Sin Before Vows

EMILY

Three hours earlier

“Girl, you should dump him,” Alexia muttered, swirling her wine glass with a frown.

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. “Dump him? That’s not happening. He literally funds my lifestyle and you know I wouldn’t let that opportunity go.”

“I don’t think it’s worth it, if you ask me,” she added almost immediately, her voice laced with disapproval.

“I would have listened to you if you had suggested this months ago, not three days before my wedding.”

“Girl, you were madly in love back then. Nothing would have changed your mind.”

“Yeah, yeah, you win.” I sipped my wine, the rich red liquid warming my throat but doing little to ease the restless heat building inside me.

For someone who had always dreamed of a wild bachelorette party, I felt strangely detached. The music pulsed around us, laughter echoed from nearby tables, yet my mind kept drifting to darker, more forbidden thoughts, being thrown into different positions, drunk and overwhelmed until I couldn’t think straight.

Alexia was right. I was starving. Moments like this always dragged my thoughts back to Xavier.

“I invited Xavier,” I finally muttered, bracing myself for judgment.

“YOU DID WHAT?” Alexia’s eyes widened in disbelief.

I immediately regretted opening my mouth. Her reaction hit harder than expected.

“I mean… you did what?” she repeated, this time more softly, as if realizing how harsh she had sounded.

“Ugh, I don’t know, Alexia. I’m confused.” I slumped back into the chair, curling into myself like a chilled kitten seeking warmth.

“First of all, why is he invited to your bachelorette party? Second, you literally told me you’re getting married in three days.”

“You also advised me to dump Ethan not long ago,” I shot back.

“Low blow,” she sighed, “but this is different. It’s Xavier, the guy who hit you multiple times, cheated on you, and disregarded your feelings over and over again.”

“Oh, please.” Annoyance flared in my chest, partly because I was sexually deprived and craving something I knew I shouldn’t want.

Ethan never truly touched me. His affection was limited to surface kisses and soft, almost clinical gestures. Nothing more. Yet I stayed drawn to him, perhaps because of the immense power he wielded. No one came close to his influence, which stretched across the country. He was recognized everywhere. Or maybe it was that dark, possessive aura he radiated, or the sheer weight of his wealth. One of those three kept me anchored. But intimacy? That was nonexistent.

Everyone wanted me. At least, that was what I told myself when doubt crept in. My looks had always opened doors. So why did Ethan keep me at arm’s length?

“What are you thinking about?” Alexia’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“Sex,” I admitted bluntly.

She burst out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. Nothing was funny to me. I was fighting for my sanity. My wedding was in three days, I had texted my toxic ex, and I was unbearably horny.

Suddenly, I felt a light tap on my shoulder from behind. I sat upright immediately. Alexia’s facial expression already told me who it was. I did a quick, frantic touch-up to my makeup before turning around.

Xavier stood there, looking dangerously different in the best possible way. His muscles were more defined, sculpted from whatever rigorous routine he had adopted in Japan. His hair was artfully tousled, scattered in a way that begged fingers to run through it. His lips looked fuller, redder than I remembered, curved into a knowing smirk.

“You look stunning,” he whispered hotly against my ear before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek.

That single touch undid me. My body folded instantly, heat pooling low in my belly. I struggled to look away from him, my pulse quickening.

“Xavier…” I struggled to form the words. “You look very different.”

He slid into the chair beside me, positioning himself so close that our shoulders brushed intimately. The warmth of his body radiated through the thin fabric of my dress.

“That’s what happens when you stay in Japan,” he said with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, clearly thrilled I had invited him. “The beauty standards there make you want to level up.”

I glanced at Alexia. Her eyes had been fixed on him from the moment his hand touched my shoulder. When their gazes locked, her expression hardened with clear disdain.

Alexia hated Xavier with a burning passion, and I couldn’t blame her. I had cried on her shoulder countless times, recounting every horrible thing he had done to me during our relationship, the bruises, the betrayals, the emotional neglect.

“Why are you even here?” Her voice grew sterner with every word. “She invited you, but why did you actually come?”

“Alexia, let bygones be bygones,” he replied smoothly. “I’m a changed man now.”

“That doesn’t matter. She’s getting married in three days, changed or not.”

His gaze shifted to me then, intense and unwavering. I froze under the weight of it. I picked up my half-filled glass of wine and took small, nervous sips, trying to steady myself. But I couldn’t ignore the way his hand crept onto my bare thigh beneath the table.

His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, tracing lazy, absentminded circles on my skin. Each stroke sent sparks racing up my leg, straight to my core.

“Are you?” he asked, his voice low and husky, meant only for me.

“Ye… yes,” I muttered, barely audible.

Why was he asking? I had already told him over text. Tension thickened the air between us as his hand continued its ascent, sliding higher with slow, intentional purpose. His fingertips brushed the edge of my panties, teasing the sensitive skin there.

Alexia couldn’t stand the sight any longer. It was obvious something inappropriate was unfolding. She stood abruptly, smoothed down her dress with sharp, irritated movements, and walked away without another word.

“That’s a lot better,” Xavier murmured, satisfaction dripping from his tone.

Now that we were alone, his hand grew bolder. He had already reached my panties, his fingers pressing lightly against the thin lace. It didn’t feel right. None of this did. But stopping was the last thing I wanted. I couldn’t bring myself to push his hand away. Instead, my thighs parted slightly, almost involuntarily, granting him better access.

“Do you want to get fucked?” he asked bluntly, his breath warm against my ear, voice rough with desire.

The words sent a jolt of electricity through me. My breath hitched. Heat flooded my cheeks, and lower still, between my legs, where I was already growing embarrassingly wet. His fingers stroked over the damp fabric, pressing just enough to make me bite my lip to suppress a moan.

Here I was, three days from walking down the aisle, sitting in a crowded lounge with my ex’s hand between my thighs, his question hanging in the air like a promise.

His touch grew more insistent, circling through the lace with practiced precision. “Answer me, Emily,” he whispered, nipping at my earlobe. “Tell me you want me again. Tell me you’ve been thinking about it every time Ethan leaves you frustrated and untouched.”

I whimpered softly, my hips shifting forward to chase his teasing fingers. The rational part of me screamed that this was wrong, dangerous, reckless. But the starving, aching part of me, the one that had been neglected for far too long, won out.

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice trembling with need. “I want it. I want you.”

A dark, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest. His fingers slipped beneath the edge of my panties, finding my slick folds. He groaned quietly at how soaked I already was.

“Good girl,” he murmured, sliding one finger inside me slowly, curling it just right. “We’re going to make these last three days count.”