Chapter 29 Lia
LIA
The warm water has loosened my muscles, washing away the delicious ache from Vane's enthusiastic attention. My skin feels new, sensitized from the bath oils and his touch. As Vane helps me from the bath, wrapping me in a plush towel, I feel oddly cherished despite the primal claiming I’ve experienced.
“Come,” he says, guiding me toward a door I hadn't noticed before. “It's time for the feast.”
“I'm starving,” I admit. The physical exertion has left me ravenous.
His hands tighten possessively on my hips. “There's a tradition during the Hunt feast,” Vane explains, his voice low and rough against my ear. “All prey sit on their hunter's cock while they eat.”
I turn to face him, surprised not by the requirement but by how much the idea appeals to me. “Good,” I say, running my fingers along the hard plane of his chest. “I'm going to love warming your cock.”
His eyes darken behind the emerald mask. Before I realize what's happening, Vane tugs his mask down and captures my bottom lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to send a shock of pleasure-pain through me before kissing me deeply.
When he pulls back, I'm breathless again. “I thought keeping the masks on was part of the tradition?” I ask.
“It is,” he admits, sliding his mask back into place. “I can't seem to help myself with you.” His hand cups my face, thumb brushing over my swollen lip. “You're so fucking irresistible.”
I lean into his touch, craving more of his mouth on mine. “I like seeing your face,” I confess. “All of it, not just those beautiful eyes, but your sexy as fuck mouth.”
“You'll have plenty of time for that,” he promises, leading me toward the sounds of conversation and clinking glasses. “But first, I intend to feel you wrapped around me while I feed you from my fingers.”
I moan as Vane's hand slides possessively around my waist, guiding me down a corridor lit by flickering sconces. The warm bath has left me languid, but his touch awakens that constant hunger I've felt since I set eyes on him again.
“Everyone will see who you belong to,” he murmurs against my ear.
We approach two massive mahogany doors carved with intricate scenes that I don't have time to decipher before they swing open, revealing a grand dining hall. My breath catches at the sight.
Around a sprawling glass table, hunters already sit in high-backed chairs—their prey standing beside them, others alone, watching the door with predatory interest. The air smells of rich food and desire, heavy with anticipation.
My eyes scan the room until they land on a familiar figure. Elliot Chambers—my boss, the sophisticated art dealer who hired me—stands beside a hunter's chair, but positioned like prey.
Our gazes lock across the room. His eyes widen, recognition flashing before he quickly looks away, a flush creeping up his neck.
The realization hits me like a physical force. Elliot was one of the men in the orgy room—one of the three I'd watched engaged in passionate sex before Vane had suspended me from the ceiling.
“Your boss seems uncomfortable,” Vane whispers, amusement lacing his tone. “Did you know he played for both teams?“
I shake my head. “I suspected, but... seeing is believing.”
Vane's grip tightens, drawing me back against his hard chest. “Come, wildflower.” He pulls out a high-backed chair at the glass table and lowers himself into it.
“Stand by my side,” he commands, his voice a dark caress. “It's the rules for now, but soon you'll be sitting right where you belong.”
His hand trails possessively down my hip, which is clothed in a black dress.
I almost feel overdressed after spending most of the Hunt up to now completely naked.
My thighs tremble with anticipation, my body responding to his promise despite the multiple orgasms he's already given me.
I'm greedy for more of him, and the thought of being impaled on him while surrounded so closely by other people sends a fresh pulse of heat between my legs.
The massive doors swing open again, drawing my attention.
A man in a striking blue mask enters, his confident stride immediately recognizable even without seeing his face.
Knox Blackwood—it has to be. The youngest Blackwood brother always has that swagger, the few times I've seen him around town since returning to Ravenwood.
Bianca Hayes walks beside Knox, her chin held high despite the flush spreading across her chest. I'd only met her briefly in the preparation room before the Hunt began, our introduction cut short by nervous energy and the impending chase.
But I know her by reputation—Elliot has mentioned her several times as one of his most promising new artists, a painter with raw talent and commercial appeal.
The art world gossip pegs her as an up-and-coming artist, someone to watch.
She looks different now than she did in the prep room—wilder, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, eyes bright.
The doors open once more. Xavier Blackwood enters with measured steps, his imposing figure unmistakable even with the red mask obscuring half his face. Beside him walks Mira, the investigative journalist.
“The gang's all here,” Vane murmurs, his hand sliding up my inner thigh.
Xavier's powerful hands grasp Mira's waist, his control absolute as he guides her onto his lap.
Even from across the table, I can see the moment he enters her—her back arching, lips parting in a silent gasp as he pulls her firmly onto his cock.
The red of his mask makes his eyes appear almost feral as he settles her against him.
Around the table, the other hunters follow Xavier's lead.
One by one, each captured woman is positioned on her hunter's lap, some with gentle guidance, others with commanding force.
