Chapter 12 #2
"They prefer to be tied up properly," he remarked about the climbing beans. "Something to remember for tonight."
Each comment sent fresh heat to my face and made concentration nearly impossible. Uncle Jiro, bless his oblivious heart, seemed to think Stefano was simply passionate about gardening, nodding along to advice that was clearly not about plants at all.
The worst part was watching Matteo study my every reaction with that clinical intensity, those amber eyes tracking my pulse, my breathing, the way I flinched when Stefano got too close.
He was gathering data, I realized with growing horror—learning exactly which buttons to push, which words made me flush, which touches made me tense.
I was reaching for the pruning shears when Stefano's hand closed over mine, his fingers sliding between my own in a grip that was both gentle and inescapable.
"Allow me," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "These require precision."
The contact sent electricity shooting up my arm, my body responding to his touch like we were already intimate, already connected by more than this unwanted attraction.
I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened fractionally, holding me in place as he guided the shears to a particularly stubborn branch.
"Like this," he said, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear the double meaning. "See how smoothly it yields when you find just the right spot?"
"I will stab you with these shears," I hissed back, keeping my voice equally quiet. "Don't test me."
His laugh rumbled against my back, the sound vibrating through my bones. "Such threats from someone who melted in my arms last night. I wonder if you'll be this defiant tonight when you're spread beneath us."
The image his words conjured sent a fresh wave of heat through me, unwanted arousal making me shift uncomfortably. I jerked my hand away, finally breaking his grip, and immediately regretted the hasty movement as the shears caught the edge of my finger.
"Shit," I gasped as blood welled from the small cut. Not deep, but enough to sting sharply and send a bright line of red trickling down my finger.
Before I could react, Stefano captured my wrist, bringing my finger to his mouth with casual ownership that should have infuriated me. Instead, I watched in horrified fascination as his lips closed around the injured digit, his tongue sweeping over the small cut with deliberate slowness.
The sensation was electric—hot and wet and so intimate it made my knees weaken.
His eyes held mine as he sucked gently, the pressure sending pulses of heat straight to my core.
The slow, rhythmic motion of his mouth around my finger was unmistakably sexual, a deliberate imitation of another act entirely.
My mind flashed suddenly, vividly, to that night in the forest—to Marco on his knees before me, his mouth around my cock, the wet heat enveloping me as I came apart in his hands.
The memory collided with the present moment, merging into a new fantasy that had me imagining what it would feel like if Stefano were to replace his finger with something else, if that talented mouth were to work its way down my body.
When his teeth scraped lightly against the sensitive pad of my finger, a small sound escaped my throat before I could stop it—half gasp, half moan, fully mortifying.
The vibration of his pleased hum around my finger made my cock twitch against the confines of my jeans, and I knew he could scent my arousal despite the layers I'd so carefully constructed.
"Better?" he asked when he finally released me, his thumb stroking the damp skin where his mouth had been.
I snatched my hand back like I'd been burned, cradling it against my chest as if it might somehow protect me from the naked hunger in his eyes. "I need to—" I gestured vaguely toward the cottage, already backing away. "Bandage. Disinfectant. Very important. Infections and… things."
Uncle Jiro looked up from where he was discussing pruning techniques with Matteo. "Are you hurt, Leo-kun? Should Akiko look at it?"
"No!" I said too quickly. "No, it's fine. Just a scratch. I'll handle it myself. Inside. Alone. Without assistance."
I fled before anyone could respond, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape my chest. The small cut throbbed in time with my pulse, the memory of Stefano's mouth making heat pool low in my belly as my imagination supplied increasingly explicit scenarios involving that mouth on other parts of my body.
The cottage beckoned like a sanctuary, a place to collect myself before facing them again. I pushed through the back door into the kitchen—and stopped dead in my tracks.
Marco stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with the confident precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Aunt Akiko worked beside him, chattering happily as she stirred something that smelled absurdly delicious despite my current state of panic.
