Chapter 23
twenty-three
. . .
The SUV door opened, letting in cool forest air that did absolutely nothing to calm my overheated skin. Stefano shifted, preparing to carry me out, and I made one last attempt at maintaining some shred of dignity.
"I can walk," I protested, even as my legs visibly trembled with combined weakness and arousal. "It's just stairs. I've been climbing stairs successfully for twenty-two years without alpha assistance."
"Have you?" Marco asked with obvious amusement as he exited the vehicle. "Because thirty seconds ago you could barely form complete sentences, and now you want us to believe you can navigate aircraft stairs in your current… state?"
My current state being 'practically boneless, wearing nothing but a jacket and diamonds, with coordination that would make a newborn giraffe look graceful.' Fair point, actually.
Before I could formulate a suitably scathing response, Stefano was lifting me from the vehicle, his jacket wrapped more securely around my shoulders as he cradled me against his chest. The air hit my bare legs, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with being carried half-naked across a tarmac.
"Anyone sees me like this and I'm adding it to the list of reasons you're all going to die painful deaths," I muttered against his shoulder, too exhausted to put real venom behind the threat.
"The pilots are extremely well compensated for their discretion," Stefano replied, already mounting the stairs with smooth, confident strides. "And everyone on this aircraft answers directly to me. They've seen nothing, they'll say nothing."
Right. Because threatening someone's employment is definitely the same as respecting my dignity. Though I suppose in mafia logic, it's practically chivalrous.
The moment we crossed the threshold into the jet, my mouth fell open despite my best efforts to remain unimpressed.
This wasn't just a private aircraft—this was a flying palace.
Cream leather seats, polished wood accents, and the kind of luxury that made commercial first class look like a budget bus service.
"Close your mouth, little prince," Marco said from behind us. "We haven't even shown you the best part yet."
"The best part better involve some actual relief," I managed, my voice cracking as another pulse of unfulfilled need made my cock throb painfully. "Because I'm approximately thirty seconds from either dying or developing a permanent grudge that will haunt you into the afterlife."
"So dramatic," Matteo murmured, moving past us toward the rear of the aircraft. "The bedroom is this way."
Bedroom. Of course there's a bedroom. Because why have a normal jet when you can have one equipped for mid-flight omega ravishment? I'm sure the FAA has very specific regulations about in-flight sexual activities, and these three are definitely violating all of them.
Stefano carried me through the main cabin, past the leather seats and polished surfaces, toward a door at the rear that Matteo had just opened. When I got my first glimpse of what lay beyond, my breath caught in my throat for entirely different reasons than the persistent arousal.
The private suite was obscenely luxurious—a California king bed dominated the space, covered in silk sheets that caught the light filtering through shuttered portholes. Soft lighting created an intimate atmosphere, and every surface screamed wealth and careful preparation.
They built a sex dungeon in the sky. An actual luxury nest at thirty thousand feet. The commitment to my captivity is almost admirable in its thoroughness.
"Welcome to your transportation accommodations," Marco said with obvious satisfaction as Stefano carried me across the threshold. "We spared no expense for our precious cargo."
The door clicked shut behind us with a finality that made my stomach clench. We were sealed in now—me and three alphas in an intimate space designed specifically for what was about to happen.
"Put me down," I said, trying for commanding but landing somewhere closer to breathless. "Before we take off. I should probably be… seated. With a seat belt. Following proper aviation safety protocols."
Stefano's laugh was rich and dark as he moved toward the bed, the engines' vibration already intensifying beneath our feet as the jet began taxiing. "Oh, you'll be very securely fastened, little prince. Just not in the way you're imagining."
Well, fuck.
He settled onto the edge of the massive bed, silk sheets sliding beneath us as he arranged me in his lap.
The jet accelerated down the runway, the force pressing me back against Stefano's solid chest. Within moments we were airborne, climbing steeply as the forest fell away beneath us.
The sensation of altitude combined with persistent arousal made my head spin.
