Groom's Brother Fucks Bride's Mother

The upstairs sitting room smelled of lemon oil and the roses someone had left in a glass on the mantel. An hour still sat between them and the ceremony, and the house below was all footsteps and low voices that never quite climbed the stairs. Yvonne stood at the tall window in champagne silk, forty-eight, the mother of the bride, dark hair pinned so that one soft strand touched the nape of her neck. She had come up to fix a clasp. She had not expected the door.

Reid shut it behind him, careful, the click small in the quiet. Twenty-nine, the groom's brother, he wore a charcoal suit cut close across his shoulders and a look he had been failing to hide since morning. A year of it. Glances held a beat too long across dinner tables. Fingers that stayed on a glass, an elbow, the small of a wrist, after the excuse for touching had already ended. Nothing named. All of it felt.

"They're still fussing with the flowers," he said. His voice came out lower than he meant. "You've got time."

She turned. Silk shifted over her hips. "So do you."

He stayed near the door. She stayed in the light. The air between them felt narrower than the room.

"I've been trying not to look at you," Reid said. "All morning. I'm losing."

Heat moved up her throat. Her mouth curved, not quite a smile. "Then stop. I've been doing the same since last spring. I'm tired of pretending I don't notice when you stand too close."

He took a step. The carpet took the sound.

"I want you," he said. No joke under it. "Right now. Before any of this starts. I've wanted you every time we were in the same room, and I never said it because I thought you'd shut me out."

Her breath left her short. She set the clasp on the sill. "I wouldn't have. The night you walked me to my car and didn't kiss me, I went home and couldn't sleep. I still want you. Here. Before I have to go downstairs and smile like my skin isn't on fire."

The want sat between them, thick and finally spoken. Reid's pulse knocked in his throat. Yvonne's fingers trembled once against the silk at her hip and went still. Neither of them had moved to close the last of the distance, and the room seemed to lean in, waiting.

Reid crossed it.

He stopped close enough that she could smell his cologne under the starch of his shirt, close enough that the front of his suit brushed the silk over her stomach. His eyes dropped, open about it, to the curve of her ass under the dress.

"That," he said, rough. "I've thought about that more than I should. The way it moves when you walk. The way this dress is holding it. You have the kind of ass a man ruins a whole afternoon staring at."

Yvonne's lips parted. A flush climbed from the neckline. "Reid."

"I'm not taking it back." His hand found her waist, warm through the silk, and slid lower, over the swell of her hip, until his palm cupped her. He squeezed, slow, testing, and she made a small sound she didn't try to hide. "Soft. Heavy. Perfect. I want my hands on it while I fuck you."

"Then put them there," she said.

He gathered the skirt in his fist and drew it up, inch by inch, until cool air touched the backs of her thighs. His hand went under the dress, over the bare skin above her stockings, and found the thin lace of her panties. He palmed her ass properly then, skin to skin where the lace didn't cover, fingers spreading, thumb stroking the crease. Yvonne's eyes half closed. She pressed back into his hand, rolling her hips so the fullness of her filled his palm.

"God," she whispered. "Yes. Like that."

"You're already warm." He slipped two fingers under the lace and dragged them along the cleft, not quite between, just promising. "Tell me what you need before I lose what's left of my manners."

She turned her face toward his, close enough that her breath touched his mouth. "I need to feel you inside me before the wedding. I need your cock. I don't want to walk out of this room still empty. I've been wet thinking about you since I put this dress on, and if you don't fuck me I'm going to spend the whole ceremony clenching around nothing."

Reid groaned. His free hand caught the zipper at her back and drew it down. She shoved his jacket off his shoulders. They worked at each other in a rush that knocked the rose glass an inch across the mantel—his belt, her straps, his shirt buttons giving under her nails, the silk peeled down her arms and over her hips until it pooled at her heels. She stood in a nude lace bra, matching panties, and stockings with a pale seam. He was down to his trousers, undone, the thick line of his cock straining the fabric. She pushed the trousers and briefs down together. He sprang free, heavy, flushed, already wet at the tip. Her hand closed around him and he hissed.

"Chaise," she said, voice shaking with how badly she wanted it. "Now."

He walked her backward, mouth on her throat, bra unhooked and gone, panties dragged down her thighs and off one heel. She was bare for him, full breasts, soft stomach, the dark thatch between her legs already slick. The velvet chaise waited against the far wall, deep green, wide enough. He turned her by the hips, gentle and sure, and bent her over the rolled arm. Yvonne went willingly, breasts swaying, palms braced on the cushion, ass lifted and offered. She looked back over her shoulder, eyes dark, and spread her feet.

"Eat me," she said. "Then put it in. I want all of it. I'm saying yes. I'm saying please."

Reid dropped to his knees behind her. He spread her with both hands and groaned at the sight—her pussy swollen and shining, her ass a lush, pale curve above it, the tight rose of her hole just visible. He leaned in and licked her from clit to entrance in one slow, filthy stroke. Yvonne's knees softened. He did it again, flatter, hungrier, then sealed his mouth over her and sucked. She tasted sweet and salty and urgent. He worked his tongue inside her, fucking her with it, nose pressed to her, one hand reaching under to circle her clit while the other kept her open. Wet sounds filled the quiet room. She rocked back onto his face, panting.

