Chapter 4: Vows in the Shadows

The yacht storm’s still messing with my head, Cara’s pussy taste lingering on my tongue, and Lana’s texts hitting my phone like bombs. Two weeks later, I’m stuck deep in both, my dick dragging me to trouble. Cara’s cash keeps me going, she dropped twenty grand last week after I fucked her on her rooftop, her heels dangling off the edge, city lights winking like they knew I was screwing up. But Lana? She’s the pull I can’t shake. Her loft’s my safe spot, had some hot quick fucks on her couch, her riding me slow with those blue eyes locked, whispering my name like she owns it, but tonight’s different. I’m pacing Lana’s tiny bathroom, splashing water on my face, staring at a dude in the mirror who’s about to fuck everything up. Lana’s in the bedroom, humming off-key, probably sliding into that sundress I love, it hugs her ass and makes my dick hard just thinking about unzipping it. She’s got no clue what’s coming, and honestly, neither do I, but the ring’s heavy in my pocket.

It’s a diamond, two carats, emerald-cut, bought with Cara’s last cash drop. I told the jeweler it’s for “someone special,” didn’t say I picked it hours after leaving Cara’s penthouse, her cum still wet on my thighs from a morning fuck in her shower. Lana deserves better than my bullshit, but when she talks about her mom who ditched her, stole half her dad’s money, I see a life where I’m not just Cara’s fuck toy but Lana’s real, her love a lifeline, but my dick keeps chasing Cara’s cash and thrills.

I step out, see her on the bed, dress riding up her thighs, no panties—tease or just chill, doesn’t matter. My cock jumps, but I push it down. “Hey,” I say, voice rough. “Got a sec?”

She sits up, eyes curious, brown curls messy in a way I wanna grab. “What’s up, Cole? You look all serious.”

I drop to one knee, pull the ring box out, and my heart’s pounding louder than that yacht storm. Her eyes go wide, breath stops. “Lana, you’re… fuck, you’re my world. Marry me?”

It’s impulsive, dumb, comes from a night last week when she cried about her mom bailing, her face buried in my chest, tears soaking my shirt. I held her, fucked her soft after, her pussy so tight and warm it felt like home. I meant it then, mean it now—kinda. Cara’s shadow hangs, but I shove it back.

She gasps, tackles me to the floor, and kisses messy with tongue, teeth, hands yanking my shirt. “Yes, Cole, fuck yes!” she laughs, crying, a total mess, and I’m drowning in her happiness. Ring goes on, fits perfect, shines like the lie I’m living.

We don’t wait. We going to Vegas the next day—her idea, wild and crazy. “Let’s make it ours,” she says on her dad’s jet, not Cara’s—fate’s a bitch. Small chapel, tacky with neon hearts, but her white dress makes it real. Victor walks her down, eyes wet but sharp. “Treat her right,” he mutters, smacks my shoulder hard. I nod, guilt sour in my throat.

Honeymoon night in a suite over the Vegas Strip, lights pulsing like our hearts. Lana’s on me the second the door shuts, she yanks my tie, her dress drops to show black lace thong—new, for me. “Husband,” she purrs, lips hungry. I lift her, legs wrapped around my waist, carried her to the bed, and kissed her deep. She’s wet, grinding my bulge, moaning when I bite her neck. “Fuck me, Cole—make it real.”

I strip quick, cock springs free, her hands stroke me hard. Condom’s on—still careful, even after getting married, then I’m in her pussy, slow at first, feeling her tight heat. She’s softer than Cara, equal, her nails grazing, not clawing. Missionary, eyes locked, love in every thrust. “I love you,” she gasps, legs shaking as I hit deep, her clit rubbing my pelvis. She cums hard, pussy squeezing, pulls my load with her, hot, blinding, my groan lost in her hair.

We fuck twice more—her on top, riding slow, tits bouncing—then spooning, me sliding in from behind, lazy and close. Crash tangled, her breath soft, the ring catching neon light through the window.

Morning comes, and I’m sneaking texts to Cara, hands shaky. “Back soon. Work stuff.” Lie’s too easy. She hits back “Miss my cock. Penthouse, Friday. Bring cuffs.” My Heart skips. I’m married, but her pussy and cash still hook me deep.

