscles locking, breath catching, every cell vibrating with recognition. The bed rocked as my frame convulsed against him, completely beyond my control.
"Stop—you can't—that's not—" The words tumbled out broken and desperate as my hips bucked against him, chasingmore of that devastating contact despite every rational brain cell screaming to preserve what little dignity I had left.
His finger pressed forward, breaching me in one smooth thrust, and the sensation was both familiar and overwhelmingly new. This was the touch I'd fantasized about for months, the invasion I'd tried and failed to recreate with my own inadequate hands.
Lightning detonated in my skull. My spine bowed like a drawn bowstring, head slamming back against his shoulder as a scream tore from my throat—raw, animalistic, exactly like the sounds he'd wrenched from me in that luxury tent half a year ago.
"AHHHHH!"
