Husband's Blessing: Her Ex Fills Her at His Wedding

I still get wet just thinking about my wedding day, the way the California sun poured gold over those vineyard rows while I stood there in my white lace gown feeling like the naughtiest bride who ever said “I do.” I was twenty-eight, barefoot in the soft grass because the heels were killing me, the dress clinging to every curve Mark loved to grab—low-cut bodice pushing my tits up high, skirt slit high enough on one thigh that Jake’s eyes had locked onto the flash of skin the second he saw me. Mark had invited him on purpose. My husband, my devoted, filthy-minded husband, had pulled me into his lap the week before and whispered that he wanted my tall, muscular ex at our intimate little ceremony, wanted to watch those hungry green eyes devour me while I became Mrs. Mark Harlan. We’d been a committed hotwife couple for two years already; this was just the ultimate gift he was giving us both.

Jake looked even better than the last time I’d fucked him—broader shoulders stretching the charcoal suit, that same thick dark hair I used to fist, the lazy half-smile that always meant he was imagining me on my knees. Every time his gaze dragged over me during the vows I felt my nipples tighten against the lace. Mark noticed. Of course he noticed. His hand squeezed mine a little too hard, and when the officiant pronounced us husband and wife Mark kissed me like he was already hard, tongue sliding deep while Jake watched from the front row. I tasted champagne and pure filthy promise on my new husband’s mouth.

The reception was small, just forty people under string lights strung between the old oak trees, long tables heavy with wine and roasted lamb. I floated between congratulations, the gown whispering against my bare legs, and every time I glanced over Jake was there, leaning against a barrel with a glass of red, staring at the way the lace cupped my ass. Mark stayed close, one possessive hand on the small of my back, occasionally sliding lower to give me a secret squeeze that made me jump. My cunt was already slick; I could feel the thin silk thong sticking to me.

Halfway through the first dance Mark spun me off the little wooden platform and into the shadow of the tasting room. He backed me against the cool stone wall, both hands framing my face, and kissed me so deep I moaned into him. His cock was a thick ridge against my hip.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he growled against my lips. “And Jake hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night. I want you to have him, baby. If you want him, slip away. Fuck him. Let him fill that pretty married pussy while I think about it. Text me when it happens. I need to know.” His thumb stroked my bottom lip. “Go be my dirty hotwife bride. I’ve been hard since he walked in.”

I kissed him back harder, grinding against that bulge, already breathless. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything. He’s yours tonight if you want him. I want the story later. Every detail.”

He gave my ass one firm smack that stung deliciously through the lace, then released me with a wicked grin and headed back toward the guests like nothing had happened. My heart was hammering. I found Jake near the dessert table, pretending to study the chocolate tarts while his eyes tracked the sway of my hips.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Harlan,” he said, voice low and rough. The way he said my new name made my clit throb. “You look… illegal in that dress.”

“Mark invited you for a reason,” I answered, stepping close enough that the front of my gown brushed his jacket. Up close I could smell his cologne mixed with clean sweat and the wine on his breath. “He’s been watching you watch me. He likes it.”

Jake’s nostrils flared. “Does he.” It wasn’t a question. His hand settled lightly on my waist, thumb stroking the lace right above the high slit. Heat flooded straight between my legs. “I’ve been hard since you walked down that aisle, Sophie. Still can’t believe you’re actually married and your husband is the one dangling you in front of me.”