She parts her lips obediently, accepting the food. The intimate gesture draws murmurs of appreciation from our audience. Still, I’m more focused on the way her pussy clenches around me with each small movement.
“Excellent vintage,” comments Mrs. Hartwell, one of the city council members, raising her champagne glass as if we’re at any ordinary dinner party instead of watching a political family implode in real-time. For the moment, attention has shifted from Mira riding my cock as painfully slow as possible. What she doesn’t know yet is that when they all clear out, I’m going to bend her overthis table and fuck her tenderized pussy until she screams or passes out.
Mayor Pike hasn’t touched his food. His knuckles are white where they grip his champagne flute, his jaw so tightly clenched I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack. Every few seconds, his eyes dart to Cora’s face before jerking away, unable to fully process what he’s witnessing.
Dominic seems to take particular pleasure in Mayor Pike’s discomfort. He makes a show of feeding Cora strawberries, his fingers lingering against her lips longer than necessary. When she whimpers softly, he murmurs something in her ear that makes her cheeks burn a deeper shade of red than I thought possible for her.
“The fish is remarkable,” Liam adds, stroking Cora’s breast with his free hand. “You must give me the name of your chef.”
I suppress a smile at the casual cruelty of it all. These men chose Cora specifically because she’s Mayor Pike’s daughter. They’re savoring every second of his ruinous denigration in the form of the pent-up rage clearly etched into his face—the way the muscle in his jaw ticks at the scene he cannot escape must be priceless to them.
“Of course,” I reply smoothly, offering Mira another bite. “Though I think our guests are more interested in the entertainment than the cuisine.”
A whine escapes Mira, her cunt throbbing around me, she’s so close, but we can’t have that. She needs to refocus, so I tap her thigh twice. She lasted longer than I expected. She’s about to find out that reprieveonly covers her grinding. I do want her sore and aching, but not so much that I can’t fuck her stupid before she gets her twenty-four hours of reprieve.
The idle chit chat continues. I run my fingers along her bare thigh where the slit of her skirt lays open, slowly gather the silk in my hand and sweep it open, baring her weeping pussy to the room beneath the glass table, the scent of her unmistakable. When she realizes it’s her scent filling the air, she clenches around me, and it makes me smirk.
Not missing a beat in the conversation, I shift her slightly on my lap so that she’s draped over me, completely vulnerable and still fully seated on my cock. The pulsing abates as I let my nose stroke along her ear, “Such an eager little slut for me. Dripping wet, these slacks are ruined, and you can thank me later for interrupting that orgasm.
Around the table, the other observers watch with varying degrees of fascination. Some lean forward in their chairs, openly staring. Others attempt a veneer of polite conversation while their eyes remain glued to the spectacle.
Knox catches my attention from across the table, bouncing Bianca on his lap with deliberate roughness. She gasps and clutches at his shoulders, paint still caked under her fingernails from whatever torture he subjected her to during the Hunt.
The contrast between the elegant table setting and the lascivious reality creates a delicious tension that thrums through the room. Crystal glasses andfine china surrounding acts of public sex—civilization’s thin veneer stripped away to reveal the predatory nature underneath.
Mayor Pike’s breathing grows increasingly labored as Ryder trails his fingers down Cora’s spine, making her arch involuntarily against Dominic. The mayor’s face contorts in anguish, his inability to use his political station to save his only daughter gnawing at him mercilessly.
“I can’t—” Mayor Pike’s voice cracks as he abruptly shoves back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor.
He storms toward the exit without another word, unable to endure watching his daughter’s humiliation a moment longer.
The heavy doors slam shut behind Mayor Pike with a resounding echo that seems to reverberate through every corner of the dining hall. The sound cuts through the ambient murmur of conversation and clinking silverware like a blade.
For a moment, absolute silence follows.
Then Cora’s composure shatters.
Her shoulders begin to shake first, small tremors that quickly escalate into full-body sobs. Tears stream down her cheeks as she covers her face with trembling hands, her breathing coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
The tension she’d been holding while her father watched was released. However, the mortification remains, perhaps even deepening now that the reality of what happened hits her.
Around the table, conversations resume as if nothing happened. Mrs. Hartwell delicately cuts another piece of her appetizer while discussing property values with the man beside her. The other council members return to their wine and engage in polite chit-chat about municipal budgets and upcoming elections.
No one acknowledges Cora’s breakdown. To them, she’s chattel in the Hunt, her emotional state as irrelevant as a painting’s feelings about being hung on a wall.
Except for Mira, her entire world splintered into tiny shards, shards that can never be restored.
I feel the moment she notices Cora’s distress, as she tenses against me, every muscle coiling with the instinct to move. I tap her thigh twice, and her body goes still. Her maternal instincts kick in, the same ones that drove her to investigate our family in the first place.
She shifts forward slightly, her weight redistributing as she prepares to rise from my lap. Her breath quickens, and I can practically hear her thoughts racing as she calculates how quickly she can reach her friend and what comfort she might offer.
My arms tighten around her waist immediately, fingers digging into the dress that barely covers her. The pressure is firm but not painful, a clear message that she belongs exactly where she is.
“Stay,” I murmur against her ear, my voice low enough that only she can hear.
Mira’s hands clench into fists, her internal struggle playing out in the rigid set of hershoulders.
But I hold her tight, keeping her exactly where she belongs.
