My Sugar Daddy is my father-in-law #2

The silence that followed our shared climax was heavier than the air itself, thick with the scent of sex, expensive cologne, and the crushing weight of a thousand secrets. I was still pinned against the glass, my legs trembling as they hooked around Miguel’s waist, the cold of the window a jarring contrast to the furnace of his body.

He didn't pull out.

He stayed deep, a permanent fixture inside me, pulsing with the aftershocks of a man who didn't just take what he wanted... he colonized it.

“You’re shaking, little bird,” he murmured, his voice a dark, gravelly caress against my ear. His teeth grazed my lobe, a sharp nip that sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my core. “Is it the cold? Or are you finally realizing that all the white lace in the world can’t hide the fact that you’re dripping with me?”

“Miguel... the time...” I choked out, my hands clutching his shoulders. I could see the blurry reflection of my ruined hair in the glass. “The stylist will be here soon. Julian will be looking for me.”

He let out a low, predatory chuckle that vibrated through his chest and into mine. “Let them look. Let the whole world wait. You aren't going anywhere until I’ve had my fill of the lies you’ve been telling yourself.”

He stepped back, carrying my weight effortlessly before dropping me onto the plush carpet. I felt small, exposed, my couture gown bunched around my waist like a discarded rag. He didn't give me a second to breathe.

“On your knees, Daniella,” he commanded.

It wasn't a request; it was a law of nature.

“Now.”

I didn't hesitate. My body moved before my brain could even process the indignity. I sank into the thick rug, looking up at him. He stood there like a god of ruin, his shirt hanging open, his thick, dark cock already stirring back to life, angry and demanding.

“Open that pretty, lying mouth,” he growled, his hand fisting my hair to tilt my head back. “Wider. Yeah, just like that.”

I obeyed, my lips parting as he stepped closer. When he slid inside, it was a slow, agonizing invasion. He was too big, too much, stretching my jaw until it ached. I wrapped my hands around his thick thighs, my fingers digging into the muscle as I began to suck, my tongue swirling around the head of his dick, while I took as much of his length as I could.

“Fuck!!! Yeah... just like that, choke on Daddys cock,” Miguel hissed, his hips starting a slow, rhythmic grind. “You always were a fast learner. Use that tongue. I want to feel every wet inch of you remembering how I taste.”

I closed my eyes, the world narrowing down to the friction in my throat and the sound of his ragged breathing. I pushed further, my nose pressing into his pubic hair, my throat constricting as I tried to swallow him whole.

Tears pricked my eyes... not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming reality that I was more alive in this moment of degradation than I had been in three years of perfect living.

He began to thrust, his grunts becoming more primal. “Suck it, you little hypocrite. Suck the man you actually want while you prepare to marry the shadow I cast.”

Saliva escaped the corners of my mouth, slicking my chin, but he didn't care. He thrived on the mess. He pulled my hair tighter, forcing me to pick up the pace until I was gagging, my chest heaving, the sound of his dick sliding in and out of my wet mouth filling the silent room.

Suddenly, he yanked me up by my hair, his face inches from mine. His eyes were twin pools of obsidian.

“Enough. I want to see you break.”

He threw me back onto the sofa with a calculated roughness. The impact made my pussy throb, a deep, magnetic pull that demanded he fill the void.

“Legs up,” he snapped. “Spread them. I want to see exactly what Julian thinks he’s getting tonight.”

I collapsed back against the velvet, dragging my knees to my chest and baring myself to him. I was a mess, soaked, swollen, and utterly ruined. He looked down at me with a mixture of hunger and pure, unadulterated possession.

He didn't go back in yet. Instead, he licked two fingers, his eyes never leaving mine, and drove them deep into my heat. I let out a jagged moan, my hips bucking off the sofa.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his fingers curling inside me, searching for that one spot that made my toes curl. “So ready for me. Does he even know how to make you leak like this? Does he know how to make you scream for more pain just to get to the pleasure?”

“No,” I sobbed, my head thrashing against the cushions. “He... he’s gentle. He doesn't... Daddy, please...”

“Don't call me that unless you mean it,” he countered, his fingers picking up speed, a wet, rhythmic Slap-Slap-Slap echoing in the suite. “I’m not your family, Daniella. I’m your master. I’m the man who owns your every nerve ending. Tell me who you belong to!”

“You!” I shrieked, my orgasm building like a tidal wave. “It’s yours! My pussy is yours, Miguel! It’s always been yours!”

“That’s right. Not my son’s. Not any other weak-ass boy’s. This tight, greedy hole was ruined for me the first night I stretched it open in that elevator.” He changed angles, hiking one of my legs higher, pounding straight into my G-spot.

“Say it louder. Tell me who this married pussy is dripping for on her wedding day.”

“You! Only you... oh shit, right there, don’t stop.”

He withdrew his fingers abruptly, the sudden loss making me whimper in protest. He grabbed his cock, stroking it twice before he lunged forward, angling my hips and driving himself back home in one violent, soul-crushing thrust.

“Fuuuuck, yes,” I screamed into the empty room, legs wrapping around him, my back arching so hard I thought I’d snap.

He didn't hold back. He fucked me senseless, like he was punishing me for every day I’d spent pretending. Hard, deep strokes that made my tits bounce and my eyes roll back. He was a force of nature, a hurricane of muscle and malice, and I was drowning in it.

“Mine,” he grunted with every strike.

“Every. Fucking. Inch.”

Then he pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach, and dragged my ass up. Doggy style again, but deeper this time, his hips slamming against my ass with bruising force.

I pushed back to meet every thrust, moaning like a whore, mascara running down my cheeks. He reached around and rubbed my clit in time with his strokes.

