Chapter 23 #4
Three fingers. He's got three fingers inside me and my body is welcoming him like he never left. Like we've been doing this every night instead of me pathetically trying to recreate this feeling with my own fingers.
Matteo's hand cupped my jaw, tilting my head back as his mouth crashed down on mine. His tongue swept past my lips, thick and methodical, filling my mouth completely. He sucked my tongue into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive muscle before fucking back into me with deliberate strokes.
Jesus Christ. Matteo's kiss. The same methodical precision from the tent—how he'd studied my reactions while the others watched, how he'd cataloged every sound I made when he explored my mouth. He remembered exactly how to kiss me, like he'd been taking notes on what made me whimper that night.
Hot, wet heat engulfed my cock—Marco’s mouth sliding down my shaft in one devastating motion. His lips traveled all the way to the base as he swallowed me completely, the tight passage of his mouth making me see stars against the cream leather headboard.
Holy shit, his mouth should be illegal. Marco knows exactly how to take me apart—the same perfect suction, the same wicked tongue that had reduced me to begging in that tent. My cock's about to explode but this damn cock ring won't let me—I need to come; I need it so fucking bad—
"So tight," Stefano murmured against my ear, his breath scalding my skin as his fingers worked deeper. "So wet. Your body's preparing itself for Daddy, isn't it? I can feel how desperately you're clenching around my fingers, trying to pull me deeper."
My biology is a traitor. My body is staging a full-scale rebellion against my conscious mind, producing slick like it's going out of style and practically advertising 'alpha cock wanted, apply within.
' And he called himself Daddy—the same way he did that night when he had me bent over his knee, counting each slap while Marco praised me for being their good boy.
His fingers crooked inside me, hitting that spot that made lightning race up my spine.
The precision was devastating—he knew exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure to apply, just like he had in the tent when he'd reduced me to a sobbing, begging mess.
My hole fluttered around his fingers, muscles spasming as waves of pleasure crashed through me.
The jet hit a patch of turbulence, the sudden drop making my stomach swoop and my body press harder against Stefano's invading fingers. The unintentional deeper penetration sent electricity racing through me, a strangled cry tearing from my throat.
Even the fucking airplane is conspiring against me. 'Let's add some turbulence to really drive home how completely out of control this omega is!' Thanks, physics.
"Look at how beautifully you respond." Marco's voice was liquid velvet as he traced his tongue along the thick vein of my cock, never quite giving me the suction I desperately craved.
"The way your pretty hole tries to swallow Daddy's fingers whole.
Your body knows what it needs, doesn't it, baby?
Even when that sharp mind of yours fights us. "
Oh fuck, the way he talks. The same honey-sweet praise from the tent when he'd watched Stefano finger me while I tried not to scream his name.
Like he's reading my body like a book and narrating every shameful response.
My cock's throbbing against that ring and I can't—I need to come so fucking bad I might die from it.
Matteo's tongue swept back into my mouth, fucking between my lips with methodical strokes that mimicked what they planned to do to me later.
His technique was familiar—the same careful exploration he'd used in the tent when he'd studied my every reaction like a scientist cataloging a rare specimen.
When he pulled back, saliva connected our mouths in obscene strings.
"Such sweet sounds you make when you surrender," he said, studying my flushed face.
"I want to catalog every expression, every reaction when Daddy finally claims you properly. "
Even his clinical observations turn me on.
Just like when he'd watched the others take me apart, those amber eyes tracking every micro-expression while he told me how fascinating my responses were.
Like I'm some omega specimen he's documenting for science.
'Subject responds optimally to simultaneous oral and digital stimulation. ' I'm so fucked up.
The coordination between them was seamless—when Stefano's fingers stilled, Marco's mouth would intensify its assault.
When Marco pulled back, Matteo would claim my mouth more thoroughly.
They were playing my body like an instrument against the silk sheets, each knowing exactly when to escalate and when to retreat, the same perfect choreography they'd used to break me down in the tent.
