Marcus Cheats With His Stepsister

I stood at the edge of the crowded ballroom in my tailored black tux, the heavy gold band on my left ring finger still feeling foreign against my skin. Three hours ago I had said “I do” to Emily, my sweet, gentle bride who blushed at the mere suggestion of anything beyond missionary with the lights off. The reception was in full swing—laughter, clinking glasses, the soft swell of the string quartet—but my eyes kept drifting across the room to her.

Chloe.

My new stepsister. Twenty-two, all sun-kissed skin and wicked green eyes, poured into that dangerously tight bridesmaid dress the color of crushed raspberries. The slit ran so high up her left thigh that every step threatened to reveal the lace tops of her stockings. She had been flirting with me for months—since the first time we were introduced at Emily’s father’s house. Lingering hugs, teasing texts, the way she’d bite her lower lip when our gazes locked over Sunday dinner. Tonight that tension felt like a live wire.

Emily was currently surrounded by aunts and cousins near the cake table, laughing in that soft, reserved way of hers. She hadn’t noticed me watching Chloe. She never did.

I knocked back the last of my third whiskey and set the glass on a passing tray. The burn helped dull the guilt but sharpened everything else. When I looked up again, Chloe was weaving through the crowd straight toward me, that slit flashing a dangerous length of smooth thigh with every stride.

She stopped beside me at the bar, close enough that her perfume—something dark and expensive—wrapped around me like smoke. Her shoulder brushed mine as she ordered a vodka soda.

“Third whiskey already, Marcus?” she murmured without looking at me, her voice low and intimate beneath the music. “Nervous on your wedding night? Or just thirsty for something you’re not supposed to have?”

My cock twitched against the front of my tuxedo pants. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The words would have come out too rough.

Chloe turned, leaning one hip against the bar so the slit in her dress parted again. Her fingers grazed my wrist, then slid lower, hidden by the overhang of the linen tablecloth. She cupped the growing bulge of my cock boldly, giving it a slow, teasing squeeze.

“I’ve been wet since I watched you say your vows,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Thinking about how that big dick is going to be wasted on my stepsister’s boring little pussy for the rest of your life. I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day we met, Marcus. This is my last chance before you officially belong to her forever.”