Page 30 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Mr. Iceflare continued his assault, his tongue working me open with devastating precision. When he added his fingers to the mix, sliding one inside alongside his tongue, I nearly came on the spot, the dual sensation overwhelming in its intensity.
“Please,” I begged, my voice breaking on the word. “Please, I need more.”
“Not yet,” Mr. Iceflare said, pulling back just enough to speak. His lips and chin glistened from tasting me, the sight so erotic I whimpered. “First, I’m going to make you come on my tongue. Then my fingers. And only then, if you’re very good, will you get my cock.”
The crude promise sent another wave of heat through me. “Yes,” I gasped. “Please, yes. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Just please don’t stop.”
He dove back in with renewed enthusiasm, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive me rapidly toward the edge. When he curled his fingers upward, finding that bundle of nerves, I cried out, my back arching off the bed.
“There it is,” he murmured against me, the vibration adding to the overwhelming pleasure. “The spot that makes you forget everything but this.”
He was right. In that moment, I forgot my plan, forgot my strategy, forgot everything but the overwhelming need for release. “Please,” I begged.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice vibrating against my most sensitive flesh.
As I fractured apart under his touch, my inner muscles clenched rhythmically around his fingers, my cock pulsing against my stomach as release painted my skin in white stripes.
For one blessed moment, the burning need of my heat receded, replaced by a floating sensation of relief. But as the aftershocks faded, I realized with sinking disappointment that it wasn’t enough. The edge had been taken off, but the core of my heat remained, a smoldering ember ready to flare back to life at any moment. It was like putting a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound; it was technically treatment but nowhere near sufficient.
Mr. Iceflare seemed to sense my realization. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine with understanding. “Not enough, is it?”
I shook my head, unable to form words past the lump in my throat. After everything, after letting him see me come apart completely, it still wasn’t enough. I was still in heat, still in danger, still desperate for more.
“You should go,” he said as he withdrew his fingers. “Before this goes further than any of us can control.”
The dismissal stunned me completely. After everything—after admitting I needed them, after begging for their touch, after coming apart in their hands—he was sending me away? Again? What kind of sadistic game was this?
“What?” I gasped, pushing myself up on shaky elbows. “You can’t be serious. Is this some kind of alpha power trip? Get the omega desperate, then leave him hanging? Because if so, congratulations, you’ve reached new heights of cruelty.”
“I’m deadly serious,” he replied, his expression closing off, that cold mask of control sliding back into place. “This has gone far enough.”
“I need more. I need?—”
“I know what you need,” he interrupted, his voice hard. “But you don’t get to decide when or how you get it.”
I stared at him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the way his pupils remained dilated despite his attempt at cold indifference. For all his icy control, his body was betraying him just asthoroughly as mine was betraying me. The scent of aroused alpha hung heavy in the air, undercutting his words with the truth his body couldn’t hide.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from Mr. Self-Control,” I said, anger cutting through the haze of pleasure and desperation. “You’re sitting there with a hard-on that could drill through concrete, but sure, tell me more about how you’re in charge of the situation. We both know what’s happening here. You’re just as affected as I am; you’re just better at lying about it.”
Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was the heat toxicity affecting my brain. Or maybe it was the simple realization that I had nothing left to lose. My father’s life was on the line. My own survival was at stake. And this alpha thought he could play games with both?
Instead of retreating, I moved closer, straddling his lap in one fluid motion that surprised even me. The contact drew a sharp inhale from him, his hands immediately coming to my hips, not to push me away, but to hold me still. The feeling of his hardness against me was unmistakable, his body contradicting every word coming out of his mouth.
“What are you doing?” he growled, the warning in his voice undermined by the way his cock hardened against me.
“What does it look like?” I countered, rolling my hips deliberately against his length. “I’m taking what I need. Since asking nicely clearly doesn’t work with you alphas, I’m trying a more direct approach. Consider it omega self-defense.”
His fingers dug into my flesh with bruising force. “I told you to go.”
“And I’m telling you no,” I replied, leaning closer until our faces were inches apart. “I’m not leaving. What are you going to do about it, tough guy? Throw me off? We both know you don’t want to.”
His nostrils flared as he caught another wave of my heat-scent. “You’re playing with fire, little mouse.”
“Maybe I want to get burned,” I whispered, my fingers trailing lightly down his chest, tracing the defined muscles, the fading bruises, the thin pink lines of healing cuts. His skin was burning hot beneath my touch, his heart pounding a rapid rhythm I could feel through my fingertips. “Better to burn than freeze to death, which is what you’re offering.”
I continued my exploration, moving lower, following the trail of dark hair that led to where his cock stood proud and ready. Just as my fingers were about to make contact, his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist with bruising force.
“Don’t,” he warned, his voice a dangerous rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
