Maid of Honor Takes the Groom's Creampie

I’m Emily, and I’ve carried this secret for eight years.

The reception was still in full swing downstairs, the string quartet sliding into another slow song while laughter floated up through the open windows of the bridal suite. I should have been down there with Sarah—my best friend since we were six—making sure her veil stayed perfect and her champagne glass stayed full. Instead I was alone in the dimly lit room that smelled of white roses and warm candle wax, trying to fix a smudge in my smoky eye makeup with shaking fingers.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Jake.

His presence filled the space like it always had, that quiet, commanding energy that used to make my teenage heart hammer against my ribs. Tonight he wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, the crisp white shirt open at the throat, and the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker—wrapped around me before he even spoke.

“Sarah’s dancing with her dad,” he said, voice low. “She won’t miss us for a while.”

I swallowed, gripping the edge of the vanity. “Jake, don’t.”

He stepped closer anyway, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body against my bare back. The bridesmaid dress was a soft rose silk that clung to every curve, the neckline low enough that I knew he could see the rapid rise and fall of my breasts.

“You look fucking sinful in that dress, Em. Always did.”

My eyes met his in the mirror. Those same green eyes that had looked down at me the night he took my virginity in the back of his parents’ SUV after homecoming. He’d been gentle then. Careful. Seventeen and trembling just as hard as I was.

Now he looked like a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and that it wasn’t the woman laughing downstairs in the white gown.

“I still jerk off thinking about you,” he confessed, voice rough. “Even when I’m inside her. Especially when I’m inside her. You were always tighter, Emily. Wetter. The way your pussy used to grip me like it never wanted to let go…” He let out a shaky breath against my ear. “I bet you still do.”

The words slid straight between my legs. I hated how instantly I grew slick.

“Stop it,” I whispered, but my voice cracked. “She’s my best friend. This is her wedding night.”

“And I’m her husband.” His hands settled on my hips, possessive. “I’m also the guy who knows exactly how you sound when you come. I made that bet with myself the second I saw you walking down the aisle in that dress. I bet you can’t walk out of this room without letting me fuck you first.”