Chapter 7
seven
. . .
The clinical way he described what I needed was somehow more humiliating than crude language would have been. “Yes,” I admitted, beyond caring about pride. “Five minutes. Even prisoners get bathroom breaks without an audience of horny alphas.”
I caught Marco’s sharp intake of breath, saw the way his hands clenched into fists. Matteo’s expression had gone predatory, his amber eyes tracking my every movement like I was prey that might bolt.
Oh, fantastic. I just said ‘horny alphas’ to three dominant alphas who are clearly fighting their rut responses. My survival instincts are truly spectacular.
Another of those silent communications passed between them, but this time I could see the tension in their postures, the barely leashed violence in their movements. Whatever they were discussing, it was taking all their control to have a civilized conversation.
“No,” Stefano finally said, his voice soft but implacable. “We won’t be leaving you alone in this condition.”
“Then turn your backs,” I pleaded, desperation making me reckless. “Look away. Something. I can’t… I need…”
I need to come so badly I’m about to start humping furniture, but apparently that’s not happening without an alpha audience. Could this get any more humiliating?
“I know exactly what you need,” Stefano replied, stepping closer until he loomed over me. The heat radiating from his body was almost overwhelming, his scent so potent it made my head spin. “And I’m offering to provide it.”
The implication hit me like a physical blow, sending horror and anticipation warring through my already-overwhelmed system. The thought of his hands on me after what his mouth had just done—my cock twitched traitorously at the idea, my body already knowing it wanted whatever he was offering.
Oh, hell no. Absolutely not. His kisses nearly killed me, and now he wants to put those hands on my cock? I’ll combust. Actually spontaneously combust from omega overload.
“No,” I said, though my voice came out breathless and unconvincing. “Absolutely not. We’re not crossing that line. The kisses were one thing, but this—no. Hard pass.”
But even as I said it, my omega biology was screaming the opposite. Every instinct I had was telling me to bare my throat, spread my legs, let the alpha take care of me. The scent of three aroused dominant alphas was making me dizzy with want.
“Pride is a luxury you can’t afford right now,” Marco said, his voice rougher than before. He was leaning against the tree like it was the only thing keeping him upright, his control obviously hanging by a thread. “And I promise, his hands are much more skilled than yours.”
Right, because I definitely need the sales pitch right now. ‘Come get manually stimulated by your kidnappers! We promise it’ll be better than DIY!’
“Fuck you,” I spat, though the effect was ruined by how my voice caught. “I’m not some omega charity case who needs alpha assistance. I’ve been handling my own arousal for years without your expert input, thank you very much.”
Stefano’s expression shifted, something predatory and possessive flashing in his eyes.
“You’re an omega who’s in pain because his body needs release,” he said, his voice dropping to that alpha command register that bypassed my rational brain entirely.
“I’m offering to provide that release. Nothing more. ”
Nothing more, he says. Right. Like anything with these three is ever ‘nothing more.’ But God, the way he’s looking at me… like he wants to devour me whole.
“I’d rather suffer,” I insisted, though my body was screaming for relief. My cock was throbbing now, each heartbeat sending pulses of need through my system.
“Would you?” Stefano asked, stepping closer until I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The size difference between us had never been more apparent. “Because your scent suggests otherwise. Your body’s crying out for relief, and I can give it to you.”
He paused, his gaze dropping to my lips, which were still swollen from his attention. “But you’ll have to ask for it, Leo. Properly.”
Properly. Of course. He wants me to beg him to touch my cock after he just claimed my mouth like a conquering barbarian. Could this power play be any more obvious?
“Never,” I whispered, though my body screamed otherwise. “I’d rather die.”
“Dramatic,” Marco observed, though his voice was strained. I caught him adjusting himself, his arousal obvious even from where I sat. “But unnecessary. Pride won’t ease that ache, little wildcat.”
Little wildcat. Right. More like ‘little omega bitch in heat’ at this point. My dignity is in tatters and my body is basically advertising how badly I need alpha attention.
Another wave of arousal pulsed through me, making me bite my lip to suppress a whimper. The suppressants were working—the heat symptoms weren’t progressing—but the existing arousal remained, intensified by their proximity and the lingering effects of those devastating kisses.