Great. Now I'm literally trapped. Can't exactly jump out at thirty thousand feet, can I? Though given my current level of sexual frustration, the idea has a certain appeal.
Marco and Matteo had stripped off their blood-spattered jackets, revealing shoulder holsters and the lean muscle beneath expensive shirts. They moved through the suite with predatory grace, closing shutters on the portholes to ensure complete privacy.
"Now then," Marco said, settling onto the bed beside us, his dark eyes burning with hunger as they traveled over my barely covered form. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by transportation logistics?"
"I believe," Matteo added, positioning himself on my other side, effectively trapping me between the three of them on the silk sheets, "we were teaching our little prince about whom he belongs to."
The intimate suite immediately filled with their scents, intensified by adrenaline and violence.
The jet's engines hummed beneath us, the vibration traveling through the silk sheets and into my oversensitive body.
The knowledge that we were climbing toward cruising altitude while I sat trapped between three alphas made the luxurious cabin feel impossibly small, impossibly intimate.
"I don't belong to you," I insisted, though the words felt hollow, undermined by the way my body trembled with need in Stefano's arms.
His smile was dangerous, all predator recognizing wounded prey. "Then why does your body remember us so perfectly? Why have you spent six months calling our names in the dark? Why does your scent spike with need the moment I touch you?"
His hand moved to my chest, fingers finding a nipple through the gap in his jacket.
The brush of contact sent electricity racing through me, my back arching before I could stop the reaction.
Another memory surfaced—Matteo's mouth on my chest, teeth grazing sensitive flesh while Marco held my wrists and Stefano's fingers worked inside me in that tent.
"I hate you," I gasped, the words lacking conviction when my body was actively contradicting them. "I hate all of you."
"Lie to yourself if you must," he murmured, his fingers continuing their torment. "But your body knows the truth. It's been waiting for us to come back and finish what we started."
"Your scent says otherwise," Marco said, suddenly much closer, his knees pressing against mine as he leaned forward on the silk sheets.
The movement brought his face inches from mine, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes—eyes that shouldn't have been so beautiful on a man with someone else's blood decorating his collar.
His fingers traced along my collarbone where Stefano's jacket had slipped, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Sweeter than honey. More intoxicating than anything we've tasted." Then his mouth was on mine, and every coherent thought evaporated like steam.
Where Stefano's kiss had been brutal possession, Marco's was playful seduction—his lips moving against mine with teasing precision, his tongue dancing at the seam of my mouth until I opened for him with a soft gasp that I'd definitely deny making later.
The moment my lips parted, he swept inside with confident strokes, his tongue curling around mine in ways that made my toes curl involuntarily against the silk sheets.
He tasted like cinnamon and amber and something wild that made my head spin with want.
Each touch of his tongue was calculated torment, giving me just enough to make me crave more.
His mouth remembered mine—the exact pressure that had made me melt in the tent, the precise pattern of teasing withdrawal followed by deeper penetration that had turned me into a whimpering mess.
My body recognized his technique like a favorite song, muscle memory taking over as I tilted my head just so, seeking the angle that would let him claim me more thoroughly.
This is different from Stefano's claiming. This is seduction, pure and simple. Marco making me want to chase what he's offering, making me lean into him despite every rational brain cell screaming about the violence he's just committed.
His tongue retreated slightly, and I leaned forward, chasing the contact like some desperate omega in heat. Which, let's be honest, was exactly what I was becoming.
"There's our eager little prince," he murmured against my lips, his smile sharp with satisfaction. "Already melting for us. Already forgetting why you should be running."
"I'm not melting," I protested weakly, though my voice came out breathless and needy in a way that completely undermined my credibility. "I'm just… processing. Processing the fact that my kidnappers apparently moonlight as professional kissers when they're not busy committing mass murder."
Matteo's quiet laugh drew my attention to where he sat on the bed beside us, watching my reactions with that intensity that made me feel like a particularly interesting science experiment.
His amber eyes tracked every micro-expression that crossed my flushed face, cataloging data for whatever psychological profile he was building.