Off Limit: Fucked By My Ex-fiance's Step-dad のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Freya's POV The mirror in the bridal suite reflected a stranger in white. I stood motionless, hands hovering over the delicate lace of my gown as if afraid to touch it too hard and make the dream disappear. The dress was everything I imagined since I was sixteen—ivory satin hugging my waist, layers of tulle falling like soft clouds to the floor, off-the-shoulder sleeves that left my collarbones bare. The veil, pinned with tiny seed pearls, framed my face like a halo. Ten years, I thought, a quiet smile tugging at my lips. Ten years of waiting for this exact moment. I remembered the first time Dylan Voss kissed me behind the bleachers after the homecoming game. it was awkward, and sweet. I remembered the nights he’d driven me home after my stepmother Elaine had screamed at me for breathing too loudly, how he’d parked under the streetlight and held me until the shaking stopped. I remembered the way he looked at me when he proposed on one knee in the little park where we used to m

Freya's POV The projector screen glowed like a judgment seat. The hallway footage looped silently—Dylan’s hands sliding under Helene’s dress, her leg hooked high around his waist, their mouths fused in a hungry, shameless kiss—over and over, twenty feet tall, impossible to unsee. The ballroom froze for one perfect, suffocating second. Then it shattered. A collective gasp ripped through the crowd, followed by a wave of murmurs that grew into a roar. “Is that… Helene? The famous model and ambassador?” “She’s supposed to be the face of Elegance Luxe—dignity, class, all that bullshit.” “Look at her—legs spread in a hallway like a cheap escort.” “On her own sister’s wedding day? That’s not just shameless, that’s evil.” “I always knew she slept her way up, but this? This is disgusting.” “And Dylan Voss? What a spineless prick. Left his bride for that?” The words flew like knives—sharp, public, amd merciless. Guests pulled out phones, recording the screen, recording each oth

Chapter 5: Glorious cock Freya's POV I changed in his bathroom with shaking hands. The wedding gown lay in a sodden heap on the tile floor like something dead. I peeled it off—lace sticking to my skin, cold and clammy and stepped into the shower for thirty seconds, just long enough to rinse the rain and mascara from my face. No soap. No time to feel clean. I just needed to stop shivering. His T-shirt was huge on me. Soft gray cotton that fell to mid-thigh, sleeves past my elbows. I found a pair of his ordinary black sweatpants in the hamper, way too big, but I rolled the waistband twice and cinched it tight. The shirt hung loose, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide how hard my nipples were. They poked through like they had a mind of their own. I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. Mascara gone. Hair dripping. Cheeks flushed from crying and cold. But my eyes looked different, sharper and hungrier. I stepped out. Ryder was already back, standing by the bed with a

Freya’s POVHe kicked my feet apart.Rough fingers found my soaked folds and plunged inside without preamble—two thick digits curling deep, stretching me open in one brutal stroke. I cried out, back arching off the wall, palms slapping the tile for balance as my body jolted from the sudden fullness.“Fuck—already dripping,” he growled against my ear, voice low and filthy. “Pathetic little slut. Begging a stranger to wreck you on your wedding night.”“Yes,” I whimpered, pushing back against his hand like I could force him deeper. “Please—more—”He curled his fingers harder, found that spot inside me that made my vision blur, and pumped steadily while his thumb circled my clit in slow, merciless loops.I moaned loud—“Yes… deeper…”—voice breaking on every syllable.My hips rocked back onto his hand greedily, breasts swaying with each thrust of his fingers. He reached around with his free hand, smushed one breast roughly, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until I gasped

Chapter 9: Dylan caught us! Freya's POV Ryder was still buried deep inside me, thick and hot, still pulsing with the last of his release. My legs were locked around his waist, thighs shaking, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Sweat slicked our skin together. The only sounds were our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city below. And then the door swung open. My eyes snapped open. Dylan? What the fuck is he doing here? He stood in the doorway frozen, staring at the scenario before him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and glassy. He was still in his wedding clothes, the crisp white shirt now untucked, his tie hanging loose. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd been running his hands through it. His mouth was wide open. I watched his face like a film reel moving through frames. First confusion. Like his brain genuinely couldn't piece together what his eyes were seeing. Then, the slow, creeping, horrible recognition, and pure shock. His face crumpl