Chapter 13 #2
"You're late," he said, the simple statement carrying more threat than a shouted tirade. His fingers tightened around my upper arms, not painful but inescapable.
"Am I?" I asked with mock innocence. "I didn't realize blackmail came with a scheduling component. Next time send a calendar invite with all the details. Location: Forest of Inappropriate Touching. Dress code: Easily Removable."
His eyes narrowed fractionally. "Two hours late. Deliberately."
"I'm exactly on time according to my schedule," I shot back, even as his grip tightened. "Which is the only one that matters to me."
Marco circled behind me, trapping me between their bodies, his scent—cinnamon and amber—joining Stefano's pine and winter in an intoxicating blend that made my head swim. "Such defiance," he murmured, his breath warm against my neck. "Our prince needs to learn about consequences."
I tried to step back, only to collide with Marco's solid chest. "I'm here, aren't I? Despite the blackmail, despite everything—I showed up. That should count for something in your twisted honor system."
"It counts," Stefano agreed, his thumb brushing my lower lip in a gesture that felt disturbingly intimate. "But not enough to erase the deliberate disobedience."
His free hand slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him while Marco remained at my back, effectively sandwiching me between their bodies.
The position was familiar—an echo of the night before in the garden—but now there was no Aunt Akiko to interrupt, no witnesses to what they planned to do to me.
"Nice camp you've got here," I said, desperate to change the subject. "Very serial killer chic. I especially like the luxury touches. Nothing says 'I abduct omegas regularly' quite like a raised platform tent with what I assume are five thousand thread-count sheets inside."
"You should see the inside," Marco murmured against my ear. "We spared no expense for our omega's comfort."
"How thoughtful," I snapped. "Most kidnappers just go with a basic dungeon, but you guys really elevate the genre. Martha Stewart's Guide to Stylish Omega Imprisonment."
Stefano's hand tightened in my hair, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "Disobedient omegas who defy their alphas get disciplined, Leo. You know this."
"I'm not yours," I said, though my voice lacked conviction when I was pressed between their bodies, surrounded by their scent. "And you're not mine, except maybe my blackmailers."
His smile was slow and knowing, as if he could scent the lie in my words. "We'll see about that." Without warning, he bent and lifted me into his arms, carrying me toward the tent with Marco and Matteo following like a well-choreographed flanking maneuver.
Inside, the tent was even more impressive than I'd expected.
A proper king-sized bed dominated the space, covered in plush blankets and more pillows than any reasonable camping expedition would require.
Rugs covered the floor, and actual furniture—including a small sofa and several chairs—created a living area to one side.
Battery-powered lamps cast warm light over everything, making the space feel both cozy and intimidating.
"What is this, Architectural Digest: Kidnapper Edition?" I asked, trying to mask my awe with sarcasm. "Did you rob a Restoration Hardware, or does the mafia just have a glamping division I wasn't aware of?"
"Only the best for our omega," Marco replied, closing the tent flap behind us with a finality that made my stomach clench.
Stefano carried me to the bed, dropping me onto the mattress with enough force to make me bounce. Before I could scramble away, he was on me, pinning me with one large hand between my shoulder blades.
"Position," he commanded, his voice dropping to that alpha register that made my spine tingle. "You know how to take your discipline."
"Fuck you," I spat, trying to twist away. "I'm not assuming any position for your twisted alpha power fantasy. What's next, a collar and leash? Maybe a little Property of Stefano tattoo on my ass?"
Crack!
The sound exploded in the confined space, followed instantly by a stinging fire that bloomed across my right ass cheek. Even through my shorts, the impact vibrated through my flesh like a tuning fork hit with a hammer.
"Holy shit!" I gasped, more from surprise than pain.
My body remembered this—remembered exactly how it had felt in the forest when Stefano's hand had connected with my bare skin.
My brain had filed away the memory in cheap standard definition, but this was full 4K ultra high-def with surround sound and those weird seats that vibrate with the action.
"That's one," Stefano said, his voice carrying that infuriating calm that made me want to stab him with something sharp and rusty. "How many do you think it will take, Marco, to teach our little prince about punctuality and respecting his daddies' time?"
