The Bride's Best Friend's Filthy Wedding Weekend Craving

The Caribbean sun had finally slipped below the horizon, leaving the resort glowing with strings of golden lights and the distant crash of waves. Lauren, radiant in her ivory silk rehearsal dress, was laughing at something her perfect groom, Michael, whispered in her ear. The two of them were the center of everything, as they should be. Tara stood a few feet away in her emerald bridesmaid gown, champagne flute in hand, trying to ignore the heavy, knowing stare burning into the side of her neck.

Jake.

Lauren’s stepbrother. Thirty-two. Recently divorced. Ex-Marine. Built like a man who could throw her over his shoulder and fuck her senseless without breaking stride. He’d always looked at Tara like he already owned her. For years she had told herself it was just harmless tension. A filthy little fantasy she rubbed out to in the dark when no one was around. But this weekend the fantasy had teeth.

He was standing too close again, pretending to listen to one of the groomsmen while his dark eyes dragged slowly down the curve of her neck, over the swell of her tits pushed up by the structured bodice, and lower. Every time their eyes met he gave her that crooked, arrogant smirk that said he knew exactly how wet her panties already were.

“You look like you need to be bent over something heavy, Tara,” he murmured when he drifted past her on the way to the bar, low enough that only she could hear. His breath brushed her ear. “Been thinking about that tight little cunt of yours since the moment you stepped off the plane. Bet you’re soaked right now, aren’t you?”

Tara’s thighs clenched. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Lauren was ten feet away hugging her mother. But her silence only made Jake chuckle, dark and low, as he kept walking.

The tension coiled tighter with every passing hour. During the rehearsal he stood directly behind her in the line, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. When they practiced the processional, his fingers brushed the small of her back, then slid lower, grazing the top of her ass through the thin fabric. She had to bite her lip to keep from gasping.

By the time the rehearsal dinner began, Tara’s nerves were raw. Three tequila shots at the open bar didn’t help. They only loosened the last frayed threads of her self-control.

She was coming out of the ladies’ room when a large hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her sideways into a dimly lit service hallway lined with potted palms. The door clicked shut behind them. Jake’s massive frame crowded her against the wall before she could protest.

“Been watching you all night,” he growled, voice rough as gravel. One thick thigh shoved between hers, forcing her legs apart. “Every time you cross those pretty legs I keep imagining my cock splitting them open. You’ve been dripping for me for years, haven’t you, Tara? While my stepsister stands up there in white pretending she’s pure.”