Page 80 of Doomed
The feast has officially begun, and no one’s focused on food at all.
I keep Bianca pinned on my lap, feeling her clench around me. Her breathing quickens as she takes in the debaucheryunfolding around us. I can tell she’s shy, despite everything we’ve done.
“Ride me, princess,” I whisper against her ear. “Show everyone here how proud you are to belong to me.”
She hesitates, and I can practically feel the war inside her—the proper artist fighting against the woman I’ve unleashed.
“They’re all watching,” she whispers back.
“Good.” I nip at her earlobe. “Let them see what they will never have.”
A flash of determination replaces her uncertainty. She places her hands on the glass table for leverage and begins to move, slowly at first, rising and falling on my cock.
“That’s it,” I encourage, my fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Just like that.”
Across the table, I notice the three men who shared Bianca with me earlier—their hungry gazes fixed on her. All three have their hands beneath the glass tabletop, stroking themselves while watching my girl as her cunt worships my cock.
Marcus leans back in his chair, his muscular forearm flexing rhythmically beneath the glass tabletop. His dark eyes never leave Bianca’s body, his jaw clenched tight as he works his hand over his cock. The security expert who’s always so fucking controlled looks anything but right now.
“Remember how good she felt?” I call out to him, loud enough for others to hear. His eyes flick to mine, and I see an almost paralyzing hunger there before he gives a tight nod.
Jenson, usually the quiet spymaster, has his lip caught between his teeth. His pale face is flushed, eyes half-lidded as he strokes himself under the table with slow, deliberate movements. Our eyes meet briefly, and I give him a smirk that says;You can look but never touch again without my permissionand her consent.
Victor is the least subtle of the three. The fight club owner has his massive hand wrapped around himself, pumping with the same aggressive energy he brings to everything. His tattooed arms flex with each movement, and he doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing.
“Fuck, she’s perfect,” Victor growls. “Best prey I’ve ever seen at a Hunt.”
I feel Bianca tense on my lap at his words, and I grip her hips tighter, guiding her movements.
“That’s right, princess,” I whisper against her ear. “They all covet what I have. They’re jerking off to the memory of being inside you, knowing they’ll never get that chance again without my say-so.”
The knowledge that these powerful men are reduced to spectators, pleasuring themselves to the sight of what belongs to me, sends a surge of satisfaction through my veins.
“They want you,” I growl into Bianca’s ear. “But they can’t have you. You’re mine.”
She moans softly, picking up her pace. The flush on her cheeks deepens, spreading down her neck to her chest. Despite her initial reluctance, she’s getting off on being watched—on being claimed so publicly.
“Look at them,” I command, guiding her gaze toward the men. “See how desperately they want what only I get to have.”
The massive mahogany doors swing open, and a parade of suits and sparkly dresses files in. Rich fucks are taking their seats along the walls, here for the show. I barely glance their way—too focused on how Bianca’s body tightens around mine with each roll of her hips.
“More people,” she whispers, faltering slightly as she notices the newcomers.
I grip her hips tighter, guiding her back into rhythm. “Ignore them. Focus on me.”
Some commotion erupts across the room—someone shouting. I catch a glimpse of Mayor Pike’s red face as he lunges forward, bellowing his daughter’s name. Drama that I don’t have time for.
“Focus on riding me, princess,” I murmur against Bianca’s ear, nipping the lobe.
She trembles against me but doesn’t stop moving. Instead, she leans back, her head resting against my shoulder as she surrenders to the sensation. Perfect.
Xavier’s commanding voice cuts through whatever bullshit is happening with the mayor. Still, I couldn’t care less about their family problems. All that matters is the woman on my lap, the way she’s starting to move with more confidence despite our expanded audience.
I slide my hand up her side, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her dress.
A few of the new arrivals have noticed us—two men in expensive suits have abandoned whatever spectacle is happening with Cora and fixed their attention on Bianca instead. Their hungry stares only fuel my territorial instincts.
“Look,” I whisper, nodding toward our admirers. “Even with all that chaos, they’d rather watch you.”
