Chapter 1: Move in
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The elevator doors slid open with a muffled chime. Mr. Hale stood there, holding a leather suitcase. He wore a crisp linen shirt tucked into trousers that hinted at disciplined gym habits. His silver hair was combed back neatly, and his eyes—sharp, assessing—scanned the hallway before landing on Stiles. He didn’t smile. "Stiles," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Still brightening up this building, I see."
Stiles shifted her weight, the thin fabric of her sundress clinging to her thighs in the humid hallway air. She’d chosen it because Eli loved the way the straps showed off her shoulders. Now she regretted it. His father’s gaze lingered too long on her collarbone.
"Welcome," she managed, stepping aside. The scent of his cologne—something woody and expensive—filled the space between them. She focused on the scuff marks near the apartment door’s threshold.
Inside, Eli beamed, pulling his father into a back-thumping hug. "Dad! How was the journey?"
The apartment smelled like the lemon-roasted chicken Stiles had spent hours preparing. Steam still fogged the kitchen window. Eli took the suitcase, his enthusiasm softening the tension coiling in Stiles’s shoulders. She watched her husband’s easy smile. He adored this man. Loved him.
Derek’s hand brushed the small of Stiles’s back as he passed her to enter the living room. A casual touch, maybe accidental. Her skin prickled. She remembered the last family dinner, his fingers "slipping" against her waist while reaching for the wine. The way he’d murmured such a tight dress when Eli stepped away.
Now, as Derek settled onto their sofa, stretching his long legs, his eyes trailed her movements. Stiles busied herself with the place settings. Knives. Forks. Napkins folded just so. Anything to avoid looking up. Eli chatted about work promotions, oblivious. The chicken sizzled faintly in the oven—a ticking clock.
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The lemon scent from the chicken suddenly tasted sour in Stiles’s mouth as Derek’s fingers—thick and deliberate—lingered on her wrist while she poured his water. “Careful, darling,” he murmured, his voice rough like gravel under tires. “Wouldn’t want you spilling on that pretty dress.” His knuckles grazed the inside of her arm, warm and intrusive. She jerked back, water sloshing onto the tablecloth. Eli laughed from across the table. “Clumsy today, baby?”
Dinner crawled like a trapped fly against glass. Derek’s gaze never left Stiles’s neckline, even as he praised her cooking. His steak knife scraped loudly against the plate, each sound making her flinch. She pushed peas around with her fork, her sundress sticking to her lower back with nervous sweat.
When Eli excused himself to fetch more wine from the kitchen, Derek leaned forward instantly. “Two years married to my son,” he said lowly, tracing his thumb over the table’s edge toward her hand. “Still so... tense around me.” Stiles’s skin went cold. She gripped her napkin until her knuckles whitened, staring at the grease stain blooming on the linen.
Eli returned, humming, oblivious to the thick quiet. He refilled glasses, his fingers brushing Stiles’s shoulder affectionately. She forced a smile, focusing on the way his wedding band caught the light—solid, real.
But Derek chuckled, swirling his wine. “Your wife’s quiet tonight, son.” The words slithered between them. Eli grinned. “She’s just shy, Dad.” Stiles’s stomach twisted. Shy? She remembered Derek’s breath against her ear last Christmas: I know what you want.
Later, clearing plates, Stiles dropped a fork. It clattered loudly on the tiles. As she bent to pick it up, Derek’s polished shoe nudged her bare ankle—a slow, deliberate pressure. His shadow fell over her like a cage. She froze, crouched low, the kitchen’s fluorescent light buzzing overhead. From the living room, Eli’s cheerful voice called out, “Need help, honey?” Derek’s eyes gleamed. He didn’t move. Stiles’s breath hitched. The fork felt slick in her palm.
Chapter 2: Dirty talks and jerking off to p*rn
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Morning light sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled bed. Eli pressed a drowsy kiss to Stiles’s temple. “Early shareholder meeting,” he mumbled against her hair, his warmth a fleeting comfort. She clung to his scent—clean cotton and coffee—as he dressed.
At the apartment door, he flashed his easy grin. “Dad’s probably still asleep. Take care of each other today, okay?” He kissed her deeply, oblivious to Derek leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed. Derek’s smirk was slow, predatory. The door clicked shut. Silence pooled thick and suffocating.
