My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 284: Sienna’s Secret, Amber’s Finger (r-18)

"I’m going to confession tomorrow," Natasha muttered, finally pulling her hand back from under her skirt with a wet sound she pretended not to hear. "And the next day. And possibly every day until I die."

Gianna just leaned back into the couch, removing her hand from between her legs with zero shame. She looked at her glistening fingers in the dim light, then—slowly, deliberately—wiped them on the arm of the couch.

"Well," she said, "that was illuminating."

The video kept playing.

On screen, Phei produced a handkerchief—and began cleaning Delilah with careful, deliberate strokes. Wiping her thighs. Soaking up their combined mess. Treating her like something precious that he’d claimed and now needed to tend.

Like a gardener with a prized flower.

Like a collector with a new acquisition.

Then he folded the ruined cloth.

And put it in his pocket.

Keeping it.

"Oh, that’s—" Amber’s voice caught. Her throat was so dry. "That’s actually kind of..."

"Hot," Gianna finished. "The word you’re looking for is hot."

"I was going to say romantic."

"Sure, you were."

Amber watched him pocket that handkerchief—that piece of fabric soaked with Delilah’s orgasm and his come and their shared desperation—and something twisted in her chest. Something aching and hungry and absolutely pathetic.

I want that.

The thought came unbidden, unwanted, absolutely true.

I want him to keep something of mine too.

"So," Amber said, as the video finally faded to black. "Anyone else feeling enlightened?"

Natasha groaned and dropped her face into her hands. "I’m feeling traumatized."

"You’re feeling horny. There’s a difference."

"Those can coexist!"

"Mmm." Amber’s eyes swept over her friends—these girls she’d known since childhood, these princesses of Paradise, all of them wrecked and wanting and pretending they weren’t. "Gianna. You were whispering something earlier. Before Delilah came the second time. What was it?"

Gianna’s smile sharpened. Became something with edges.

"Oh, just something I heard through... channels."

"Channels."

"My family has ears everywhere, cara. Even in the Maxton household. Even among the staff who clean bedrooms and change sheets." She paused, letting the implication sink in. "Apparently, Delilah told Maddie that Phei nearly fucked her. In her bedroom. While her family was downstairs having dinner, completely oblivious."

Amber’s heart stopped.

Actually stopped. For a full second.

"He... what?"

"Nearly took her virginity, right there in her childhood bed, while mommy and daddy sipped wine one floor below. Would have succeeded too, from what I understand." Gianna’s eyes glittered with something that might have been envy, if mafia princesses were capable of envying anyone. "But someone interrupted them."

"Who?"

"Sienna." The name came out like a secret. Like a weapon. "Little sister walked in on them. Apparently Delilah’s legs spread, begging for it. Phei was about to—well."

"Holy shit."

"Indeed."

Natasha looked like she needed water. Or alcohol. Or possibly a priest and a full exorcism.

"So Sienna... Sienna saw..."

"Everything, from what my sources say. And Sienna definitely hasn’t told anyone in the group chat. Which means she’s keeping it secret. Which means..."

"She’s probably been thinking about it ever since," Amber finished. Her voice had gone strange. Dreamy. "Replaying it in her head. Over and over. Watching her sister about to get—"

"Deflowered." Gianna supplied the word with relish. "By their mutual cousin. In the house where they all grew up."

The room was very, very quiet.

And then, all at once:

"Sienna definitely has the full story."

Four voices. Same thought. Same desperate need to know.

Natasha was already reaching for her phone. "We need to—"

"I’ll text her," Yuki said, fingers flying. "Direct approach. Statistics show that—"

"Forget statistics," Gianna cut in, rising from the couch with predatory grace. "We go to her. In person. Now."

"Agreed."

Three of them moved toward the door—Natasha straightening her skirt, Yuki tucking away her phone, Gianna already half out of the room with that particular energy that meant business was about to be conducted.

But Amber stayed.

"You three go ahead," she said, voice carefully light. Carefully normal. "I need to... finish up some things here."

Natasha paused. Frowned. "Finish what?"

"Just... things. Assignment stuff. Go on without me. I’ll catch up."

Something flickered in Gianna’s eyes—understanding, maybe. Recognition. One predator acknowledging another’s needs.