Back in New York, life splits harder. Lana’s glowing, planning a big friend party, blind to my side game. Cara’s hungry, on Thursday , she catches me in her private elevator, skirt up, no panties, shoves my hand to her wet cunt. “Missed you,” she growls. I finger her hard—two, three fingers, curling deep—while she bites my shoulder, cums loud, soaks my wrist. Elevator dings; she smirks, points to an envelope— it was ten grand, her usual fat stack.

Friday, I’m at her penthouse, cuffed to her bed, her pussy on my face while a vibrator buzzes my cock—edges me till I’m begging, balls aching. She laughs, slides down, fucks me raw with no condom, her pussy swallowing every inch. “You’re still mine,” she hisses, cums hard and pulls my load deep. I’m shaking, spent, when she uncuffs me and tosses a stack of hundreds on my chest. “For your next fuck,” she says, smirking.

Lana doesn’t know, but shit’s slipping. She finds the cufflinks—marked “C,” Cara’s yacht gift. “Fancy client?” she asks at breakfast, twirling them, voice light but sharp. I’m flipping eggs, heart racing.

“Old art sale,” I lied. kissed her quick, hand under her robe to stroke her thigh. She melts, lets me eat her pussy on the counter, legs spread, dripping as I tongue her clit to a shaking cum. “You’re too fucking good,” she moans, pulls me up to fuck her standing—quick, needy, condom on, but it feels like betrayal.

Later, she’s on her phone, frowning. “Dad’s pushing that dinner Sunday. Wants to grill you.” Victor’s invite—fancy, Upper East Side, his big house. “He’s protective, but you’ll win him over.” Lana said to me.

My stomach drops. Victor Hale, Cara’s ex, the guy she fucked over in their divorce. Lana’s dad, and I’m banging his ex while married to his daughter. “Sounds cool,” I choke out, dick soft for once.

Sunday’s a blur—Lana’s out with friends, so Cara calls. “My place. Now.” I got there in thirty minutes, her in a silk slip, nipples poking through, no bra. She pushes me to the couch, straddles, grinds my lap. “Thought you’d bail,” she teases, unzips me, strokes slow. “Still my good boy?”

“Yeah,” I rasp, but Lana’s ring burns my finger. Her blowjob’s sloppy—deep throat, soft gags, cum spills down her chin when I bust. She swallows, licks her lips, then fucks me reverse, ass bouncing, my hands on her hips. Her pussy’s tight, milks another load—raw, her call. “Stay the night,” she murmurs, curled on my chest after.

“I Can’t. Early work.” Half-true—I need Lana’s air, not her cage.

She smirks, tosses me ten grand, crisp. “Don’t ghost me, Cole.”

I got home by two AM, I jerked off in the shower to both—Lana’s soft moans, Cara’s tight ass. Guilt cuts, but cash numbs it. Sunday’s dinner waits like a trap.

Victor’s house is pure rich—dark wood, fancy lights, staff quiet like shadows. Lana’s shining, arm in mine, dress hugging her curves. Victor’s stern, late fifties, gray hair, eyes like he’s ready to bury me. “Cole,” he says, handshake crushing. “Lana’s crazy about you. Don’t fuck it up.”

Dinner’s tense, we had steak, wine, chatted about my “art job.” Lana beams, squeezes my hand. Then Victor leans in, voice low. “Her mom, Cara, she fucked us over. Took half my company, ditched Lana without a word. If you’re anything like her, kid, we’re done.”

I freeze, fork stuck. Lana’s hand tightens, she says, “Dad, Cole’s different,” but her eyes search mine. My phone buzzes, it’s Cara: “Missed you last night. Tomorrow?” I silence it, but Lana’s look stays, a question she doesn’t ask.

We leave with stiff goodbyes, her quiet in the cab. “You okay?” she asks, head on my shoulder.

“Yeah, baby.” I kissed her hair, but two worlds are crashing—Victor’s warning, Cara’s pull, Lana’s trust breaking. One slip, and it’s all fucked.