"Leo-kun!" she exclaimed when she spotted me. "You're just in time! Marco-san has been teaching me the most wonderful Italian recipes."
Marco looked up, his dark eyes immediately finding my flushed face, my slightly swollen lips, the way I was cradling my injured hand against my chest. His nostrils flared subtly, scenting my lingering arousal with a satisfaction that made me want to disappear through the floor.
"Little prince," he greeted, setting down his knife with deliberate care. "Stefano texted about your accident. Let me see."
The casual mention of their communication made something in my chest tighten. Of course they coordinated everything; of course they kept each other updated on every aspect of their omega torment operation. Divide and conquer, tag-teaming my sanity with military precision.
"It's fine," I said stiffly, moving to the sink to wash away the blood that had dried on my skin. "Just a scratch."
Marco was suddenly behind me, his chest pressing against my back as he reached around to capture my hand under the running water. The heat of him seeped through my sweater, making me acutely aware of how much larger he was, how completely he could envelop me if he chose.
"Let me see," he insisted, his voice low near my ear as his fingers gently turned my hand to examine the cut. "You really should be more careful, little prince. These hands are much too precious to damage."
I tried to pull away, but his grip was unbreakable, a gentle prison I couldn't escape without making a scene in front of Aunt Akiko. "I can bandage my own finger, thanks. I've been handling basic first aid since I was ten. It's almost like I'm an adult capable of caring for myself."
"Are you?" he asked. "Because evidence suggests you need alphas to care for you properly."
The statement should have infuriated me.
Instead, something deep in my chest twinged at his words, my omega biology responding to the idea of being cared for, protected, valued.
I despised my own reaction, but I couldn't seem to control it as Marco guided me to a chair and knelt before me, taking my injured hand with unexpected gentleness.
Aunt Akiko retrieved the first aid kit from a drawer near the sink and handed it to Marco.
"It looks worse than it is," he said, carefully cleaning the cut with an antiseptic wipe. "But even small injuries deserve proper attention."
Aunt Akiko watched with obvious approval as Marco applied antibiotic ointment and wrapped a small bandage around my finger.
"It's so nice to see Leo-kun being looked after properly," she said, her voice warm with genuine pleasure.
"He tries to do everything himself, always has.
Doesn't understand that sometimes we all need help. "
"Exactly right, Akiko," Marco agreed, his thumb stroking over the bandage in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. "Strong-willed omegas often forget they need alphas to care for them. It's our responsibility to remind them."
I opened my mouth to protest this blatant alpha propaganda, but Aunt Akiko was already nodding in agreement, completely oblivious to how she was reinforcing their narrative.
"His mother was the same way," she said, turning back to her cooking. "So independent, so determined to do everything herself. But even she learned to accept help eventually."
The mention of my mother combined with the gentle way Marco was still holding my hand created a confusing mixture of emotions I couldn't quite untangle.
Anger at their manipulation, yes, but also a treacherous warmth at the care being shown, at the connection to my mother's memory, at the feeling of belonging that I'd been missing for so long.
"There," Marco said, finally releasing my hand. "Good as new. Though perhaps you should avoid gardening tools for the rest of the day."
"I was doing fine until Stefano decided to—" I stopped myself, aware of Aunt Akiko's presence. "Offer unsolicited advice on pruning techniques."
Marco's knowing smile made it clear he understood exactly what I'd been about to say. "Stefano can be very… hands-on with his instruction. But his methods get results."
The back door opened to admit Uncle Jiro, Stefano, and Matteo, along with the dogs who immediately made a beeline for me as if checking on my well-being.
"Is lunch ready?" Uncle Jiro asked, sniffing appreciatively at whatever was simmering on the stove. "All that gardening has given me an appetite."
"Perfect timing!" Aunt Akiko beamed, gesturing toward the table. "Everything's ready. Leo-kun, help me set the table while our guests wash up."
The domesticity of it all—setting the table while three alphas who had spent the previous night blackmailing me washed up in our kitchen sink—felt surreal, like I'd stumbled into some bizarre alternate reality where predators were welcome at the family table.