The Wedding Crasher: 3

Vows and the Connecting Door💦🫦😜

“Victoria…?”

My fiancé’s fingers stayed between my legs, touching the wetness Roman had left. His eyes searched my face. The sheet had slipped. I was naked underneath it. The diamond on my hand felt heavier than it ever had.

I opened my mouth. Nothing useful came out.

The connecting door opened.

Roman stepped through like he belonged there. Leather jacket gone. Shirt half-unbuttoned. He looked at his father’s hand still resting on my thigh and smiled without any warmth.

“She’s not fine,” Roman said. “She’s full of me.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

My fiancé stood so fast the chair scraped. “What the hell did you just say?”

Roman walked further into the room, calm, eyes on me. “I fucked your future wife. Three times tonight. In this bed. In the elevator. She’s still dripping. That’s what you’re feeling.”

I sat up, sheet clutched to my chest. “Roman…”

“Don’t.” My fiancé’s voice shook. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before. “Is he telling the truth?”

I could have lied. The word sat on my tongue. Instead I nodded once.

Something broke in his face. He took a step toward Roman. Roman didn’t move.

“You’re my son.”

“And she’s about to be my stepmother.” Roman’s voice stayed even. “Except she already came on my cock more times tonight than she ever will on yours. So maybe we drop the family act.”

My fiancé swung. Roman blocked it, shoved him back hard enough that he hit the dresser. A glass vase crashed to the floor.

“Enough,” I said, standing. The sheet fell. I didn’t care. Both men looked at me, naked, marked, still wet. “You want the truth? Yes. He fucked me. I let him. I wanted it. And part of me still does.”

My fiancé’s face twisted. “You’re calling off the wedding.”

“No,” Roman said before I could answer. “She’s not. She’s walking down that aisle tomorrow. She’s saying the words. And every time you touch her after that, she’s going to remember who actually made her scream the night before.”

He walked to me, cupped the back of my neck, and kissed me in front of his father, deep, claiming, filthy. I kissed him back. I hated myself for it and still couldn’t stop.

When he pulled away he spoke against my mouth. “Get on the bed.”

“Roman…”

“Now.”

I sat on the edge. He pushed me onto my back, spread my legs, and dropped to his knees. His mouth covered me in front of the man I was supposed to marry in the morning. Tongue pushing through the mess he’d already made, sucking on my clit while his father stood frozen ten feet away.

I moaned. I couldn’t help it.

Roman lifted his head just long enough to look at his father. “You can leave. Or you can watch me remind her who she belongs to.”

My fiancé didn’t leave.

Roman went back to work. Two fingers slid inside me, curling, while his tongue kept the pressure exact. The orgasm built fast and ugly. I came with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, eyes locked on my fiancé’s face the entire time.

Roman stood, wiped his mouth, and freed his cock. He didn’t ask. He pushed into me in one long thrust while I was still clenching from the orgasm. The bed creaked. He fucked me slow and deep at first, then harder, the wet sound of it filling the suite.

“Tell him,” Roman ordered. “Tell him how it feels.”

“It feels…” I gasped as he hit deeper. “It feels better. God, it feels better.”

My fiancé made a raw sound. He was hard. I could see it. He hated it and he was still watching.

Roman hooked my legs over his shoulders and drove into me without mercy. “Tomorrow you’re going to stand in front of everyone and promise yourself to him. Tonight you’re going to come on his son’s cock one more time while he watches.”

I did. The climax ripped through me so hard my vision blurred. Roman followed with a low groan, burying himself deep and flooding me again. We stayed locked together, breathing hard. Cum leaked out around him onto the sheets that were supposed to be for the wedding night.

Roman finally pulled out. He fixed his clothes, looked at his father, and spoke quietly.

“You still want to marry her, go ahead. But understand what you’re getting. She’s already been claimed. And I’m not done with her.”

He walked to the connecting door, paused, and glanced back at me.

“See you at the altar, Mom.”

The door clicked shut.

The suite was silent except for the air conditioner and my uneven breathing. My fiancé stood in the middle of the wreckage, broken vase, ruined sheets, the smell of sex thick in the air. He looked at me like I was a stranger.

“Get out,” he said finally. Voice flat. “I don’t want to see you until the ceremony. If you still show up.”

I stood on shaky legs, found the rehearsal dress, and pulled it on without underwear. His cum and Roman’s mixed on my thighs as I walked to the door. I didn’t look back.

In the hallway, my phone buzzed.

I pulled it out.

Unknown: Beautiful performance. The father, the son, the bride. Tomorrow should be even better. Smile for the cameras when you say “I do.” I’ll be in the third row. And if you try to run, the video of what just happened goes to every guest list email before the processional starts.

Attached was a clear still image. Me on the bed. Roman between my legs. My fiancé standing in the background, watching.

I stared at the screen until the elevator doors opened.

Tomorrow I was supposed to walk down the aisle.

Tonight I walked back to my own room with my future stepson’s cum still inside me, a blackmailer’s photo on my phone, and no idea which of the two men, or the stranger in the third row, was going to destroy me first.