We switched again, he sat on the sofa, pulled me on top facing him, and impaled me on his cock. I rode him hard, grinding my clit against his pelvis, my hands braced on his broad shoulders. His mouth latched onto my nipple, sucking, biting, while his hands gripped my ass, spreading me open as he thrust up.

“Ride that dick, baby. Milk it. Show me how bad you need Daddy’s load before you go play blushing bride.”

I did.

I bounced, circled my hips, clenched around him until his groans turned feral. Sweat slicked our bodies. The room smelled like sex... musky, sweet, filthy. My second orgasm built like a freight train.

“I’m gonna cum, Daddy, I’m...”

“Not yet. Hold it.” He suddenly stood, still inside me, carrying me like I weighed nothing. He walked us to the wall beside the window, pinning me there, and fucked me standing... long, punishing strokes that lifted me onto my toes.

The city watched us. Or maybe it didn’t.

I didn’t care.

Just as the pressure became unbearable, as I felt his cock swell even thicker inside me and my walls started fluttering.

Knock. Knock.

Two sharp knocks sounded on the bridal suite door.

The sound was sharp, clinical, and terrifyingly close.

“Daniella? It’s Chloe. We’re ten minutes behind schedule, sweetie. Are you dressed? The photographer is asking for the ‘getting ready’ shots.”

The world froze.

I went rigid beneath Miguel, my breath hitching in my throat. My heart felt like it was going to burst through my ribs.

Miguel didn't stop. He slowed his pace, his eyes locked onto mine with a terrifying, mischievous glint. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as his hips continued to roll in a slow, agonizingly deep circle.

“Miguel... fuck, someone’s here.”

“Don’t answer yet,” he whispered, his voice a ghost of a threat. “We’re not finished.”

“Daniella?” the voice called again, the doorknob rattling. “Is the latch on? The door is stuck.”

I looked at the door, then back at the man currently buried inside me, and realized with a sickening, erotic jolt.

That we were playing with fire on the most important day of my life.

And I never wanted it to end.

The knock echoed again, sharper this time, like a judge’s gavel sealing my fate.

My heart violently leaped into my throat, hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every muscle in my body seized. I went entirely rigid, my fingers digging desperately into Miguel’s broad, sweat-slicked shoulders as his weight pinned me against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, his hips still rolling in these slow, filthy circles that dragged the head of his dick right over that spot inside me.

My wedding gown was a ruined mess around my hips, my tits spilling out the top, nipples stiff and red from his mouth. I could feel my own juices dripping down my ass, slicking his balls where they pressed against me.

"Daniella? Are you in there?" Chloe’s voice drifted through the thick wood of the door, sounding entirely too close, entirely too real. "The planner is losing her mind. We need you down in the lobby for the pre-ceremony portraits in ten minutes. Is everything okay?"

I gasped, a tiny, pathetic sound that I barely managed to choke back. I stared at Miguel, my eyes wide with a mixture of sheer terror and a dark, electric thrill that I hated myself for feeling.

Miguel didn’t flinch. He didn't pull back.

Instead, a slow, predatory smirk curved his lips. His dark eyes, dark as midnight, locked onto mine, holding my gaze hostage.

To my absolute horror and exquisite torture, his hips shifted. Just a fraction. A slow, agonizingly deep tilt that sent a wave of hot friction straight to my core.

I had to bite my lower lip so hard I tasted copper to keep from screaming out.

"Daniella?" The doorknob rattled. The brass lock clicked against the frame, holding firm only because I had slid the security latch into place when I first entered. "Sweetie, did you lock the door? Why is the latch on?"

"Answer her," Miguel whispered, his voice a gravelly, barely audible vibration against my ear. His breath was hot, smelling of the expensive bourbon and the raw, musky scent of our shared heat.

He nudged his hips forward again, testing me, demanding submission even in the face of ruin. "Tell her a lie, little bird. Make it beautiful."

I swallowed hard, trying to summon a voice that didn't sound like it belonged to a woman currently being ruined by her future father-in-law.

“I-I’m fine, Chloe!” I called back, the words shaky but clear enough. “Just… give me a couple minutes? I’m almost ready. Need to fix my hair and catch my breath. Wedding day jitters, you know?”

"Oh my God, do you need help?" Chloe’s footsteps shifted closer to the paneling.

"No!" I gasped, perhaps a bit too quickly. Miguel chose that exact moment to draw back slowly, almost entirely out of me, before sinking all the way home in a long, deliberate glide. I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers clawing into the fabric of his opened shirt.

"No, please! Just... give me ten minutes. Please. I just need ten minutes to pull myself together, fix my hair, and touch up my makeup."

A heavy silence hung in the hallway for three agonizing seconds. My lungs burned. I didn't breathe.

I was acutely aware of the slick, heavy slide of Miguel's body against mine, the way my ruined couture gown was bunched up around my waist, and the undeniable reality that if that latch gave way, my life would end.

“Okay, sweetie,” Chloe said finally. “I’ll come back in ten minutes. The photographer’s getting antsy but I’ll stall. Don’t take too long, yeah? You’re gonna look great.”

"I won't," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Ten minutes."

We listened. The sharp, rhythmic click of Chloe’s heels slowly retreated down the carpeted corridor, growing fainter and fainter until they faded. The silence rushed back into the room, heavier and more suffocating than before.

Miguel let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated against my chest. His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers bruising my skin through the silk of my undergarments.

"Ten minutes," he murmured, his eyes glittering with a dangerous, wicked mischief. “More than enough time for me to wreck this pussy one last time before you walk down that aisle like a good little bribe.”