"Reid—oh, that's—don't stop, don't you dare stop."

He didn't. He licked her until her thighs shook, until she was dripping down his chin, and then he dragged his tongue higher, over the sensitive skin between, and laid it flat against her ass. Yvonne jolted and moaned, high and broken. He circled the tight ring, slow, patient, getting her wet there, pressing the tip of his tongue until she opened a little and let him in. She pushed back, shameless, one hand flying back to hold herself wider for his mouth.

"Yes. There. Oh God, your tongue in my ass—Reid, I'm going to—please, I need your cock, I need you to fuck me, I'm begging, I'm begging you—"

He rose, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist, cock so hard it ached. He lined himself up and sank into her pussy in one long, thick push. She was drenched, hot, gripping him in pulses. Both of them cursed. He held her hips and started to fuck her hard from behind, the chaise creaking, her ass rippling with every slap of his body against it. The wet sound of her pussy taking him was obscene in the pretty room. He reached under and rubbed her clit in rough circles while he pounded her, and she met every stroke, pushing back, taking him to the root.

"So tight," he gritted. "So fucking wet for me. This pussy's been waiting all year."

"It has—harder—use me, I want to feel it tomorrow—"

He gave it to her, deep and relentless, until she was sobbing pleasure into the velvet and her climax started to coil. Then he pulled out, shiny with her, and pressed the broad head of his cock to her ass.

"Breathe," he said, voice wrecked. "I want this. Tell me you want it."

"I want it," Yvonne said, immediate, fierce. She reached back with both hands and spread her cheeks wide, opening herself, offering the tight pink hole he'd just worshiped. "Put that thick cock in my ass. Slowly, then don't be gentle. I need you deep. Fill me before we have to go downstairs."

He pushed. She bore down, panting, and the head popped past the ring. They both groaned. He sank in by inches, long and careful and then less careful, her own slick easing the way, until his hips met the plush of her ass and he was buried to the hilt in heat so tight it stole his breath. He held there, throbbing, letting her adjust. She trembled under him, full, stretched, glorious.

"Move," she begged. "Fuck my ass. I can take it. I want to take it."

He drew back almost to the tip and drove in again, a long, powerful stroke that seated him deep. Then another. Then a rhythm, slow at first, deep enough that she felt every inch, then harder, the chaise knocking softly against the wall. Her hands stayed on her cheeks, spreading herself wider so he could watch his cock disappear into her, so he could go deeper. She moaned filthy encouragement over her shoulder, voice breaking on every thrust.

"Yes—just like that—deeper, Reid, pound my ass—God, you're so thick, you're stretching me open—don't pull out, stay in me, fuck me, I love it, I love your cock in my ass—"

"You feel incredible," he panted, hands bruising-sweet on her hips, stroking into her in long, claiming drives. "Tight little hole taking every inch. Look at you, holding yourself open for me. I'm going to come in this ass. I'm going to fill you up."

"Do it. Come in my ass. I want to feel it. I'm close—keep going, right there, oh—oh—"

He fucked her through it, powerful and deep, the wet slap of his body against her ass filling the room, her pussy dripping onto the velvet beneath them, untouched now and clenching anyway. She came first, a hard, shaking climax that locked around his cock and tore a cry out of her, thighs quaking, fingers digging into her own flesh as she spread herself and took him. The grip of her ass dragged him over with her. He buried himself to the base and came in thick pulses, groaning her name, flooding her ass with heat while she shuddered and milked him, both of them loud and wrecked and utterly gone.

They stayed locked together until the aftershocks eased. He eased out slowly. She whimpered at the loss, then turned, flushed and shining, and dropped to her knees on the carpet between his feet. His cock was still half-hard, slick with her and with his own cum. Yvonne looked up at him, eyes soft and wicked, and took him into her mouth. She cleaned him lovingly, tongue tracing every ridge, licking him from base to tip, sucking gently until he was clean and twitching, the taste of both of them on her tongue. She kissed the head once, tender, and let him go.

Reid drew her up. They kissed, deep and slow, satisfied, her bare body against his, his hands spread over the ass he had just filled. No one downstairs could know. The closed door, the hour, the silk waiting on the floor—all of it would stay theirs, a delicious secret folded under the ceremony and the smiles.

"Get dressed," she murmured against his mouth, already reaching for her panties. "Walk me down in five minutes like we only talked about the toast."

He nodded, but his hand lingered on her hip, and the look in his eyes was already somewhere past the vows. "Tonight," he said, quiet, certain. "After they leave for the hotel. Your room. I'm not done with this ass, and I'm not done with that pussy. Leave the door unlocked."

Yvonne smiled, fastening her bra, the plan already bright behind her eyes—how she would sit through the ceremony with him still leaking out of her, how she would catch his glance over the cake and know exactly where his hands would be before midnight. "Unlocked," she said. "And I'll be bent over the dresser when you come in. Don't knock."