Craving The Wrong Brother's Dick(4)

The first spank cracked across my ass like a gunshot.

Heat bloomed instantly, shocking and perfect, and the moan that tore out of me was filthy, embarrassingly and loud. The marble echoed it back, mocking me. I watched him in the mirror: eyes black, jaw clenched, the hand that had just struck me now soothing the sting in slow, possessive circles.

He held my gaze while he unbuckled his belt. The clink of metal made my mouth water. My lips were already swollen from his teeth; I bit down on the lower one anyway, tasting blood and him.

“Spread,” he ordered, voice gravel.

I widened my stance. Cool air kissed my soaked pussy and I shivered violently, thighs trembling. The slit of my dress had ridden so high the fabric framed me like a gift I never meant to give Julian.

Damien’s eyes dropped, raking over me in the mirror. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasped. “Bent over on your wedding night, dripping for the wrong brother. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

I whimpered at the praise, hating how much I loved it.

He freed himself, finally, and my breath stopped. Thick, flushed dark, a bead of pre-come already pearling at the tip. He dragged that heavy cock down the cleft of my ass, slow, deliberate, letting me feel every burning inch. When the head nudged my entrance I jerked forward, chasing it.

He smirked and did it again, this time starting at my clit, sliding the fat crown up through my folds, over my pussy, all the way to my ass. The slick drag made me shake. I watched his face the whole time, watched the control fray at the edges.

“Please,” I begged, voice broken. “Damien, please, put it in—”

“Gifts get unwrapped slowly, little bride,” he murmured, wicked amusement threading the words.

He did it again, faster. The head caught on my clit, slipped through my wetness, teased my ass, then back down. My hips started moving on their own, rolling back, greedy, trying to catch him. Every pass made me wetter, louder, more desperate. I could hear myself, obscene little moans, the wet sound of him gliding through me.

I arched harder, offering everything, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, ass tilted high like the slut he’d turned me into in under an hour of marriage.

He groaned, low and filthy, watching me chase his cock like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

One more pass, faster, crueler, and I sobbed his name.

Then he gripped my hips, lined up, and slammed home in one brutal thrust.

The stretch burned, perfect, overwhelming. My scream bounced off the marble as he buried himself to the root, balls pressed tight against my clit, filling me so completely I forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t move for one heartbeat, just let me feel him throb inside me, let me feel exactly who I belonged to now.

In the mirror his eyes met mine, wild and victorious.

“Mine,” he growled.

And he started to fuck his brother’s wife like he’d been waiting his entire life to do it.

He stopped, buried to the hilt, pulsing inside me like a second heartbeat. The sudden stillness was torture. I tried to push back, to take more, but his hands locked on my hips and held me pinned.

“Which is it, sweetheart?” His voice was rough velvet dragged over gravel. “Fast or slow… or do you want me to choose for you?”

I could only whimper, forehead pressed to the mirror, drooling on the marble like a broken doll. Another sharp spank cracked across my ass, the sting blooming hot and bright.

“Answer me.”

“Slow,” I sobbed, the word ripping out of me. “Please… slow.”

He exhaled, long and shaky, like I’d just handed him the keys to every dark thing he’d ever wanted.

Then he moved.

God, the way he moved.

A languid, deliberate drag out until only the swollen head stretched my entrance, then an equally slow, merciless push back in, never quite giving me everything…fuck!. Each inch grazed my walls with devastating precision, lighting every nerve ending on fire. My pussy fluttered around him, trying to pull him deeper, but he controlled it all, every fraction, every breath.

He groaned, low and ragged. “Christ… you’re gripping me like you were made for this. Like your body’s begging me to ruin it.”

Another brutal thrust, sudden, shocking, seating him to the root so hard my breath punched out of me. My back arched; my toes curled inside my heels. Then he settled into the rhythm he’d promised: hard and slow, devastating. My breast jiggled at each powerful thrust.

It was slow enough that I felt the thick ridge of his crown kiss my g-spot on every inward glide.

Hard enough that my hips jerked forward with every impact, breasts swaying, nipples scraping silk.

He slid into me like warm honey and violence. One hand splayed across my lower back, pinning me; the other dug bruises into my hip, guiding the punishing tempo. I watched us in the mirror: his dark head bowed, lips parted, eyes locked on where we joined, watching himself disappear into his brother’s wife again and again.

“Aah…fuck!”

Every thrust forced a broken moan from my throat. The sound was obscene, wet, wet flesh on flesh, my wetness easing the way, dripping down my thighs in shameless rivulets. He felt it; his grip tightened.

“Listen to you,” he rasped. “Taking me so perfectly. Like you’ve been dreaming of this cock since the day you met him.”

I had. God help me, I had.

He rolled his hips on the next stroke, grinding deep, and my vision whited out. Pleasure coiled low and vicious, building with every slow, claiming thrust. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, only feel the thick drag of him owning me from the inside out.

“Oh God…mmmh.”

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I forced my eyes open. Our gazes collided in the mirror, his wild, possessive, mine wrecked and pleading.

“This is what slow feels like when it’s done right,” he said, voice shaking with restraint. “Every inch of me carving my name into you while the whole ship celebrates your marriage.”

He slammed in again, harder, grinding, and I shattered around him with a silent scream, pussy clamping down in rhythmic, greedy pulses.

“Fuck…yessss!” I managed to say.

He didn’t stop.

He fucked me through it, slow and brutal and perfect, drawing every last tremor out of me until I was limp, sobbing his name into the mirror-fogged glass.

Only then did his rhythm falter, hips stuttering as his own control frayed.

But he still didn’t give me fast.

He gave me worship wrapped in punishment, every stroke a vow: You’re mine now, little bride, and I’m nowhere near finished.