SINS UNDER THE TABLE {3}

Genevieve

When Tristan sent his morning text pretending to be stuck working late with Chloe, I didn't reply. Instead, I waited until 5:00 PM to call him back, my voice dripping with calm, polished sweetness as I suggested we meet for dinner at Vesper, the city’s most exclusive, ultra-dim lounge known for its dark leather booths and heavy floor-length tablecloths.

Tristan jumped at the chance, but he couldn't resist adding his own twist: "Awesome, babe. Hey, Chloe’s still at the office helping me finish up these files. Mind if she tags along? Just to grab a quick bite."

"Not at all," I replied, staring out the floor-to-ceiling glass window of Julian’s penthouse while Julian’s hands rested possessively on my waist. "Actually, I brought a guest, too. Julian’s joining us."

The hesitation in Tristan’s voice was instant, but he didn't dare object.

Two hours later, we were seated in a secluded, velvet-draped corner booth at Vesper. The lighting was notoriously low, ambient amber candles casting long, shadowy silhouettes across the table. Tristan sat directly across from me, looking handsome in his open-collar shirt, with Chloe squeezed into the leather booth right beside him, wearing a tight crimson dress that left very little to the imagination. Julian sat right beside me, his massive frame radiating an oppressive, dark authority in his tailored black suit.

On the surface, it looked like a pleasant double date between long-time acquaintances.

Underneath, it was a battleground.

Vesper catered strictly to the city’s elite, wealthy politicians, corrupt executives, and old-money families who paid top dollar for absolute privacy. The tables were draped in thick, double-layered black linen that fell all the way to the floor, completely shielding everything below waist level from view.

"I'm really glad we could all do this," Tristan said, taking a sip of his bourbon. He flashed me his usual charm-offensive smile, the same smile that used to make my heart flutter. "Work has been absolute madness lately. Chloe has been a total lifesaver at the office."

"Just doing my job, Tristan," Chloe cooed, giving him a coy, sidelong glance.

From across the table, I noticed a subtle, telltale shift in Tristan’s shoulder muscles. His right arm dropped below the edge of the table. I watched the slight ripple of his sleeve as his hand slid beneath the heavy black tablecloth, heading directly toward Chloe’s lap. Chloe’s thighs shifted beneath the linen, her lips parting slightly as a tiny, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of her red lips.

They thought they were being clever. They thought they were indulging in a dirty, thrilling little secret right under my nose.

A cold, wicked thrill surged through my veins. I didn't get mad. I leaned back into the leather booth, taking a slow sip of my red wine.

Beside me, Julian didn't miss a thing. His dark eyes shifted from Tristan’s shoulder down to the draping black tablecloth, immediately picking up on the hidden movement across from us. A dangerous, low rumble vibrated deep within Julian’s chest.

Without a single word, Julian’s left hand dropped off the table.

I felt the heavy, warm weight of his large palm settle onto my knee beneath the thick linen cloth. The contrast was startling, the public, polished atmosphere above the table versus the scorching, possessive heat of Julian’s hand beneath it. His long fingers slowly began to trace a path upward, pushing back the thin silk fabric of my dress, sliding up my bare thigh with deliberate, agonizing slowness.

My breath hitched in my throat. I forced my hands to stay completely steady as I set my wine glass down on the marble tabletop.

"So, Julian," Tristan said, completely oblivious, clearing his throat as he tried to assert dominance in the conversation. "I heard rumors that Vance-Cross Holdings is eyeing a few acquisitions in the commercial real estate sector. Anything my firm should be worried about?"

Julian didn't look at Tristan. He kept his dark, dangerous gaze fixed entirely on me as his fingers reached the lace trim of my underwear.

"My team is always acquiring assets, Tristan," Julian said, his deep voice smooth, steady, and utterly terrifying in its calm. "Especially assets that are undervalued... or poorly managed by owners who don't appreciate what they have."

Beneath the table, Julian didn't waste time. His long fingers hooked under the elastic of my silk panties and pushed them aside. His warm, calloused index finger found my swollen, wet pussy in one smooth, practiced motion, sinking directly into my heat.

Ah...

A sharp, electric shock shot up my spine. My lips parted, a breathless gasp almost escaping my mouth. I bit down hard on the inside of my bottom lip, driving my teeth into the skin until I tasted the faint, copper tang of blood just to stay quiet.

"Is everything okay, Gen?" Chloe asked, squinting across the table at me through the dim candlelight. "You look a little pale."

"I'm... I'm fine, Chloe," I managed to say, my voice trembling slightly before I caught myself. I forced a serene, icy smile onto my face. "Just enjoying the atmosphere."

Below the tablecloth, Julian’s hand began to move.

Wet, quiet friction.

He stroked me with a relentless, heavy rhythm, his thumb pressing firmly against my sensitive clitoris, while his middle finger pushed deep inside my slick tight pussy. The sensation was overwhelmingly intense. The sheer risk of it, sitting three feet away from my cheating fiancé while Julian took total, filthy possession of my body under the linen, drove my senses into a frenzy.

Squelch, slick, rubbing.

Every tiny movement of Julian’s wrist sent waves of liquid fire crashing through my lower stomach. I could hear the faint, wet sound of his fingers sliding in and out of me, muffled completely by the heavy weight of the velvet drapes and the low jazz music playing through the lounge speakers.

"Well," Tristan continued, totally blind to the fact that his fiancé was being brought to the edge of ruin right in front of him, "if you ever need legal consulting for those acquisitions, my doors are open."

"I don't need your consulting, Tristan," Julian replied smoothly, his thumb circling my peak with a sudden, forceful pressure that made my hips twitch involuntarily against the leather seat. "I already have everything I need."

Julian accelerated his pace beneath the table. Rub, slick, stroke. His fingers moved with brutal efficiency, pushing me higher and higher toward a cliff. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edge of the marble table, my toes curling tightly inside my heels. My breath came in short, shallow hitches, my chest heaving beneath my dress as I fought with every ounce of my willpower not to scream out his name.

Across from us, Tristan was still busy rubbing Chloe’s thigh under his side of the cloth, completely absorbed in his own petty game, utterly ignorant of the fact that Julian’s analysts had spent the entire morning quietly buying up Tristan’s corporate debt to execute a total hostile takeover.

Julian inserted a second finger deep inside me, curving upward, hitting the exact spot that made my entire body go rigid.

Slick-slick-slick.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a split second as a violent, silent orgasm ripped through my core. Waves of intense, throbbing heat crashed over me, my inner muscles clamping down tightly around Julian’s fingers. I held my breath, burying the silent scream in the back of my throat, my entire body trembling against the leather booth while Julian steadily worked me through the peak of my pleasure, drinking in every second of my silent surrender.

Slowly, agonizingly, Julian pulled his wet hand out from beneath my dress, resting his palm back on his own knee under the table.

I took a long, trembling breath, slowly opening my eyes, my cheeks flushed red, my chest still rising and falling rapidly as I tried to regain control over my shattered breathing.

Tristan suddenly stopped his chatter. He picked up his glass of champagne, lifting it high in the center of the table toward me.

"A toast," Tristan declared with a wide grin, looking at Chloe and Julian. "To Genevieve. To the most loyal woman in the world, and to our upcoming wedding."

I reached out with a trembling hand, picking up my wine glass to meet his toast. My fingers were shaking so hard the glass clinked loudly against the rim of his.

Tristan’s eyes dropped down to my hand, his eyebrows furrowing in sudden confusion.

"Gen," Tristan asked, staring at my hand in the candlelight, "why are your knuckles white? Are you nervous?"