WRECKING MY TWIN FIANCÉ 4

“At long last… this damn wedding is over,” I mutter under my breath, padding barefoot toward the kitchen for something to eat.

Tyler wouldn’t leave my side the entire day. Every time we moved on the dance floor, his hands stayed low on my waist, fingers pressing into me like he was already claiming what was his.

I can still feel the heat of his palms there, the way his thumbs traced slow circles over the fabric. My stomach flips just thinking about it. A stupid little thrill bubbles up in my chest, like I’m some giddy teenager. Soon it’ll be just us—him, that thick cock I’ve been craving, his house, his yacht, his name. All of it finally mine. I bite my lip to hide the grin pulling at my mouth.

Footsteps echo down the hallway.

Speak of the devil.

Tyler appears—shirt half-unbuttoned, tie long gone, the sharp scent of whiskey clinging to him. We’re about to pass each other when his hand darts out and catches mine, grip tight and possessive.

“Don’t forget,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, the kind that sends heat straight between my legs. “Midnight. Your room. I need the truth tonight.”

I step in close, letting the swell of my belly brush against his belt. My fingers slide down his bare chest, nails dragging lightly until I feel his muscles jump under my touch.

“Of course,” I whisper, leaning in until my lips graze his ear. “Husband of the year.”

I flick my tongue slow over his earlobe, tasting salt and skin. “I’ll be naked and honest, baby. Don’t be late.”

“Won’t be,” he growls, eyes darkening before he forces himself to walk away toward the master bedroom.

Get ready, Jess. Tomorrow’s going to be a very bad day for you.

I grin so wide my cheeks ache.

My stomach growls again. Right. Food. I almost forgot.

2:00 a.m.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, completely naked, legs crossed loosely, heart pounding harder than I’d ever admit. The room is dim, just the soft glow of the bedside lamp washing everything gold.

The door creaks open.

There he is.

He steps inside, shuts it behind him, and just stands there—shirt hanging open, chest heaving like he ran up the stairs.

“Lock it,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

He reaches back without looking, turns the lock. The click echoes.

“You came,” I breathe.

“You think I could sleep after what you whispered at the reception?” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Tell me it’s bullshit, Joyce. Tell me my wife didn’t lie to my face for months.”

I stand slowly, walk straight to him, and press one finger to his lips.

“Shh… on your knees first, daddy.”

He groans deep in his chest and drops. His knees hit the carpet; big hands grab my ass immediately, spreading me open. Then his mouth is on me—hot, desperate tongue dragging up my slit in one long, filthy stroke before he seals his lips around my clit and sucks.

I’m already soaked; I can feel it dripping down my thighs, coating his chin as he works me relentlessly. My fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer as I rock against his face.

“F-fuck, right there,” I gasp, grinding harder.

He slides two thick fingers inside me without warning—they sink in easy, curling just right. My walls flutter around him, pulling him deeper as he pumps fast. I shove his face back in and ride his tongue shamelessly, thighs starting to shake.

“Ahh—shit—yes—don’t stop—”

I come hard, hips jerking as I gush straight into his mouth. Hot spurts flood his tongue; he swallows greedily, throat working while it drips down his chin and neck.

I yank his head back by the hair, chest heaving. “Pants off. Now.”

He scrambles to his feet, belt clinking, zipper ripping down. His trousers drop, and his cock springs free—hard and angry, tip leaking as it slaps against his abs.

I turn fast, dropping to my hands and knees on the bed, ass up, belly hanging just enough, face pressed into the pillow.

He grabs himself, rubs the fat head over my clit once, twice—teasing, making me whine—then lines up at my entrance.

“Start talking,” he growls, pressing forward just enough to stretch me.

I push back greedily. “She’s infertile,” I pant. “Been lying for months. Tomorrow she was going to cut the baby out of me at ten weeks—”

He slams into me in one brutal thrust.

“Fuuuuck!” I scream into the pillow, fingers clawing the sheets.

He doesn’t hold back—hips crashing against my ass, balls smacking my clit with every deep stroke. My tits swing heavy, belly bouncing under me, the bed creaking loud enough to wake the house. I’m so wet it’s messy, creamy arousal coating him, leaving thick white rings every time he pulls back.

