Her Husband's Best Man Return ONLY the title, nothing else.

Her Husband's Best Man

Sarah smoothed the silk of her deep emerald dress over her thighs for the tenth time, trying to ignore the heat already building low in her belly. The wedding reception was loud, the dance floor packed with drunk guests, and she was trapped at the head table between her husband Mike and the one man she had spent the last six years pretending she didn’t want.

Derek.

Mike’s best friend since college looked unfairly good in his tailored charcoal suit. The jacket stretched across broad shoulders, and the open collar of his white shirt revealed a tantalizing slice of tanned skin and dark chest hair. His sharp jaw was shadowed with stubble, and those stormy gray eyes kept sliding to her with open, shameless interest.

Mike, on the other hand, was already three sheets to the wind. He laughed too loud at his own jokes, sloshed whiskey over the tablecloth, and kept trying to stand up to make yet another incoherent toast. Each time he did, his thigh knocked clumsily into hers. Each time he slumped back down, Derek’s solid thigh pressed deliberately against her other leg and stayed there.

The contact was electric. Every slow brush sent sparks racing straight to her clit.

“You look like you need a real drink,” Derek murmured, low enough that only she could hear. His voice was rough velvet. “Mike’s not going to be any use to you tonight, is he?”

Sarah’s breath caught. She kept her eyes on the centerpiece of white roses while her pulse hammered. “He’s celebrating his best friend’s wedding. Let him have fun.”

“Uh-huh.” Derek’s fingers brushed the back of her hand as he reached for the bottle of red. “And who’s going to take care of you while he’s celebrating?”

The question hung between them, filthy with implication. Sarah’s nipples tightened against the lace of her bra. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The way her thighs instinctively parted a fraction under the tablecloth said everything.

Mike finally gave up pretending to be conscious. Two groomsmen half-carried him out of the ballroom toward the elevator bank and their hotel room on the fourth floor. Sarah followed long enough to watch them dump her snoring husband onto the king bed, shoes still on. She pulled the door shut behind her, heart racing, and walked straight back to the reception bar instead of staying with him.

Derek was already there.

He leaned against the polished wood in his shirtsleeves now, vest discarded, looking like sin incarnate. Two fresh whiskeys sat in front of him. When he saw her, his mouth curved into a slow, predatory smile that made her pussy clench.

“Took you long enough,” he said, sliding one glass toward her. “Thought maybe you’d tucked your husband in and played the good little wife.”

Sarah took the whiskey and tossed back half of it in one burning swallow. Liquid courage flared through her veins. “I’m tired of being the good little wife.”

Derek’s eyes darkened. He stepped closer, crowding her against the bar so that the hard line of his body brushed her breasts. “Good. Because I’ve been dying to fuck you since the day Mike brought you home. Six fucking years, Sarah. I’ve jerked off thinking about this tight married pussy more times than I can count.”

The raw confession punched the air from her lungs. She should have been shocked. Instead her clit throbbed so hard she had to press her thighs together.

Derek noticed. Of course he did.

His big hand disappeared under the hem of her dress without hesitation, sliding up her smooth thigh until his fingers met the soaked crotch of her lace panties. He groaned softly. “Jesus Christ. You’re dripping for me already.”

Sarah’s head fell back against the bar edge. A helpless whimper escaped her. “Derek…”

“Say it,” he growled, stroking her swollen lips through the fabric. “Tell me you want my cock.”

“I want it.” The words tumbled out, shaky and desperate. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

He didn’t ask twice.

Derek grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the bar, through a dimly lit service hallway that led to a shadowed alcove behind a heavy velvet curtain. The moment they were hidden, he spun her around and slammed her back against the wall. His mouth crashed down on hers—hot, demanding, years of pent-up hunger finally unleashed.

Sarah moaned into the kiss, fingers fisting in his shirt as his tongue invaded her mouth. He tasted like whiskey and pure male. His hands were everywhere—yanking the straps of her dress down so he could palm her bare breasts, pinching her nipples until she cried out.

