The Family Ritual

The wedding reception's dying down in Wyatt's stepdad's sprawling house, champagne flutes clinking like fading echoes. Penelope Reed, flushed from vows and dances, tugs at Wyatt West's arm, her wedding gown whispering promises of the night ahead. 'Let's slip away,' she murmurs, eyes hungry. But Wyatt freezes, that boyish grin tightening. 'Not yet. We owe Derrick a thank you. He bankrolled everything—house, honeymoon, the works.' They find Derrick Pierce in the study, cigar smoke curling like secrets in the dim light. Broad-shouldered, eyes sharp as a hustler's deal, he leans back in his leather chair. Gratitude spills out, quick and awkward. Then Derrick's voice cuts through, low and commanding. 'Tradition's got a price, son. Penelope, tonight's mine. I pass on my seed to my stepsons' brides. Keeps the bloodline strong, the family empire intact. In return? You're set for life—no scraping by.' Penelope's world tilts. Shock slams her like a cold wave. 'What the hell?' she gasps, backing toward Wyatt, who just nods, jaw set. Her husband's supposed to claim her now, not this silver fox with a smirk that dares her to refuse. Heart pounding, she protests—it's insane, it's betrayal. But Derrick's gaze pins her, promising security wrapped in sin, while Wyatt murmurs encouragements, his hand on her back a traitor’s push. Tension coils tight. She hesitates, breaths ragged, the room thick with forbidden heat. Then something snaps—curiosity? Desperation? Lust's dark whisper? She steps forward, dress pooling at her feet. Derrick rises, unbuckling with deliberate slowness, his cock thick and ready, veins pulsing like a threat. Wyatt watches from the shadows, silent witness to the shatter. Derrick claims her roughly against the desk, hands gripping her hips, thrusting deep into her slick heat. Penelope moans, body betraying her shock, arching as he fills her completely—raw, unrelenting strokes that stretch and demand. Sweat slicks their skin; her breasts bounce with each pounding drive, nipples hard peaks under his mouth's assault. He growls filthy praises, 'Take my genes, bride,' while she claws the wood, climax ripping through her in waves of guilty fire. Wyatt's eyes burn, the air electric with cuckold shame and twisted thrill, as Derrick unloads inside her, sealing the night's profane pact.