He fists the veil still tangled in my hair like reins, yanks my head back, and pounds harder.

“Say it again,” he grits out.

“It’s our baby—only ours—she’s stealing it—”

He flips me onto my back in one motion, throws my ankles over his shoulders, and folds me in half. I’m completely open, helpless.

“Ultrasound’s in the folder—look—”

He snatches it off the nightstand with one hand, eyes scanning the proof while his hips never stop driving into me—deep, punishing strokes that make my breath catch.

“She lied to my fucking face?” he roars, tossing the papers aside. Both hands grip my hips now, slamming so deep I feel him everywhere.

“Yes—daddy—yes—”

I squirt again, harder, soaking his abs and thighs as they tremble around his shoulders.

He pulls out, slaps his soaked cock against my clit twice—sharp, stinging pleasure—then buries himself again and comes. Thick, hot pulses flood me while he groans my name like it’s being ripped out of him.

We collapse, panting, his weight pressing me into the mattress, cock still twitching deep inside.

I reach blindly under the pillow, pull out the pen, and press it into his shaking hand.

He signs every page without pulling out—cum still leaking around him with each scratch of ink.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers against my lips, voice raw, “she’s gone.”

I smirk, clenching around him one last time to milk that final drop.

“Good boy.”

7:00 a.m.

The day Jessica finally leaves this house for good.

I pad downstairs barefoot. Jessica’s already in the kitchen, tote bag over her shoulder, wearing that cute little white tennis skirt and high ponytail, humming like everything’s normal. She thinks we’re running errands before tomorrow’s “procedure.” She has no idea there won’t be one.

Tyler comes down first—barefoot, sweatpants low on his hips, face cold and blank. I follow right behind, wearing only his open dress shirt. It barely covers the fresh hickeys blooming across my neck and chest; my thighs are still sticky from last night.

Jessica turns with a bright smile. “Oh hey, honey! Good morning. Just getting ready for a little errand lat—”

Her smile dies the second she sees me behind him, half-exposed, belly rounded, looking thoroughly fucked.

“Is it true?” Tyler asks, voice flat.

Jessica’s face drains of color. “Is what true?”

“Is it true you’re infertile and tomorrow you were going to let doctors cut my son out of Joyce and pretend he came from you?”

Her tote bag slips from her shoulder and thuds onto the marble.

“Tyler—”

“Answer me!” he snaps.

Tears spill down her cheeks instantly. “Y-yes,” she chokes. “Yes, I was going to. I was so scared you’d leave me if you knew I couldn’t give you a baby. I didn’t want to lose us—”

She drops to her knees, fingers clutching at his sweatpants. “Please, I beg you—”

Then her eyes flick past him to me.

“You…” Her voice cracks. “How could you do this? After everything I’ve done for you, Joyce? The double shifts so you could go to Cambridge? The tuition I paid when Dad said no? The nights I wrote your essays while you partied? I gave you a home, clothes, a future… and this is how you repay me? Stealing my husband and my baby the day after my wedding?”

I lean against the doorframe, one hand lazily circling my belly, watching her fall apart like it’s the sweetest revenge.

Tyler steps forward.

“None of that matters now,” he says, ice cold. “I needed a son to carry my name. Joyce is giving me one. You two have the same face anyway. It’ll be like I never lost you.”

He pulls the signed divorce papers from his back pocket and drops them at her feet.

“I want you out by noon.”

Jessica collapses fully—sobs ripping out of her, body shaking as she crawls forward, grabbing at his legs, begging through tears.

Tyler turns his back on her, walks straight to me, cups my belly with both hands, and kisses me deep and slow while she cries on the floor behind him.

“P-please… You can’t do this to me… Ty—Joyce—please…” Jessica’s voice breaks, desperate.

I pull away from the kiss just enough to look over his shoulder at her.

“It’s over, bitch. You have until noon to get the fuck out of my house.”

I turn away, fingers lacing with Tyler’s, and walk off with him—leaving her shattered on the kitchen floor.