Chapter 23 #2
Even now he's taking notes. Even now I'm just data to be collected and analyzed. 'Subject exhibits classic signs of Stockholm syndrome with enhanced omega responses due to prolonged separation from compatible alphas.' Wonderful.
"Fascinating," he murmured.
"Stop analyzing me like I'm your fucking lab rat," I snapped, trying to inject some venom into my voice despite the way my body was humming with want. "I'm a person, not a science experiment for your doctoral thesis in Creepy Alpha Behavior."
His smile was small but genuine, transforming his usually stoic features into something almost tender. "You're extraordinary," he said simply, and the way he said it—like I was some priceless work of art rather than a kidnapping victim—sent unwelcome warmth spiraling through my chest.
Great. Now I'm getting emotional about being objectified by a mafia enforcer with a psychology degree. My standards have officially hit rock bottom and started digging.
The jet leveled out, the captain's voice coming through an intercom I hadn't noticed. "We've reached cruising altitude. Flight time to the estate is approximately thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes. I had thirty minutes before being delivered to their fortress, before whatever they had planned became reality rather than threat.
Thirty minutes trapped in this suite with three alphas and absolutely no relief in sight. This is either going to be the longest or shortest flight of my life, depending on whether they decide to continue their torture or actually give me some mercy.
"We've missed you," Marco added, his fingers finding the edge of Stefano's jacket where it covered my chest. The contact was electric, sending sparks racing across my oversensitive skin.
"Missed watching you. Missed touching you.
Missed the way you fall apart so beautifully when you stop fighting what your body needs. "
"What my body needs," I repeated, trying for scathing but landing somewhere closer to breathless, "is to not be kidnapped by three psychotic alphas with boundary issues and murder hobbies."
What my body needs is apparently exactly what it's getting, because my omega biology is throwing a celebration parade complete with fireworks and inappropriate slick production.
"Is that what you really want?" Stefano asked, his hand sliding higher on my thigh until his fingers were dangerously close to where the jacket ended and my modesty began.
"For us to leave? To go back to watching you try and fail to satisfy yourself?
To spend another six months calling our names into your pillow? "
The heat of his palm against my bare skin was overwhelming, made worse by the knowledge that his touch was the first in six months that felt right. My body recognized his hands, welcomed them, even as my conscious mind recoiled from what that meant.
His hands. The same hands that just snapped necks and painted gardens with blood. But they still feel like safety, like home, like everything my omega biology thinks it needs.
"I don't call your names," I lied, the words about as convincing as a toddler claiming they didn't eat the cookies while covered in chocolate. "And I don't need you. I've been doing just fine without—"
Before I could finish my pathetic denial, Stefano's hand moved, and suddenly the jacket and towel were gone—just gone, yanked away and tossed aside onto the plush carpet.
Cool cabin air hit my overheated skin, but that was nothing compared to the embarrassment of being completely naked on silk sheets with three fully dressed mafia bosses who were looking at me like I was the main course at an alpha buffet.
Well, shit. There goes the last shred of my dignity. Completely naked in a flying bedroom with three fully dressed mafia bosses who are looking at me like I'm their favorite dessert.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Three pairs of alpha eyes examined every inch of my exposed body with the intensity of art critics studying a masterpiece.
My cock was hard, betraying my arousal despite every attempt to maintain some semblance of defiance.
Slick glistened on my inner thighs, evidence of my body's complete surrender to their proximity.
But it was Matteo who broke the silence, his voice carrying that appreciation that somehow made everything worse. "Perfect," he murmured, his gaze dropping to where my cock stood proud against my stomach. "Absolutely perfect. Not a single hair anywhere."
My face burned with humiliation at the reminder of my genetic abnormality. "It's not normal," I muttered, trying to close my legs despite being trapped on Stefano's lap on the silk-covered bed. "I know it's weird—"
"Weird?" Stefano's laugh was rich with dark amusement, his hands settling on my thighs to keep them spread wide, putting me on complete display against the cream silk sheets. "It's perfection. You're an omega prime, little prince. The rarest of the rare. And you're ours."
