Vanessa's Stepmom Wedding Betrayal

The string quartet had faded into a warm blur of laughter and clinking glasses by the time Vanessa felt the first real stirrings of trouble. She stood near the edge of the opulent reception hall in her emerald silk gown, the fabric clinging to her full breasts and the generous curve of her hips. At forty-two, she still turned heads, even if the only head that mattered lately was attached to a seventy-one-year-old man who could barely keep his eyes open after two glasses of champagne.

Richard, her husband, was already three sheets to the wind in a velvet wingback chair, laughing too loudly at something the father of the groom had said. Across the dance floor, Emily—her stepdaughter—twirled in white lace, radiant and oblivious, wrapped in the arms of her new husband, Michael. The wedding had been flawless. Expensive. Tasteful.

And Vanessa was quietly dying inside.

It had been fourteen months since Richard had last managed to get hard enough to fuck her. Fourteen months of polite kisses on the forehead, of vibrators used in silence while he snored beside her, of a body that still ached to be used like a woman instead of a decoration.

She was nursing a glass of pinot when the trouble walked up behind her.

Derek.

Twenty-eight, broad-shouldered, with a cocky smile that should have come with a warning label. The groom’s best man. He’d been staring at her since the rehearsal dinner two nights ago, his gaze lingering on the swell of her cleavage, the way her ass filled out her rehearsal dress. Now he leaned in close enough that she could smell his cologne—something dark, woody, and expensive.

“You look like a woman who hasn’t been properly fucked in years,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, voice low enough that only she could hear.

Vanessa’s breath caught. She should have slapped him. Instead, heat flooded between her thighs so fast she had to press her legs together.

“You’re bold,” she whispered, not turning around.

“I’m honest.” His fingers brushed the bare skin of her lower back, just above the line of her dress. “I’ve been hard since I watched you walk down the aisle at rehearsal. That tight little stepmother ass swaying in front of me. I’ve wanted to ruin you ever since.”

Her nipples tightened against the silk. She took a shaky sip of wine.