Stiles fled to the kitchen. She scrubbed last night’s dishes until her hands stung red under scalding water, drowning in the lemon soap scent. But heavy footsteps approached. Derek stood too close, hip brushing hers as he reached past her shoulder for a coffee mug—his forearm lean, muscled.
His breath warmed her neck. “Busy bee,” he murmured. The roughness in his voice made her flinch. She sidestepped, heart hammering, toward the fridge. Avoid him. Fold laundry. Vacuum. Anything. She grabbed a basket of clothes, retreating to the bedroom.
He followed. As she bent to sort socks on the bed, he was suddenly behind her—a solid, immovable presence. His front pressed flush against her backside, the hard ridge beneath his thin sweatpans unmistakable against her soft cotton shorts. Stiles froze.
Heat flooded her cheeks, a treacherous mix of fury and unwelcome tingling low in her belly. His hand settled low on her hip, fingers splaying possessively. “Always hiding,” he breathed into her ear, low and thick. The laundry tumbled to the floor. Her throat tightened. Turned on? The thought sickened her—yet her skin burned where he touched.
She spun around, shoving him back with shaking hands. “Get off!” The words ripped out, hoarse with panic. Derek chuckled, stepping back. His gaze dropped to her heaving chest, hungry. “Make me.”
The flush deepened, spreading down her neck to her collarbone. She scrambled backward. The backs of her knees hit the mattress edge. “You’re disgusting!” The insult hissed out, sharp as broken glass—yet her breath hitched wetly.
Derek prowled closer, crowding her against the unmade sheets. He wasn’t smiling now. His eyes were flat, predatory. “Call me filthy names, girl,” he murmured, leaning in. She smelled coffee and the faint musk of his skin. Her legs trembled. That warm slickness bloomed between her thighs—helpless, betraying. She hated it. Hated him. His knuckle brushed her jawline, feather-light. Stiles slapped his hand away. “Touch me again and I’ll scream!”
He caught her wrist—fast, bruisingly tight. His thumb dug into her pulse point. Fear choked her scream before it could form. “Scream?” Derek tilted his head, voice dropping to a velvet rasp. “Who’d hear? Eli’s gone all day.”
He tugged her closer. Her breasts crushed against his chest. The friction rasped her peaked nipples through the thin fabric. A tiny gasp escaped her. Wetness soaked her shorts. His smirk returned, cruel and knowing. “That’s it,” he breathed against her lips—close, too close. “Angry little slut.” His free hand slid down her spine, gripping her ass hard enough to bruise. Stiles whimpered. She couldn’t pull away. The scent of him—leather, sweat, dominance—filled her lungs. His lips hovered a breath from hers.
***
Hours crawled by. Stiles scrubbed the bathroom tiles until her knees ached, drowning in bleach fumes. She’d locked herself in. Outside, Derek’s heavy footsteps paced—a prowling threat. When silence finally fell, she crept out, trembling. The afternoon sun poured into the living room. She froze.
Derek sprawled naked on the sofa, head thrown back. On the massive TV screen, a woman moaned, bent over a kitchen counter. His fist pumped his cock—thick, flushed crimson, veins bulging. Precum glistened at the tip. Stiles’s breath hitched. He didn’t pause.
His gaze locked onto her, dark and predatory. “See something you like?” His voice was rough, thick with arousal. He stroked harder. Slap-slap-slap—the wet sound filled the room, mingling with the p*rn’s gasps.
Her legs trembled. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. That traitorous heat coiled low in her belly again. He grinned, cruel. “Thinkin’ ’bout how tight you’d feel.” His thumb circled the swollen head. “Eli ever make you come like this?” He leaned forward, tendons straining in his neck. “Bet you’re dripping right now.”
Stiles’s cheeks burned. Her damp panties clung. She dug her nails into her palms. Run. But his groan—low, guttural—rooted her to the spot. “Come here,” he rasped. “Want your mouth on it.” The command vibrated through her bones.