"Take your time," the mafia princess said softly, and there was no judgment in her voice. Just acknowledgment. "We’ll be thorough with Sienna."

The door closed behind them.

And Amber was alone.

She waited.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

Making sure their footsteps had faded down the hall. Making sure no one was coming back for a forgotten phone or a last question or a sudden attack of conscience.

Her heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking. Her underwear was absolutely ruined—had been ruined since the moment Phei yanked Delilah’s hair, if she was being honest with herself.

And she was tired of not being honest with herself.

She moved.

Not to the desk. Not to any assignment.

To the farthest corner of the room, where the shadows gathered thick and the screen’s glow couldn’t quite reach. Where no one could see her through the crack under the door. Where she could finally—finally—

Her phone came out first. A few taps, and the video was playing again—smaller this time, more intimate, just for her.

Just for her and her desperate, aching need.

Then her skirt.

Hiked up around her waist with clumsy, trembling fingers. Bunched up just like Delilah’s had been. Just like—god, just like she was copying her, learning from her, following in footsteps she’d never thought she’d want to follow.

Her panties—already soaked, already ruined, she’d known they were ruined the moment Phei’s cock came into view—pulled aside. The fabric made a wet sound as it peeled away from her flesh. Evidence of exactly how far gone she was.

Embarrassing.

Pathetic.

She didn’t care.

Finally—after twenty minutes of aching, futile restraint—her fingers reached the place that had been screaming for them.

Fuck.

"OHHH... Phei~"

The first graze drew a gasp, sharp and ragged, bouncing off the empty walls. She was drenched—beyond shame, straight into obscene territory—so slick that her fingers glided through her folds with no friction at all, parting her like she’d been waiting, dripping, primed without consent.

Her clit throbbed, swollen, straining. One brush and her spine arched off the sheets, hips jerking hard.

She bit her lip until copper bloomed, swallowing the moan that wanted to tear free.

On the screen, Delilah sobbed into Phei’s shoulder.

Amber pictured herself in that space instead.

Those hands—strong, unhurried—gripping her hips the way they’d gripped Delilah, lifting, pinning, owning. That low voice rumbling against her ear, commanding every roll, every grind, every surrender.

You’re mine now. You belong to me. She imagined his voice.

That cock—thick, brutal, unfair—nudging her entrance while she whimpered, begged, spread wider.

Please.

Her thumb found her clit again, circling tight, relentless. Two fingers plunged inside—wet, easy, deep—curling immediately to that swollen ridge that made her vision white out.

Please, Phei.

She fucked herself in earnest now. Fingers sliding in and out, slow at first, then faster, the obscene wet sounds filling the room. She imagined his thickness instead—stretching her wider, filling her deeper, ruining every inch so no one else could ever measure up.

Need you.

Her hips rocked into her hand, chasing the rhythm Delilah had ridden on screen—grinding, desperate, shameless.

Need you inside me. Need you to claim me.

The stretch burned—sharp, delicious, almost too much—but she pushed past it, craving the ache, the proof of how badly she wanted to be taken. In and out they moved, slick and relentless, curling harder against that spot until her thighs trembled and her breath came in broken sobs. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

Worth claiming.

On screen, Phei wiped Delilah clean with his handkerchief, folded it, pocketed it like a prize. Kissed her forehead with that quiet, possessive reverence before steadying her on shaking legs.

Worth keeping.

Amber’s free hand slid under her shirt, shoved the bra aside, seized her breast. She squeezed until it hurt, rolled the nipple between thumb and finger, pinched so hard the sting shot straight to her core.

I want that.

She pictured his mouth there—hot, wet, teeth grazing, then biting down while that smile pressed against her skin, marking her as his.

Want him to mark me. Want him to keep me. Want him to fuck me until I forget my own name and only remember his.

Her fingers fucked faster. Deeper. The wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Her thighs shook. Her back arched off the sheets.

’Come for me, Amber.’

She could almost hear him say it—low, amused, commanding.

Her cunt clenched around her fingers. The coil snapped.

Her fingers drove deeper—three now, stretching, pumping, the heel of her palm grinding against her clit with every thrust. The pressure coiled tighter, vicious, unbearable. She fucked herself harder, hips snapping up to meet each plunge, chasing the edge Delilah had shattered on.