Craving The Wrong Brother's Dick (2)

The organ thundered. Every pew turned toward me like a wave, but the only thing I felt was the slick pulse between my thighs and the weight of my father’s arm keeping me upright.

White roses trembled in my hands. The veil blurred the world into soft focus, because I didn’t trust my face. I took the first step, then another, the long satin train whispering behind me like a warning I refused to hear.

Damien stood to the left of the altar, hands clasped in front of him, looking every inch the dutiful best man. Except for his eyes. Those eyes tracked me the way a predator tracks a heartbeat, lazy, certain, starving. I forced my gaze past him, locked on David’s smiling, oblivious face, and kept walking.

Don’t look. Don’t look.  

I looked.

Damien’s mouth curved, just enough. A private, filthy promise. Heat flooded me so fast my knees nearly folded. The bouquet shook; petals scattered like snow.

My father placed my hand in Julian’s. Safe hands. Familiar hands. Hands that had never made me this wet in my life.

“You okay?” Julian whispered, thumb brushing my knuckles as the officiant began. “You’re trembling. Nervous about the crowd?”

I leaned in, veil brushing his cheek, and let the truth slip out on a breath only he could hear.

“No,” I said, voice shaking with want. I’m nervous because the man who makes me drip is standing three feet away and I can still taste him on my tongue. Fuck!

David’s eyes studied me for half a heartbeat, then he smiled indulgently, thinking it was bridal jitters. I smiled back, sweet and lying, while Damien’s stare burned through the lace over my face.

The vows were beautiful. I heard none of them.

“I, Aria take you, Julian…”

All I heard was Damien’s rough whisper from twenty minutes ago: I’m going to bend you over in this dress.

“To have and to hold…”

I was already held, pinned by dark eyes that refused to let me go.

“For richer, for poorer…”

I was already poorer for wanting the wrong brother.

“In sickness and in health…”

I was sick with it, fevered, aching, soaked through the lace between my legs.

“Till death do us part…” 

Death felt closer than Julian’s gentle grip on my fingers.

“I do,” Julian said, voice thick with happy tears.

“I do,” I echoed, and the lie tasted like Damien’s mouth.

“You may kiss the bride.”

David lifted my veil with reverent hands. The cathedral held its breath. Cameras flashed. He kissed me, soft, practiced, loving.

And I kissed Damien.

In my head I kissed Damien, hard, open-mouthed, desperate, the way he’d claimed me in the bridal suite. I felt the phantom scrape of his stubble, the thrust of his tongue, the way he’d groaned into me like I was air and he’d been drowning for years.

Julian pulled back, beaming. The organ exploded into joy. Applause thundered. I smiled the perfect smile, radiant smile of a brand-new wife.

No one saw the way my thighs pressed together under layers of silk, trying to ease the throb. No one heard the silent scream inside me that sounded exactly like Damien’s name.

And when we turned to face our guests, Damien was the first to clap, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving mine.

I walked back down the aisle on my husband’s arm, Mrs. Aria Harrington in the eyes of the world.

But every step echoed with the same truth:

I’d just married the wrong brother…  

and I couldn’t wait to fuck the right one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ballroom glittered like a jewelry box, chandeliers dripping light over champagne flutes and laughter. I’d traded the heavy gown for a backless silk with thin straps, thigh-high slit.

Julian sat to my right, proud and glowing, hand resting possessively on the back of my chair. Damien sat to my left, calm as a predator who already knows the prey is cornered.

His fingers found my bare knee the moment the salads were served. A slow, deliberate circle. I jolted so hard my champagne sloshed.

“You okay, love?” Julian asked, leaning in, his soft eyes laced with concern.

“Fine,” I lied, voice too high. “Just… cold.”

Damien’s thumb traced higher, under the tablecloth, hidden from four hundred guests. The slit in my dress parted for him like it had been waiting. Heat streaked up my thigh; my fork clattered against porcelain.

Across from us, Julian’s sister, Claire, clapped her hands. “Julian, you promised me a dance before you disappear on your honeymoon. Hope you haven't forgotten about your promise!”

Julian laughed and kissed my temple. “You don’t mind, do you, Mrs. Harrington?”

“Go,” I managed, smiling the smile that had fooled everyone all day. “Have fun.”

The second they melted into the crowd, Damien’s hand slid fully between my legs. No hesitation. Just ownership.

He found the edge of my lace panties and pushed them aside like they offended him.

“Have you forgotten?” he murmured, low enough only I could hear, lips barely moving. “I told you to prepare for me.”

His middle finger traced my clit, slow, deliberate, gathering the wetness already waiting for him. My breath stuttered. I shamelessly opened my thighs the more,he smirked.

“I—I didn’t forget,” I whispered.

“Good.” He pressed inside, one thick finger curling, stroking that spot that made my vision blur. “Because I’ve been hard since you walked down that aisle pretending to be his.”

Another finger joined the first, stretching me under the table while waiters circled and cousins toasted and the band played something slow and romantic. I gripped the tablecloth until my knuckles went white.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I turned my head. His eyes were black with hunger, fixed on my face like he wanted to memorize every helpless twitch.

“You’re going to come right here,” he said, voice velvet and venom. “While my brother spins our sister around the dance floor. And when you do, you’re going to smile for the cameras, Mrs. Harrington.”

His thumb found my clit, circled once, twice. My hips jerked involuntarily; the motion looked like I was just shifting in my chair.

“Please,” I breathed. I didn’t even know if I was begging him to stop or to never stop.

He leaned in, mouth brushing my ear, looking to everyone else like he was sharing a sweet brotherly confidence.

“Come for me, little bride. Soak my fingers the way you’re going to soak my cock later.”

That was it. The words, the possession, the risk. Pleasure snapped through me like a whip. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, body shuddering in tiny, silent waves while Damien kept stroking, drawing it out, milking every last pulse.

When it passed, he withdrew slowly, brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, and licked them clean right there at the table, eyes locked on mine.

Julian was walking back, laughing with Claire.

Damien leaned away, casual as ever, and murmured, “That was just the appetizer.”

I was still trembling when Julian slid back into his seat and kissed my cheek.

“Miss me?” he asked.

More than you’ll ever know, I thought and not at all the way you think.