"Do you feel that, sweetheart?" Stefano's voice dropped to a whisper as he added another finger, the stretch so intense I saw stars against the cream leather walls.
"How your body opens for your daddies? How it begs for more even when your mind resists?
This is what you were made for—to be cherished and protected and thoroughly claimed by daddies who know your worth. "
My omega hindbrain is practically purring at his words.
The same primal response I'd had in the tent when he'd called me their good boy while spanking me until I sobbed.
The idea of being protected by the most powerful, feared mafia bosses in the country makes something deep inside me sing with approval, even while my rational mind screams about independence and dignity.
"Please—" I sobbed, beyond shame now, beyond pride. My hole was clenching rhythmically around his fingers, trying to pull him deeper, and slick was flowing so freely it soaked into the silk sheets beneath us. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need, beautiful?" Marco's smile was pure sin as he lapped at the precum beading at my tip, just enough to drive me insane but not enough to trigger the ring's sensors. "Use those eloquent words we love so much. Tell your daddies exactly what your body is begging for."
He wants me to say it. Wants me to use that word—Daddy—the same one that had made me fall apart that night when they'd reduced me to nothing but desperate need.
Wants me to admit that my omega biology is screaming for alpha cock, for knots, for being bred and claimed and owned.
And the worst part? I want to say it. I want to give them everything they're asking for.
"More," I whispered, tears streaming down my face as another wave of pleasure crashed through me. "It feels— God, it feels incredible. I can't think—"
"That's the point, little prince," Stefano murmured, his fingers finding that devastating spot again and massaging it until I screamed. "Stop thinking. Just feel. Let your body tell Daddy what it needs."
My body needs everything. Needs to be filled and claimed and knotted until I can't remember my own name. Just like that night when I'd forgotten who I was, where I was, everything except the pleasure they were giving me. My omega biology is staging a hostile takeover, and I'm losing the war.
"Do you like how your daddies touch you?" Marco asked, his mouth hovering over my cock while his breath made me shudder. "How we make you feel things you've never felt before? We could take such good care of our baby boy. Keep you safe and satisfied and treasured like the precious omega you are."
The promise in his voice made my omega hindbrain practically melt.
To be treasured by these deadly, powerful men?
To be their "good boy" again, to feel that rush of satisfaction when they praised me for surrendering?
To never have to worry about safety or protection again?
My biology was screaming 'yes' while my conscious mind tried desperately to maintain some semblance of resistance.
This is psychological warfare. They're using my own biology against me, making promises that hit every omega instinct hardwired into my defective genetics.
Using the same tactics that had worked so perfectly in the tent—the praise, the dominance, the daddy dynamic that had reduced me to a sobbing, begging mess.
And it's working. God help me, it's working.
"Yes," I gasped, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside as Stefano's fingers hit that spot again. "Yes, I like it—I love how you make me feel—"
"Do you want more?" Matteo asked, his gaze cataloging every micro-expression as pleasure built to impossible heights. "Want your daddies to take care of you like this always? Protect you and keep you safe from everything that could hurt you?"
The rational part of my brain tried to scream warnings, but I was drowning in sensation, in the promise of never being alone or unprotected again.
My omega biology was singing hymns of submission, recognizing these alphas as the perfect providers and protectors, just as it had that night when they'd first claimed me.
"Yes—yes, I want that—" I sobbed, my body trembling with need as they continued their coordinated assault on the silk sheets.
"Want to be Daddy's?" Stefano's voice was dark honey as his fingers worked that devastating rhythm inside me. "Completely and utterly your daddies'? Let us spoil you and treasure you and give you everything an omega could ever need?"
They're offering everything my omega hindbrain has ever craved—safety, protection, being cherished by powerful alphas who could keep the entire world at bay.
The same security I'd felt in the tent when they'd bathed me after breaking me down, when they'd held me with surprising tenderness while calling me their good boy.
And my traitorous biology is practically begging me to say yes.