Daddies. Plural. The word shouldn't have affected me—it was ridiculous, condescending, completely inappropriate—but my treacherous body responded with a pulse of heat that settled low in my belly.
Marco settled onto the bed in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cinnamon-amber scent as it mingled with my own. "Given his particular brand of stubbornness? Ten seems appropriate. Two hours late, five strikes per hour."
"I'm not your punching bag," I hissed, muscles bunching as I tried again to crawl away.
Stefano's palm flattened between my shoulder blades, pinning me as effectively as if he'd nailed me to the mattress.
"And I'm definitely not your 'little prince' or whatever creepy pet name you've assigned to your kidnap victim this week. "
Smack!
His hand landed on my left cheek this time, harder than the first. The sting radiated outward in a way that should have been purely painful but instead sent a confusing ripple of sensation straight to my cock.
Because apparently my body had been secretly replaced with that of a masochistic porn star while I wasn't paying attention.
"That's two," Stefano counted, and I didn't have to see his face to know he was wearing that smug alpha smile that made me want to feed him his own teeth. "Keep fighting, and Daddy will add more. Is that what you want, baby? More reasons to turn this pretty ass red?"
"I'm not your baby," I growled, though the word sent another treacherous wave of heat through me. "And if you call yourself 'Daddy' one more time, I'm going to vomit all over your expensive sheets. How's that for a mood killer?"
"Such a sharp tongue," Marco said, reaching out to trace my lower lip with his thumb. "Always so quick with the threats, even when you're at our mercy. It's one of the things that makes you so irresistible, sweet boy."
Sweet boy. Another childish pet name that should have made me recoil in disgust but instead sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with some hidden part of me I'd never acknowledged.
"You sadistic fucks," I hissed, even as heat pooled low in my belly. "Is this how you get your rocks off? Spanking unwilling omegas who are only here because you're blackmailing them? What's next on the creepy alpha agenda—making me call you 'sir' while wearing a French maid outfit?"
"Unwilling?" Marco's eyebrow rose as his hand captured my chin, tilting my face up until I couldn't avoid his gaze.
His thumb traced my lower lip, which had fallen open on panting breaths I couldn't control.
"Your scent tells a different story, baby.
Even through those suppressants, I can smell how wet you're getting.
Just like that night in the forest, when you melted for us with every strike. "
The forest. God, the forest. Memories crashed over me in vivid technicolor—Stefano's hand connecting with my bare skin, the impossible transformation of pain into pleasure, the way I'd hardened and leaked and ultimately begged for more.
For six months, I'd convinced myself it was just the heat cycle making me respond that way, but deep down, I'd known.
I'd known it was me. Just me, responding to something I'd never admitted I craved.
"Biological response," I insisted, the lie tasting like battery acid on my tongue. "Means nothing. I could be sexually attracted to a lamp if you attached an alpha pheromone diffuser to it. Or maybe an especially curvaceous refrigerator. Don't feel special."
Crack!
The third strike caught me mid-sentence, blindsiding me with its ferocity.
Stefano's palm landed precisely where the first had, overlaying the already sensitive tissue with fresh fire.
A sound escaped me that I would deny making until my dying day—something between a yelp and a moan that wasn't entirely pain.
"Fuck!" I gasped, my body lurching forward like I'd been electrocuted.
The impact traveled through my flesh in a wave, starting as sharp pain that somehow, impossibly, dissolved into liquid heat that pooled at the base of my spine before traveling lower.
My cock, already half-hard, jumped to full attention so quickly it made me dizzy.
"Three," Stefano noted, his fingertips trailing over the spot he'd just struck.
The gentle touch after the sharp impact sent shivers racing across my skin that I couldn't suppress.
"Your ass flushes such a lovely shade of pink, even through these shorts.
I think Daddy needs to see his handiwork properly, don't you, Matteo? "
Matteo moved to the other side of the bed, those amber eyes watching me with an intensity that was somehow both detached and burning.
"The shorts need to come off," he agreed, his voice carrying that same dangerous quiet I remembered from the forest. "I want to see his skin change color with each strike. "