Page 101 of Runaways

"No."

"You're always going to belong to us, baby," he says. He threads his fingers into my hair, his thumb finding that spot behind my ear. I close my eyes, holding my breathbefore exhaling slowly. "It doesn't matter where you are or what you do—that's just how it is, and you know that. Now, do what I told you to, or I'll slice him in half—you know I will. Come on."

I lower my gaze and move onto his lap.

"That's better," he says. "Just relax, Noah." His fingers find the silk material of my panties, running up and down my slit over the thin and increasingly damp material.

"Please don't do this to me again," I whisper. "Not here."

"How do you know what I'm going to do to you?" He pushes the material aside, dipping two fingers inside me, and I grit my teeth, gripping the edge of the table and smothering a whimper in the back of my throat. "You used to trust me," he says, pressing his lips to my neck.

"That was a mistake."

My cheeks burn. I can't even look at Mason or his friends right now. And Tate keeps moving those fingers, slowly pumping them in and out of me. I can hear how wet I am, and so I know Silas probably can, too.

"Silas, give me your hoodie," Tate says.

Silas pulls the hoodie over his head and passes it to Tate, who uses it to cover our laps.

Then I feel him fumbling with the fly of his jeans before the head of his cock rubs up against my pussy.

"Tate—"

But before I can object, he pulls my thighs apart, angles his hips, and I'm impaled on his cock.

"Oh, god," I whimper softly. I sit back, dropping my elbows on the table and then my head into my hands, my breathrugged and strained. I don't mean to, but I can't help it—I rock my hips just a little, just to take the edge off.

Tate grabs me by the back of my neck. "You better not do that, Noah. You need to stay nice and still for me, or I'm going to fucking lose it and tear you apart in front of everyone in here. Do you understand?"

I nod.

"Good. Now, sit up and look at Silas. He should get to see you like this."

I drop my hands and look at Silas across the table while trying to manage my breathing. I accidentally rock my hips again, and Tate groans, locking an arm around my waist.

"Careful," he says. "How does she look, Silas?"

"Pretty," he says. "Like she's got eight inches of dick inside her, and she wants to ride it so badly she can't fucking stand it."

His fingers find my clit, touching me while his cock throbs inside me. "Tell me something, Noah," he says, rubbing the swollen nub. "Does the hero over there fuck you this deep?"

A small moan escapes me, and I bite down on my lip before shaking my head. "No…"

"He's looking at you right now," he says. "He probably thinks he knows what I'm doing to you under here, but he has no idea you're dripping down my dick. But don't look at him; look at Silas. His hand is in his pants right now, stroking his cock at the sight of you."

I look from the table to Silas again, watching the way the muscles in his forearm flex, and I know he's telling the truth.

"You look like you're about to scream, Noah," Silas says. "And I would know—that's how you looked at me before I made you scream last night."

Tate increases his pace, applying more pressure to my clit, and I can't help it—I do it again. I arch my back, wriggling my hips from side to side.

"Bad girl, Noah," he says, rolling his hips, thrusting his cock just barely inside of me—but it's enough that on the edge of orgasm, I moan.

"Ohh…" I grit my teeth and dig my nails into the forearm across my waist. "Tate…don't."

"Mmm…fuck. There you go," he says. "Say that again—I liked it."

He pushes his cock into me again, and I draw in my breath. "Tate, don't. Don't make me."

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