“These tits have been teasing me in every sundress you’ve ever worn,” he rasped, biting the side of her neck. “Now they’re mine tonight.”

He dropped to his knees, shoved her dress up to her waist, and ripped her soaked panties down her legs. Before she could draw breath he buried his face between her thighs, licking broad stripes up her dripping slit before sucking hard on her clit.

Sarah’s legs shook. She grabbed his hair with both hands, grinding against his talented tongue as he fucked her with it, two thick fingers curling inside her and stroking that perfect spot until she came with a choked scream, flooding his mouth.

Derek rose, wiping her juices from his chin with the back of his hand, eyes feral. He freed his cock in one rough motion. Sarah’s mouth went dry. He was thick, long, veined, the head already glistening with pre-cum. Bigger than Mike. Much bigger.

He lifted her left leg, hooked it over his hip, and yanked her panties fully aside. The fat head of his cock nudged her entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Their eyes locked. In one powerful thrust he buried every inch inside her.

Sarah’s mouth opened in a silent scream. The stretch was exquisite, almost too much. Derek didn’t give her time to adjust. He started pounding her against the wall in deep, brutal strokes, the wet slap of flesh echoing obscenely in the alcove.

“Fuck—yes—harder,” she begged, nails raking down his back.

He gave it to her. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock so deep she felt him in her stomach. The angle dragged his thick shaft over her g-spot with every thrust. She could hear how wet she was, obscene squelching sounds as he railed her.

Suddenly he pulled out, spun her around, and bent her forward. Sarah braced her hands on the wall as he kicked her legs wider. He slammed back in from behind, one hand fisting her hair, the other wrapping lightly around her throat.

“That’s it,” he growled against her ear. “Take this dick like the neglected little slut you are. Your husband’s passed out upstairs while I’m balls-deep in his wife’s cunt.”

The dirty words sent her spiraling. Sarah came again, pussy clamping down around him so hard he cursed. Derek fucked her through it, hips stuttering, then pulled out and dragged her toward a low padded bench against the opposite wall.

He sat down, cock jutting up like a weapon, shiny with her cream. “Ride me. Reverse. I want to watch that perfect ass bounce.”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. She turned, straddled him, and sank down onto his cock in one slick glide. The new angle made her eyes roll back. She braced her hands on his thick thighs and started riding him hard—rolling her hips, grinding her clit against his balls on every downstroke.

Derek’s hands were everywhere. He slapped her ass sharply, the sting blooming into heat. “Goddamn, Sarah. Your pussy’s so much tighter than I imagined. Gripping me like it never wants to let go. This married cunt was made for me.”

She rode him faster, ass slapping against his lap, tits bouncing freely now that her dress was bunched around her waist. Derek reached around and rubbed her clit in tight circles, choking out filthy praise until she shattered again, screaming his name.

The clench of her orgasm dragged him over with her. Derek roared, hips bucking up violently as he pumped rope after thick rope of hot cum deep inside her spasming pussy. They came together in a raw, violent frenzy, grinding and shaking until every drop was drained.

For a long minute the only sound was their ragged breathing.

Eventually Derek lifted her off his softening cock. A thick trickle of his cum immediately ran down the inside of her thigh. He watched it with dark satisfaction, then helped her straighten her dress and smooth her hair. They didn’t speak as they slipped back into the reception separately, wearing the guilty, glowing expressions of people who had just thoroughly ruined each other.

Sarah found Mike still snoring where she’d left him. She shook his shoulder until he groggily woke, blinking at her with bleary confusion.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered sweetly, guiding his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed.”

As they staggered down the hall toward the elevator, Sarah felt another warm rush of Derek’s cum leak out of her well-fucked pussy and slide down to soak into the lace tops of her stockings. Her clit still throbbed. Her thighs were sticky. She bit her lip to hide her smile.

When they reached their room and she eased Mike back onto the bed, she glanced at her phone. A new text waited from an unknown number—Derek must have slipped it into her clutch.

The message was simple.

When can I have you again?