Stefano crouched before me again, and the movement brought his scent closer—pine and winter and pure alpha male. His hand landed on my knee, fingers spreading across my thigh, and even through the sweatpants the contact was electric.
“Let me help you,” he said, his voice gentler but no less commanding. Those cobalt eyes were fixed on mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Let me take care of you.”
His hand slid higher, thumb stroking along my inner thigh, and I couldn’t stop my legs from parting slightly. My body was betraying me again, responding to his touch despite my conscious resistance.
This is insane. I’m actually considering letting my kidnapper give me a hand job because my omega biology thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread. My ancestors are rolling in their graves.
“I don’t want—” I started, but the words died as his thumb found that sensitive spot on my inner thigh that made my breath catch.
“Don’t lie,” he interrupted, his hand inching higher with deliberate slowness. “Not to me, and not to yourself. Your body knows what it needs. Stop fighting it.”
Stop fighting it. Right. Like my omega biology isn’t already waving white flags and rolling out the welcome mat. Traitor body.
He was right, damn him. Despite my conscious hatred, despite everything he’d done, my treacherous body was responding to his touch like it was designed specifically for his hands.
The combination of his scent, his proximity, and the alpha pheromones saturating the air was making rational thought nearly impossible.
“Please,” I finally whispered, the word torn from somewhere deep in my chest. “I need…”
“Need what?” Stefano prompted, his thumb tracing maddening circles on my inner thigh, just inches from where I desperately needed to be touched. “Be specific, Leo. I want to hear you say it.”
He wants to hear me beg. Of course he does. Can’t just offer relief like a decent human being—has to make me grovel for it first.
I closed my eyes, unable to look at him as I surrendered what felt like the last shreds of my dignity. “I need you to touch me. To make it stop. Please.”
“Where?” he pressed, his voice dropping even lower. “Tell me exactly where you need to be touched.”
My face burned with humiliation. “You know where,” I ground out. “Don’t make me say it. Haven’t you taken enough of my dignity for one day?”
“But I want to hear you say it,” he insisted, his thumb still tracing those maddening circles. “I want to hear those pretty, swollen lips form the words.”
Pretty, swollen lips that he just finished claiming like he owned them. The bastard is enjoying this way too much.
I opened my eyes to glare at him, finding his face much closer than expected. Those cobalt-blue eyes were nearly black now, his pupils blown with arousal and something darker. “I hate you,” I whispered with absolute sincerity.
“I know,” he replied, completely unfazed. “Now tell me what you need, or this conversation ends and you spend the night in discomfort.”
Another pulse of desperate arousal made me gasp, my resistance finally crumbling under the weight of biological imperative. “I need you to touch me,” I finally said, each word like glass in my throat. “My cock. Make me come. Please.”
There. I said it. I just begged my kidnapper to jerk me off. Rock bottom, meet Leo Yamamoto.
The plea cost me everything, but the flash of dark satisfaction in his eyes suggested it was exactly what he’d been waiting for. The final surrender, the explicit acknowledgment of my need for him.
Instead of immediately touching me, Stefano stood and pulled me to my feet. “Not like this,” he said, his voice rough with barely controlled desire. “I want you comfortable.”
Before I could protest, he seated himself on one of the larger logs and pulled me down with him, arranging my body so I was sitting between his spread legs, my back against his chest. The position left me completely exposed, vulnerable, on display for Marco and Matteo who watched with expressions that were pure predator.
Oh, fantastic. Now I’m the entertainment for the evening. ‘Come one, come all, watch the omega get finger-fucked by his captors!’ This just keeps getting better.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, trying to pull away from the solid wall of heat at my back. “Let me go! This isn’t what I agreed to—I thought you’d just… not this!”
“Relax,” Stefano murmured, his mouth against my ear, breath hot against my skin. His arms wrapped around me from behind, effectively trapping me against his body. “This way is better. Trust me.”
Trust him. Right. Like I’m going to trust the alpha who just arranged me like his personal sex toy for maximum viewing pleasure.
“I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you,” I snapped, though my struggles were half-hearted at best. The solid heat of his body behind me was oddly comforting, even as it terrified me. “And considering you weigh approximately as much as a small tank, that’s not very far.”