Elliot's cheeks flush as he's pulled onto his hunter's thighs and the man enters his ass, his professional demeanor completely stripped away.
Vane's hands tighten on my hips, drawing my attention back to him.
His eyes burn as he pulls me forward so I'm facing the table and slowly lowers me onto his length.
I sink down inch by delicious inch, my body stretching to accommodate him despite our earlier activities.
When I'm fully seated, his hardness buried completely inside me, he exhales against my ear.
“Finally,” he whispers, his voice a gravelly purr that sends shivers down my spine.
The fullness is exquisite. I can't help the moan that escapes me as I adjust to the sensation of being so thoroughly filled at a dinner table. The slight movement as I shift on his lap sends sparks of pleasure through my core.
“I want to ride you,” I breathe, rolling my hips in a small circle that makes both of us groan. The hunger that's been building since our encounter in the orgy room returns with fierce intensity. “Please.”
His fingers dig into my thighs, but instead of holding me still as I expect, he loosens his grip. A wicked smile curves his lips beneath his mask.
“Go ahead, wildflower,” Vane challenges, loud enough for those nearest to hear. “Give everyone a show.”
I shift my weight, lifting myself up before sinking back down on Vane's thick length. The sensation sends electric pulses through my body, and I can't help the moan that escapes my lips. His hands grip my hips, guiding my movements as I establish a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“That's it,” he growls against my neck. “Show everyone who you belong to.”
The doors swing open again, and a stream of Ravenwood's elite enter—business owners, politicians, and old money families I recognize from gallery openings. My cheeks burn at being so exposed, yet I don't stop moving on Vane's cock. If anything, the audience makes me wetter.
A commotion erupts at the far end of the table. Mayor Pike stands rigid, his face flushed with what appears to be anger as he stares at a young woman—his daughter, Cora—perched on a hunter's lap. Three hunters surround her, all seeming to have some claim on her.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, slowing my movements. “They allowed her father to attend this? That's sick.”
Vane's fingers dig into my thighs. “Ignore them,” he commands, reaching for a grape from the platter before us. He presses it against my lips. “Focus on me. On this.”
I part my lips, accepting the fruit. The sweetness bursts across my tongue as Vane's hips thrust upward, filling me completely. The dual sensations make me groan.
“More,” I gasp after swallowing. “I'm starving.”
He offers a slice of mango next, juice dripping down my chin as I bite into it.
“It's even better like this,” I confess between bites, grinding down on him. “The food... with you inside me... It's incredible.”
His throaty chuckle vibrates through me. “I'll feed you every meal like this if you want.”
Vane lifts a piece of bread dipped in olive oil to my mouth. I take it between my teeth, letting out a shameless moan at the rich flavors flooding my senses.
I rock slowly on Vane's lap. My movements grow more urgent as pleasure builds, my body chasing release despite our audience.
“Fuck, Lia,” Vane groans against my ear, his fingers digging into my hips. “You ruin me, you know that? Having you here, back with me after all this time...” His voice breaks slightly. “I know I'll never want to look at another woman again. You're it for me. Always fucking have been.”
His raw confession hits me hard. I twist to look at him over my shoulder, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes.
“I want that,” I breathe, the words spilling out before I can analyze them. “I want to be your one and only.” In this moment, with him filling me completely, I mean it with everything I am.
He reaches for a plump strawberry, dragging it across my bottom lip before letting me bite into it. The sweetness explodes across my tongue as I speed up my movements, grinding down harder on his cock.
“Slow down, wildflower,” he commands, his hand pressing firmly against my stomach to still my frantic pace. “The feast goes on for hours. We've got lots of time to come.” His fingers trace my collarbone. “Enjoy the food. Savor the sensation of me inside you while you eat.”
I whimper but obey, forcing myself to slow my movements to an agonizing pace. Each languid roll of my hips sends pleasure spiraling through me without pushing me over the edge.
“Good girl,” Vane murmurs, rewarding me with a piece of cheese.
I surrender to his guidance, letting him control the pace, the pleasure, the feast. My body remains poised on the edge of release, but I savor the building tension rather than racing toward climax.
As I rock gently on Vane's lap, the conversations around us fade to white noise. My mind drifts, focusing entirely on the man beneath me, inside me.
Fifteen years. I wasted fifteen years running from this—from him. From us.
The way Vane looks at me has always terrified me.
Not because I feared him, but because I feared how completely I wanted to be ruined by him.
That night after prom, when he claimed me for the first time, I felt something crack open inside me—a need so overwhelming it threatened to consume everything I'd carefully planned for my future.
So I ran. Columbia. New York. The Red Room. All those dominants who never quite measured up, who never knew exactly how to touch me, to speak to me. None of them was him.
Now, with his hands on my body, I can't help wondering how different things might have been if I'd stayed. Would we have built something together? Would his obsession have mellowed into something sustainable, or would it have burned us both to ashes?