The Wedding Planner's Forbidden Client Seduction

The candlelight flickered across the long mahogany table in Marcus Steele’s private dining room, casting golden shadows over crystal glasses and silver platters. Elena Voss adjusted the strap of her sleek black pencil skirt and tried to ignore the way her pulse hammered against her throat. At twenty-eight, she had planned fifty-three weddings for the obscenely wealthy, but none of her clients had ever looked at her like this.

Marcus Steele, thirty-two, billionaire founder of Steele Dynamics, leaned back in his chair with the lazy confidence of a man who owned half the city. His fiancée was conspicuously absent—again. He hadn’t bothered apologizing for it. Instead, his dark eyes dragged slowly down Elena’s body, lingering on the deep V of her cream silk blouse where her breasts pressed together, then lower, to the way the tight skirt hugged the curve of her ass and the long line of her legs.

“You always dress like you’re trying to get fucked by someone who isn’t your client?” he asked, voice low and rough.

Elena’s lips curved into a sharp, dangerous smile. She refused to blush. “You always stare at your wedding planner like you want to bend her over the nearest surface instead of choosing centerpieces?”

Marcus’s grin was pure sin. “Every single time she walks in looking like that.”

The air between them crackled. Neither of them mentioned the absent bride again.

Three days later, the tension had only grown thicker.

The venue walk-through was scheduled for ten p.m. because Marcus claimed his calendar was “fucking impossible” during daylight hours. Elena met him at the empty marble-and-glass event hall perched on the cliffs, the ocean roaring below. She wore the same pencil skirt, this time paired with a tighter blouse and heels that clicked authoritatively across the polished floors. She told herself it was professional. She was lying.

Marcus was waiting in the grand ballroom, jacket discarded, shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms. The moment the heavy doors closed behind her, he stalked forward.

“You’ve been wet for me since the tasting, haven’t you?” he growled, backing her against a massive marble column. His palm landed beside her head with a soft thud. “Walking around my house in that tight little skirt, pretending to be all crisp and professional while your cunt soaked your panties every time I looked at you.”

Elena’s breath hitched. She should have pushed him away. Instead she tilted her chin up, eyes flashing. “And you’ve been hard for days thinking about ruining the woman planning your wedding. That makes you a filthy bastard, Mr. Steele.”

His hand slid into her perfectly pinned hair and tightened. “Say it again.”

“Filthy. Fucking. Bastard.”

Marcus groaned and crushed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was brutal, hungry, all teeth and tongue. Elena moaned into it, fingers already working at his belt like she’d been dying to do it for days. The second his cock sprang free—thick, heavy, veins pulsing along the rigid shaft—she dropped to her knees on the cold marble without being told.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, fisting her hair tighter. “On your knees for a man who’s supposed to marry someone else. So goddamn eager.”

Elena didn’t answer with words. She answered by sucking the fat head of his cock between her lips, swirling her tongue around the slick crown before sinking down as far as she could take him. The obscene, wet sound of her mouth working him filled the empty ballroom. She sucked sloppily, desperately, hollowing her cheeks and bobbing her head while her hand stroked what she couldn’t swallow. Spit dripped down her chin onto the tops of her breasts.

Marcus’s hips jerked. “That’s it. Choke on it, Elena. This is what that sharp tongue was made for—sucking billionaire cock behind my fiancée’s back.” He thrust deeper, hitting the back of her throat. “I’m going to ruin this pretty professional pussy tonight. I’m going to bend you over that grand piano and fuck you until you can’t walk in those expensive heels. You’re going to feel me for days every time you sit down to plan my goddamn wedding.”

Elena whimpered around his thickness, pussy clenching hard at his filthy promises. Her free hand shoved between her thighs, rubbing her soaked panties through her skirt.

Marcus noticed. “Don’t you dare come yet. That orgasm belongs to my cock. Now open that throat like a good little wedding whore.”

She did, relaxing her jaw, letting him fuck her face with short, rough strokes until her mascara ran and her lips were swollen and shiny with spit. When he finally pulled out, she gasped for air, strings of saliva connecting her tongue to the glistening head of his dick.