Chapter 3: Sucking dick and riding his fingers🤤👅🍆💦
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Her feet moved before her mind caught up. Step. Step. Closer. The p*rn actress screamed—a sharp, fake sound. Stiles dropped to her knees on the cool hardwood floor. Derek’s cock throbbed in front of her face, hot and smelling sharply of salt and musk. She hesitated. He gripped her hair. “Don’t play shy,” he growled, pushing her forward. Her lips brushed velvet skin. The taste—bitter, primal—flooded her senses. She whimpered.
“That’s it,” Derek hissed. He tightened his fist in her hair. “Suck.” Stiles opened her mouth, taking the thick head inside. Her tongue flicked tentatively at the slit. He groaned, bucking his hips. “Fuck yes… wet little slut.”
She hollowed her cheeks, sliding down inch by inch until her nose pressed against his coarse curls. Tears pricked her eyes. He thrust deeper. “Gag on it,” he commanded, voice rough. She choked, saliva dripping down her chin.
He laughed, breathless. “Look at you. Hungry for your father-in-law’s cock.” The screen behind him showed a woman swallowing greedily. Stiles moaned around him—shame twisting into dark, unwanted pleasure. Her wetness soaked through her shorts.
Derek leaned back, watching her. “You’re better than that trash,” he nodded toward the TV. He pulled her head back by her hair, his cock glistening with her spit. “Tell me you want it,” he demanded, stroking himself slowly.
Stiles’s voice cracked. “I… want it.” He smirked. “Louder.” Her thighs clenched. “I want your cock,” she whispered hoarsely.
Chapter 4: Riding his cock while watching p*rn 🔞🐱🍑🍆💦
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“Now ride me properly,” he ordered, gripping her hips. Stiles lifted herself, guiding his thick tip to her swollen entrance. She sank down slowly, inch by torturous inch, her gasp turning into a whimper. “Fuck,” he hissed as her slick heat enveloped him. “Like a cock slut.”
She began rocking—slow at first, grinding her hips in tight circles. But Derek slapped her ass hard, the sharp stinging making her cry out. “Harder, slut!” he snarled.
So Stiles slammed down onto him, bouncing frantically, her wetness making obscene squelching sounds with each downward plunge. His cock felt huge inside her—thicker, hotter, more insistent than Eli’s, stretching her wider than she’d ever known.
“God! So fucking big!” she gasped, her voice ragged.
Derek chuckled darkly, gripping her hips tight enough to leave bruises. “Tighter than Eli makes you?” he demanded, thrusting upward aggressively.
Her head rolled back, her breasts bouncing wildly. “Yes!” she moaned shamelessly. “So much bigger!”
He slapped her ass again and again—sharp rhythmic cracks echoing over the p*rn still playing on-screen. His other hand twisted her nipple viciously. “Like that, whore?” he growled.
Chapter 5: Fucked in 🛏️🚿🥵🍒🍆💦
Chapter Text
He hauled her up roughly, pulling her toward the hallway—past the messy living room couch where she’d knelt. Stiles stumbled, legs still shaky. He shoved open the bedroom door she shared with Eli. Sunlight glared off their wedding photo on the nightstand.
Derek flung her onto the rumpled sheets where she’d slept beside her husband hours ago. Stiles scrambled back instinctively. He climbed over her, knees trapping her hips. His cock was hard again, flushed crimson against her thigh. He gripped her chin.
“Look at me.” She did—his eyes dark, possessive. “This is where he fucks you?” Derek asked lowly. Stiles nodded, swallowing hard. His thumb traced her lower lip. “Not deep enough.” He positioned himself, his thick tip nudging her wet entrance. “Spread wider.” Stiles obeyed, trembling. He slammed into her in one brutal thrust.
Deeper than before. Harder. Stiles cried out as he filled her—stretching her swollen walls. Derek leaned down, his sweat dripping onto her chest. “Mine,” he growled.
His hips pistoned—deep, grinding strokes that punched ragged gasps from her throat. Her pussy fluttered around him, oversensitive yet ravenous. He gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. The bedframe creaked violently with each thrust.
“Tighter,” he snarled. “Clench that slutty little hole.”
Stiles whimpered, her hips lifting to meet him. “Daddy… please!” She couldn’t stop. Every nerve screamed.
Jade01 on Chapter 2 Sun 14 Dec 2025 07:37PM UTC
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