Chapter 26 "RUN."
SERENA
Lara lifted a spoon toward Sin’s lips. He flung it aside without looking. The spoon clattered back onto her plate.
Her face tightened as she followed his stare to me.
I looked away fast and focused instead on the visitors.
They were two men and a woman with brown hair, a stunning brunette. They looked to be about in their early thirties. The man with the shaved hair leaned to the left to whisper in the brunette's ear.
She turned, her lips curving down with disapproval.
They stared at me with genuine curiosity, like I was a rare specimen they hadn’t expected to see alive.
Saint nodded once at me and I started down the stairs.
“The punishment must have been intense if you’re only just showing your face,” Lara piped up as I passed her. “I’m surprised you made it out unscathed.”
I said nothing, because I really didn't have her time tonight. I kept walking to the only empty chair.
The one between the twins. Seriously, who planned this seating arrangement?!
I pulled it out and sat, sighing softly under my breath.
Lara’s eyes were glued to my chest. They were wide, and carried an unguarded, surprised look.
She knew what those marks were. She just didn’t understand why I had them.
“Is she worth the media scandal?” the brunette visitor asked, shooting me a condescending look from beside Vivian.
Mr. Rivers snorted. “My son has refused to consult his brain since he brought her home. We punished her accordingly. Hopefully she won’t be whoring herself out anytime soon.”
I bit down on my tongue, hard enough to taste blood.
“Are those whip marks on your chest?” Lara asked, twirling a lock of hair. “I didn’t realize Saint was into BDSM. Sin must have influenced him.”
A hot, large hand gripped my knee under the table.
Sin. His fingers dug in, probably to warn me.
“It was from the punishment,” I said clearly. “Sin whipped me.”
Sin’s hand left my knee. Then slid higher, up my thigh. Under the hem of the dress.
I froze, the spoonful of rice I'd just lifted halfway to my mouth.
Lara choked on her laugh.
“Sin? Oh, um… really?” She stammered, stabbing her knife into the turkey on her plate.
Sin’s fingers moved fast, pushing my underwear aside and cupping my pussy in one hot, claiming hold.
I sat still, too stunned to move.
“I invited you here,” Mr. Rivers said to the visitors, oblivious to the under-table chaos, “because I want you to dig out the identity of the masked man in the trending photo.”
The brunette nodded. The two men exchanged glances.
“That will be difficult,” The man with the shaved hair started. “We don’t have enough resources—”
Mrs Rivers cut him off. “Santos, we’ll pay triple the amount in the contract. Our PR agent, Delaney,” she pointed to the brunette, “will give you everything you need.”
Santos’ deep-set eyes slid to me. He frowned slightly. Did he have the slightest clue what Sin was doing to me?
Sin was pumping his fingers inside me now, uncaring that my wetness was making obscene sounds.
I gripped Saint’s arm under the table for support. I heard his low, dark chuckle. He thought this was funny. Damn him.
“We need to bury this quickly,” Vivian said, glancing at her brother, Mr. Rivers. “Before it ruins our reputation for the second time.”
Second time? I barely registered the words.
Saint’s hand crept up my other thigh, his fingers joining Sin’s.
Two sets of fingers were working me, stretching me, filling me, working in tandem while I fought to keep my face blank for the room.
“Is she okay?” Santos asked from across the table, his brows knitting as he studied me. His voice carried just enough concern to make my stomach twist.
I tried to breathe, I really tried, but the climax hit like a wrecking ball to the chest.
Sin curled his fingers hard against that swollen, spongy spot deep inside me, pressing, rubbing, refusing to let up.
My vision whited out. A muffled scream tore from my throat before I could clamp my lips shut.
My thighs convulsed under the table, my hips jerking uncontrollably while hot, wet pulses squeezed around their fingers like I was trying to pull them deeper instead of push them out.
Only then did they withdraw, leaving me empty and throbbing.
My forehead dropped to the edge of the table with a soft thud.
I was shaking, my breaths coming in ragged pants.
Mrs. Rivers’ voice sliced through the haze. “What has come over you?”
I blinked hard, forcing my head up.
My thighs were still spasming with aftershocks, tiny, involuntary ripples that made my breath hitch every few seconds.
I looked at her and managed the smallest, most dangerous smile I could muster.
“Just… enjoying dinner,” I whispered.
“You haven't even touched your dinner since you arrived.” The brunette, Delaney, pointed out with a knowing smirk on her face.
Saint’s hand, still wet from me, settled on my knee under the table, his thumb stroking gently in silent approval.
Lara’s fork clattered against her plate as she looked between me and the twins.
“You two are just going to sit there while she behaves like she just escaped from the psych ward?” She asked.
I pushed up to my feet, nearly careening forward if not for Sin's hand grabbing my waist and holding me against him.
Lara looked like she wanted to gorge her eyes out.
Saint held my arm, holding me steady while Sin kept me plastered to his side.
“Breathe, just breathe.” Saint was saying.
But I couldn't, because I'd just betrayed myself by giving in to them, letting them unravel me under the table.
With all my strength, I tore free from their hold and moved away from the table.
“Where are you going?” Mr Rivers asked in what was supposed to be his intimidating voice.
“To catch some fresh air,” Sin answered for me without missing a beat.
“Let her speak for herself,” Mrs. Rivers snapped.
I drowned them all out.
I didn’t stop walking until I was outside, the cool night air cooling the heat burning my face.
I braced one hand against a stone pillar, the other pressed to my stomach, trying to force air into lungs that felt too small.
Slow, measured ootsteps echoed behind me.
“They’re obsessed with you,” Santos said, his voice edged with something bitter.
I turned. He stood five feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable except for the hard glint in his eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
He let out a humourless chuckle and stepped closer.
“I see why they worship you. You’re this pretty little doll, and they like tiny, shiny things.” His gaze dropped to the whip marks across my chest, then back to my face. “But guess what?”
“What?” My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
“Toys break.” He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. “Do you think they won’t find out?”
“You’re being cryptic,” I said, forcing my spine straight. “I don’t understand your point.”
“They were fingering you under the table, weren’t they?”
I felt my dignity melting down to the floor.
He knew.
He’d seen, maybe the way my breath hitched, the way my hands gripped the edge of the table, the way the twins’ shoulders had shifted just enough to hide what their hands were doing.
Santos didn’t wait for me to deny it.
“If I were you,” he said quietly, “I’d run. They will destroy you, especially Sin.”
He turned and walked back toward the house, footsteps fading into the night.