“Up,” he ordered.

He spun her around and marched her across the ballroom. The grand piano gleamed under the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. Marcus bent her over it without ceremony, yanking her tight skirt up over her hips. The cool air kissed her soaked thong and the backs of her thighs.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, running two thick fingers along the drenched fabric. “You’re fucking dripping. All this cream for a man you shouldn’t be touching.”

“Then touch me,” she hissed, pushing her ass back against him. “Stop talking and fuck me, Marcus.”

He ripped the thong down her legs in one violent tug. The fat head of his cock nudged her entrance, spreading her slick folds. Then he drove in—hard.

Elena cried out as he stretched her open in one long, punishing thrust. He was huge, thick enough that the burn was exquisite. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a brutal rhythm that made her tits bounce inside her blouse and her hips slam against the glossy wood of the piano.

“Fuck—yes—harder,” she moaned, sounding exactly like the whore he’d called her. “God, your cock is so deep. Ruin me. Ruin this married-man pussy.”

Marcus snarled, one hand fisting her hair again while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. The sound of his heavy balls slapping her clit filled the room alongside her desperate cries.

“You like that? Like getting fucked by your client like a cheap slut?” He leaned over her, teeth grazing her ear. “Every time you send me flower arrangements and seating charts, you’re going to remember how you sounded screaming for my cum.”

He pulled out suddenly, spun her around, and lifted her onto the piano. Her ass hit the polished surface with a slap. Marcus shoved her legs wide, heels still on, and drove back inside her in a single thrust. The new angle had her seeing stars.

Elena’s head fell back, mouth open in a constant moan as he pounded her. His hand came up to wrap lightly around her throat—not choking, just holding, possessing. His thumb pressed under her jaw, tilting her face so she had to look at him.

“Beg me to fill you,” he demanded, voice ragged. “Tell me where you want my load.”

“Inside me,” she gasped, legs shaking around his hips. “Cum inside my pussy, Marcus. Flood me. I want to feel it leaking out of me while I plan your fucking reception.”

His thrusts grew erratic, savage. The piano creaked beneath them. Elena’s walls fluttered and clenched, orgasm rushing up on her like a freight train.

“I’m gonna come—fuck—I’m coming on your cock—”

“Do it,” he growled, tightening his grip just enough. “Come like the dirty wedding planner you are.”

She shattered. Her pussy clamped down around him in powerful spasms, juices squirting out around his pistoning shaft and soaking the front of his trousers. Elena screamed, nails raking down his arms, body bowing violently.

Marcus followed right behind her. With a guttural roar he buried himself to the hilt and erupted. Thick, hot ropes of cum pulsed deep inside her, painting her walls, filling her until she could feel it overflowing. He kept grinding through it, forcing every drop as deep as possible while she milked him dry.

For a long minute the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant crash of waves outside.

Marcus stayed buried inside her, forehead pressed to hers. Elena’s legs trembled around his waist. She could already feel his cum starting to leak out around his softening cock.

Finally he pulled out with a wet sound. A thick glob of his seed dripped from her stretched hole onto the lacquered piano top. Elena looked down at the mess, then up at him, and smirked with pure filthy satisfaction.

“I expect every planning session from now on to be private,” she said, voice husky. “No assistants. No fiancée. Just you, me, and whatever surface you want to fuck me on.”

Marcus’s eyes darkened with fresh hunger. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her into a slow, possessive kiss that promised all kinds of depraved things. When he broke it, his lips brushed hers.

“Every meeting,” he swore, voice rough. “I’m going to bend you over, fill you up, and send you home dripping with my cum until the day I say ‘I do.’ And even then—”

The heavy ballroom doors suddenly burst open with a violent bang.

They both froze.

Elena’s ruined dress was still rucked up around her waist, cum sliding down her inner thighs. Marcus’s cock was still half-hard and glistening with their combined juices.

Standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, was Marcus’s very real, very present fiancée.

To be continued...