"Scared? Me?" I quip, voice higher than I want, forcing a grin at my reflection to hide the way my thighs rub together against the growing dampness in my thong. "Just worried you'll drag me up there and turn me into a human fondue set or something. Billionaires and their weird appetites, right?"
The joke lands quirky, a little shaky, but it cuts the tension.
Tomas chuckles from my right, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates the air, his gray eyes darkening as he shifts closer, thigh brushing mine, the wool of his slacks rough against my bare leg below the dress hem. "No fondue, omega. But we do have appetites." He reaches out, captures my hand, thumb circling my knuckles slow and firm, the warmth sinking into my bones. "Big ones. For every soft inch of you."
His silver musk spikes, metallic tang sharpening, and I taste salt on my lips from nervous licking, my pussy fluttering at the blunt promise.
Matteo pushes off the wall on my left, closing the gap until his chest grazes my shoulder, he looks at me with lust in his eyes. He tilts my chin up with two fingers, forcing my eyes to his in the mirror, pale blue irises dilated, hungry.
"Jokes won't save you from how wet you're getting already," he says, voice smooth and controlled, but edged with growl. "I can smell that strawberry pussy begging for us."
His words hit like a lick to my clit, and I gasp, feeling fresh slick soak my folds, the musky sweet scent blooming stronger.
Santos's hand dips lower behind me, palming my ass cheek fully now, squeezing the plush flesh, fingers digging in just enough to make me arch. "Listen to them talk, and your little joke turns you on, doesn't it?" he purrs, lips brushing my earlobe, teeth grazing the lobe with a sharp nip that makes me moan softly, the wet sound echoing in the mirrors. "Bet your tits are aching, nipples hard as pebbles."
His other hand slides up my side, cupping the underside of one breast, thumb flicking the peak through silk and lace, the friction electric, drawing a whimper from my throat.
I see it all reflected. Matteo's hand trailing down my arm to lace fingers with mine, pulling my palm to his chest where I feel his heart pounding under crisp shirt, the texture of chesthair teasing through fabric. Tomas leans in from the right, nose nuzzling my neck, inhaling deep, his beard scraping deliciously rough, tongue darting out to taste my skin.
"Taste like fucking candy," he growls, free hand gripping my hip, pulling me toward him so my curves press into his hard thigh.
My body lights up, every nerve alive. The elevator's cool metal wall at my back contrasting Santos's heat. The mirrors showing my flushed face, heaving tits, the way my dress rides up revealing thigh. Inside, omega hunger wars with lingering doubt.They can't want all this softness.But the slick dripping down my inner thigh says otherwise, pussy throbbing empty, clit swollen and needy.
The elevator dings.
The elevator doors slide open to the penthouse suite's golden glow, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Strip's neon chaos below.
I step out first, my heels sinking into the deep pile of the entrance rug, and just stop. The space sprawls in every direction. Cream sofas sinking deep. White lilies perfuming the air with clean floral sweetness. A grand piano gleaming in the corner like it belongs in a museum. City lights pulsing like a heartbeat beyond the glass.
"Well," I say, taking it all in. "I've clearly been gambling in the wrong places."
Santos laughs low behind me. "You have no idea."
They guide me further in, hands never leaving. Santos at my back, Matteo and Tomas flanking, their touches easy and possessive at once. I stop in the center of the main rug, toes sinking into fibers soft as fur, and look around at all of it, the lilies and the piano and the city laid out below like an offering, and then I look at the three of them looking at me.
"Maybe I've had too much to drink," I say.
Santos tilts his head. Matteo and Tomas exchange one of their looks.
"If you have," Santos says, his voice dropping low and careful, "then we wouldn't want to take advantage of you." He takes one slow step closer. "Say the word. And we won't do any of the things we're going to do to you."
The room goes very quiet.
Matteo watches me with those pale blue eyes, patient, not pushing. Tomas stands to my right, arms loose at his sides, giving me every inch of space I need to walk straight back to that elevator.
I look at all three of them.
I keep my mouth shut.
Santos's smile spreads slow and wicked. “Maybe eat something, and then see how you feel.”
I nod my head, unable to speak. My omega’s begging me not to have second thoughts. I let them lead me to the sofa.
Santos eases me down into cushions that cradle my ass and back like a lover. “What would you like to eat?” he says, as he pulls up the room service menu, but his eyes stay on my lips the entire time he does it.
Matteo pours water from a chilled pitcher and hands it over, his fingers brushing mine and lingering just long enough to be deliberate.
I take a sip.