Omega prime. What the hell does that even mean? Some new category of broken omega biology? A special classification for omegas with daddy issues and hairless genitals?
Before I could ask what the fuck he was talking about, he was reaching into his discarded jacket pocket, producing something that made my blood run cold.
A ring of platinum and diamonds that caught the suite's soft lighting like captured stars—beautiful, expensive, and definitely not meant for fingers.
Oh, hell no. That's not—they can't be serious. A cock ring? They brought a fucking cock ring to my kidnapping? What's next, matching nipple clamps and a collar with their names on it?
"What the fuck is that?" I demanded, my voice cracking as I tried to squirm away from his grip on the silk sheets. "If you think you're putting that thing on me, you're more delusional than I thought. I draw the line at decorative genital jewelry, thank you very much."
The ring was beautiful in a way that made it even more terrifying—clearly custom-made, clearly expensive, clearly designed with one specific person in mind. Me. The diamonds were arranged in an intricate pattern that probably spelled out something possessive in a language I didn't want to learn.
They had this made. Actually had a custom cock ring designed for me while I was locked away in my cottage prison. The level of premeditation is both impressive and absolutely terrifying.
"This," Stefano said, his voice carrying dark satisfaction as he held the ring up to catch the light filtering through the shuttered portholes, "is insurance. You don't get to come until we say so. And we're not saying so. Not yet."
Insurance. Right. Insurance against what—me having a good time? Against my dignity surviving this encounter intact? Because that ship has already sailed, crashed into an iceberg, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
"Like hell you're—" I started, but Marco's hand suddenly gripped my jaw, fingers digging into my cheeks hard enough to bruise.
"Such a dirty mouth," he tsked, his thumb pressing against my lower lip with enough force to make me wince. "I think someone needs to learn some manners. What do you think, Stefano? Matteo? Should we teach our little prince how to behave?"
Little prince. Right. Because being the disappointing omega son of a yakuza boss totally qualifies me for royalty. Though I suppose in their world, I am technically criminal nobility. Mafia royalty with daddy issues and a tendency toward violent threats.
"I think," Stefano replied, his free hand wrapping around my cock with devastating familiarity, "our little prince needs to remember whom he belongs to now."
The contact was electric—hot skin against hot skin, his large hand engulfing me completely after six months of nothing but my own inadequate touch. My back arched involuntarily against the silk sheets, a gasp escaping my throat before I could stop it.
His hand. His actual hand. After six months of trying and failing to recreate this exact feeling. The perfect pressure, the way his thumb knows exactly where to—fuck, I'm so pathetic.
"That's it," he murmured, his grip tightening as he began to stroke with deliberate slowness. "Remember how good this feels. Remember what you've been missing."
His fist slid from base to tip, thumb sweeping across the head where precum had already gathered. The combination of his rough palm and the slick of my own arousal created friction that had me gasping, my hands clutching desperately at his forearms.
This feels too good. Way too good. How is this even possible? It's just a hand, but it feels like he's rewiring my entire nervous system with every stroke.
"Look at you," Marco said with obvious delight, his grip on my jaw forcing me to meet his eyes. "Already desperate. Already falling apart. Six months without us, and you're ready to beg after five minutes of touch."
"I'm not begging," I panted, though my hips were already bucking into Stefano's grip like my body had completely divorced itself from my brain. "I'm just—this is just—"
Biology. Omega response to alpha stimulation. Completely involuntary physical reaction that has nothing to do with actually wanting these psychotic murderers. Right. Keep telling yourself that, Leo.
Before I could finish my pathetic explanation, Stefano was sliding the ring down my shaft. The platinum was cold against my overheated skin, the diamonds catching the suite's recessed lighting as it settled at the base of my cock with snug perfection.
Well, that's just fantastic. Decorative cock jewelry that doubles as torture device. They've really thought of everything, haven't they? What's next, a matching ball gag for when my threats get too creative?
"Fuck," I breathed, testing the ring's grip and finding it immovable. The pressure wasn't painful, but it was a constant reminder of their control. I couldn't come even if I wanted to, not with this thing preventing any release. "You sick, controlling bastards. This is—this is—"