Page 44 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

XAVIER

T he first course arrives—a delicate appetizer that costs more than most people make in a week.

I cut a piece with my fork, bringing it to Mira’s lips while she sits with my cock buried hilt-deep inside her warmth, grinding her cunt on my dick like the good girl I know she can be with proper motivation.

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 over this 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 reprieve only 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 and fine 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 her shoulders.

But I hold her tight, keeping her exactly where she belongs.

The guests’ reactions vary wildly across the spectrum of human depravity and prejudice.

Mrs. Hartwell and her circle lean forward with blatant hunger, their eyes drinking in every detail of the women’s degradation like touring a lavish garden in spring, not wanting to miss a single moment of abasement.

They give a whole new meaning to the ‘He loves me, He loves me not’ game they likely all played as children, watching as each flower is torn apart one petal at a time.

They whisper among themselves, pointing at the way Cora’s body betrays her with unmistakable arousal despite her tears, as her eyes are now fixed on how Bianca’s fingers now clutch desperately at the table.

“Magnificent display,” murmurs Councilman Reed, his gaze lingering on Lia as Vane forces her to take another sip of wine. “Such complete submission.”

The women observers seem particularly enthralled by the power dynamics at play. They watch with fascination as Sadie squirms on Landon’s lap, noting every gasp and whimper like they’re analyzing a particularly complex piece of theater.

But their expressions shift dramatically when their attention turns to Elliot.

His mask lies discarded on the white tablecloth beside his untouched plate, revealing the flushed face of Ravenwood’s most prominent g.

The silk shirt Julian dressed him in barely covers his thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination.

His arousal is painfully obvious above the table’s edge, his cock hard and leaking precum that glistens in the candlelight.

Several guests visibly recoil. Mrs. Patterson actually covers her mouth with her napkin as if the sight might contaminate her. Councilman Morrison’s face twists with revulsion, and he turns his chair slightly away from the display.

“Disgusting,” someone whispers, not quite quietly enough.

The contrast couldn’t be starker. These same people who find arousal in watching women be degraded react with moral outrage at seeing a man in the same position.

They can stomach violence against women and can even find entertainment in it, yet balk at this—a successful art dealer riding Julian’s cock.

At the same time, Theo’s watch shatters their conventional assertions about power and masculinity.

Julian seems to relish their discomfort. He grips Elliot’s hips more firmly, encouraging him to move with deliberate slowness, making their coupling impossible to ignore. Every rise and fall of Elliot draws fresh murmurs of disgust from the more conservative observers.

“Some people have such narrow minds,” Julian says conversationally, his voice carrying across the dining hall as he addresses the room at large while buried inside Elliot.

The hypocrisy is delicious. They can watch women be dominated, even used under dubious consent, without batting an eye, but put a powerful man in the same position, and suddenly, they’ve found their moral compass.

But not everyone shares their disgust.

I notice Ms. Chen, the younger city attorney, leaning forward in her chair with obvious fascination.

Her pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted as she watches Elliot ride Julian’s dick.

She shifts in her seat, thighs pressing together, leaving no room for doubt when it comes to her level of arousal.

Beside her, the mayor’s wife—Cora’s stepmother, who stayed despite her husband’s dramatic exit—can’t seem to look away from the display.

Her breathing has quickened noticeably, and she keeps touching her throat, her fingers tracing the line of her pearl necklace, paying attention to their every movement.

Even more surprising are the men showing interest. Councilman Torres, typically the most conservative voice on the city council, stares at Julian’s cock disappearing into Elliot’s ass with evident hunger. His own hand rests on his thigh, fingers flexing rhythmically.

District Attorney Bateman adjusts himself in a manner he deems discreet under the table, even as his eyes track every bob of Elliot’s hard and leaking cock beneath the glass tabletop.

Mrs. Hartwell fans herself dramatically. “In my day, men knew their place.”

“Perhaps their place is exactly where we’re seeing it,” Ms. Chen counters, never taking her eyes off the men.

The tension between these two factions adds another layer of electricity to an already charged atmosphere.

Mira shifts on my lap, and I realize she’s observing the same split I am, watching how differently people react to seeing their gender assumptions challenged.

I lean forward, my lips brushing against Mira’s ear.

“How does your pussy feel after grinding onto me? You find it as interesting as I do, the split between the way certain views change based on dynamics. Tell me,” I whisper, my breath hot against her skin, “do you like watching Elliot riding a cock?”

The words are barely audible, meant only for her, but I feel her immediate response. Her pussy clenches around my cock so tightly I have to bite back a groan.

“You do, don’t you?” I continue. “My dirty little voyeur.”

Another involuntary squeeze, her inner walls fluttering around me as she watches Julian grip Elliot’s hips harder, forcing him to take more. His head falls back with his mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure.

Mira’s breathing quickens as she struggles between watching the display and maintaining some semblance of composure.

But her reactions tell me everything I need to know—the way she unconsciously rocks against me, how her thighs tremble when the hunter next to Julian and Elliot, Theo, captures Elliot’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

“You like being watched too,” I murmur, my hand sliding up her spine beneath the silk. “Getting off while an audience sees exactly how desperate you are for my cock.”

Her response is immediate. She clenches so hard around me that I have to grip her hip to keep from thrusting up into her right there at the dinner table. The sensation sends heat racing through my veins, my own arousal spiking at her obvious excitement.

Around us, the divide in reactions continues to play out. Mrs. Patterson makes disgusted noises while Ms. Chen practically moans at the sight of two men fucking. But I’m focused entirely on the woman in my arms and her response to both watching and being watched.

“Such a perfect little exhibitionist,” I breathe against her ear, feeling how she shivers at the words. “Getting wet from watching them while knowing everyone here can see you sitting on my cock.”

Her next clench is so intense it nearly pushes me over the edge.

I can feel how soaked she is; her pussy is literally weeping over my cock, creating a wet spot not only on my pants but also on the chair beneath us.

Her state of arousal has made taking all of me even easier despite the public setting.

The combination of voyeurism and exhibitionism is clearly her weakness—one I plan to exploit thoroughly.