"What do you need, beautiful?" Marco's smile was pure sin as he lapped at the precum beading at my tip, just enough to drive me insane but not enough to trigger the ring's sensors. "Use those eloquent words we love so much. Tell your daddies exactly what your body is begging for."
He wants me to say it. Wants me to use that word—Daddy—the same one that had made me fall apart that night when they'd reduced me to nothing but desperate need. Wants me to admit that my omega biology is screaming for alpha cock, for knots, for being bred and claimed and owned. And the worst part? I want to say it. I want to give them everything they're asking for.
"More," I whispered, tears streaming down my face as another wave of pleasure crashed through me. "It feels— God, it feels incredible. I can't think?—"
"That's the point, little prince," Stefano murmured, his fingers finding that devastating spot again and massaging it until I screamed. "Stop thinking. Just feel. Let your body tell Daddy what it needs."
My body needs everything. Needs to be filled and claimed and knotted until I can't remember my own name. Just like that night when I'd forgotten who I was, where I was, everything except the pleasure they were giving me. My omega biology is staging a hostile takeover, and I'm losing the war.
"Do you like how your daddies touch you?" Marco asked, his mouth hovering over my cock while his breath made me shudder. "How we make you feel things you've never felt before? We could take such good care of our baby boy. Keep you safe and satisfied and treasured like the precious omega you are."
The promise in his voice made my omega hindbrain practically melt. To be treasured by these deadly, powerful men? To be their "good boy" again, to feel that rush of satisfaction when they praised me for surrendering? To never have to worry about safety or protection again? My biology was screaming 'yes' while my conscious mind tried desperately to maintain some semblance of resistance.
This is psychological warfare. They're using my own biology against me, making promises that hit every omega instinct hardwired into my defective genetics. Using the same tactics that had worked so perfectly in the tent—the praise, the dominance, the daddy dynamic that had reduced me to a sobbing, begging mess. And it's working. God help me, it's working.
"Yes," I gasped, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside as Stefano's fingers hit that spot again. "Yes, I like it—I love how you make me feel?—"
"Do you want more?" Matteo asked, his gaze cataloging every micro-expression as pleasure built to impossible heights. "Want your daddies to take care of you like this always? Protect you and keep you safe from everything that could hurt you?"
The rational part of my brain tried to scream warnings, but I was drowning in sensation, in the promise of never being aloneor unprotected again. My omega biology was singing hymns of submission, recognizing these alphas as the perfect providers and protectors, just as it had that night when they'd first claimed me.
"Yes—yes, I want that—" I sobbed, my body trembling with need as they continued their coordinated assault on the silk sheets.
"Want to be Daddy's?" Stefano's voice was dark honey as his fingers worked that devastating rhythm inside me. "Completely and utterly your daddies'? Let us spoil you and treasure you and give you everything an omega could ever need?"
They're offering everything my omega hindbrain has ever craved—safety, protection, being cherished by powerful alphas who could keep the entire world at bay. The same security I'd felt in the tent when they'd bathed me after breaking me down, when they'd held me with surprising tenderness while calling me their good boy. And my traitorous biology is practically begging me to say yes.
"Forever?" Marco added, his tongue tracing patterns that made my thighs shake. "You want to belong to your daddies forever, baby? Be our precious little prince, protected and loved and thoroughly satisfied?"
I was right there, right on the edge, my body singing with their promises and their touch. The idea of belonging to them, of being their treasured omega, their good boy, made my biology sing with approval even as my rational mind tried to resist.
"Yes!" The admission exploded from me as sensation crested. "Yes, I want to be yours—forever—please don't stop?—"
The moment the words left my lips, something electric passed between the three alphas—a current of triumph that was almost tangible in the intimate suite. Stefano's eyes darkened to midnight blue, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the color entirely. His fingers stilled momentarily inside me as alook of pure, possessive satisfaction transformed his aristocratic features.
"Good boy," he purred, the praise washing over me like warm honey, exactly as it had that night in the tent when I'd finally surrendered completely. "Such a good, perfect omega for your daddies."
Marco's responding groan vibrated around my cock, the sensation making my thighs tremble violently against the silk. When he pulled back to catch his breath, his lips were slick and swollen, his eyes gleaming with dark victory.
"Say it again," he commanded, his thumb tracing circles on my inner thigh. "Tell Daddy exactly whom you belong to."
Matteo's gaze had transformed into something hungry and possessive, his expression giving way to raw desire. His hand cupped my jaw with surprising tenderness, thumb stroking my flushed cheek as he waited for my response.
"You," I sobbed, dignity completely abandoned as pleasure held me hostage. "I belong to you. All of you. Please?—"
"There it is," Stefano murmured, voice thick with satisfaction as his fingers resumed their devastating rhythm inside me. "The truth your body always knew, even when that sharp mind fought us."
The three exchanged looks of such complete, predatory triumph that something primal in me shivered with both fear and desire. Their coordination became even more seamless, a symphony of torment designed to push me to the very edge of sanity without allowing release.
Marco's mouth worked my cock with devastating skill while Stefano's fingers found that spot inside me that made me see stars. Matteo's tongue fucked into my mouth with increasing desperation, swallowing my broken sobs of pleasure. Each time I approached climax, they would slow or shift, keeping mesuspended in a state of desperate need that had me crying real tears against the expensive bedding.
They're coordinating this. Actually coordinating their assault to bring me to the absolute edge of sanity. Just like in the tent, when they'd taken turns with my body, passing me between them until I couldn't remember my own name. This is psychological warfare disguised as foreplay, and I'm losing spectacularly.
For several more minutes they brought me to the precipice again and again—hands and mouths everywhere, overwhelming sensation that had me sobbing their names. Stefano's fingers worked inside me with devastating precision while Marco's mouth tortured my cock and Matteo claimed my mouth with methodical thoroughness.
The intensity built to impossible heights, my body straining against their touch yet desperate for more. Just when I thought I might actually die from the pleasure—when the need for release became so acute it bordered on pain—they pulled away in perfect synchronization, leaving me bereft and trembling on the silk sheets.
The abrupt loss of stimulation was almost as shocking as the pleasure had been. One moment I was surrounded by their touch, drowning in sensation, and the next I was empty, aching, desperate. My hole clenched around nothing, my cock throbbed against the diamond restraint, and a broken sound of protest escaped my throat before I could stop it.
