Emily's Wedding Night Father-In-Law Creampie

The reception was in full swing, crystal chandeliers casting golden light across the ballroom while laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. Emily stood alone near the edge of the dance floor in her exquisite white wedding gown, the delicate lace hugging her slender 22-year-old body like a second skin. Her new husband, Derek, was already three whiskeys deep, roaring with his college buddies at the open bar, completely oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t danced with his bride once.

She sipped her champagne, cheeks warm, a strange mix of disappointment and restless heat twisting low in her belly.

A large hand brushed the small of her back.

“You look like a man who doesn’t know what he has,” a deep, smoky voice murmured behind her.

Emily turned. Victor towered over her, six-foot-three of solid muscle wrapped in a tailored black tuxedo. Silver threaded his dark hair at the temples, and his sharp green eyes burned with something far from fatherly. At forty-eight, the divorced silver fox looked like he could still bench-press twice her weight without breaking a sweat.

“Victor…” she breathed, pulse jumping.

He stepped closer, guiding her with that possessive hand until they slipped into a dimly lit service hallway just off the main ballroom. The noise of the party became a distant hum. He backed her against the wall, one thick forearm braced beside her head, caging her in.

“I’ve been obsessed with this tight little body since the day Derek brought you home,” he growled, voice low and filthy. “Every time you wore those tiny shorts around the house, every time you bent over in the kitchen… I jerked my cock raw thinking about ruining you. My son doesn’t deserve this perfect young cunt. He never did.”

Emily’s breath hitched. The crude confession should have shocked her. Instead, her nipples tightened against the silk lining of her bodice and a sudden gush of wetness flooded her lace panties.