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Derek stood in front of the loft apartment on the edge of Beacon Hills, uncertain why he had driven there. The town was small, but this felt far from the modest house he and Paige had bought after high school. Back then, he was the basketball star athlete, she played violin, and they were the couple everyone admired—until the pregnancy test senior year. Pressured by their religious families, Derek married her. He told himself he had no regrets. He loved their son, Eli, and worked long shifts at the garage to provide. But lately, things with Paige had grown tense—arguments about his absences, her loneliness. Still, he had trusted her. Until tonight.
He’d lost his phone after dinner. Using Paige’s phone to call it, he saw a notification from “Spark.” He couldn’t read the locked message, but suspicion took hold. In the kitchen, he asked her to unlock it. She hesitated, then offered her face to unlock it. He pretended to call his phone, then checked her messages. One read: “SPARK: Round 2 tonight? ;)” with a location pin.
The betrayal felt physical. He memorised the address. Paige appeared, guilty. “You didn’t find your phone, did you?”
They argued for two hours. She called him a ghost husband; he shouted about bills and Eli’s medicine. Eventually, she admitted it: a girls’ night out, too many drinks, feeling neglected. She’d met Stiles, a young policeman, who saved his contact as “Spark.”
Derek left, driving to cool off. In his truck, he found his phone and entered the address.
Autopilot carried him through quiet streets. He and Paige had been each other’s firsts. Sometimes he remembered confused experiments in middle school with a friend named Isaac, things he had buried. Now, parked outside the loft, he didn’t know if he was here for revenge, confrontation, or something else. The GPS announced, “YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR DESTINATION.”
Derek parked outside the modern loft, which was way nicer than his own modest place back home. He let out a shaky sigh, then checked his phone: there were 15 missed calls and 32 texts from Paige, all filled with pleading apologies. He turned it off with a frustrated click and got out of the truck, his mind racing as he rode the elevator up, his heart thundering in his chest. When he reached the door, reality suddenly hit him—this whole thing was insane. But then that incriminating text flashed in his mind once more, fueling his resolve, and he knocked hard.
Seconds passed without a response. He raised his fist again, ready to knock even harder, when the door suddenly swung open.
"Easy, easy, I wasn't expecting you tonight—you didn't answer my text—oh, hello. Who are you?"
Whatever Derek had expected, it certainly wasn't this. The guy standing there was tall, lean but built, with messy brown hair and sharp amber eyes that scanned Derek like he was something delicious, almost like dessert. He wore a tight t-shirt that hugged his chest, with the sleeves rolled up to show off his toned arms, and grey sweats that outlined... well, everything. A massive bulge strained against the fabric, hinting at something undeniably huge underneath. Derek's anger surged through him, but at the same time, so did something else—perhaps confusion? He met the guy's flirty grin with a fierce glare.
"Are you Spark?"
The guy's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned against the doorframe in a seductive pose.
"That's meee- What app did we match on? Not to be rude, but I don't remember you—which is wild because how could I forget someone as gorgeous as you? Those eyes, that stubble... wait, how'd you get my add—"
Derek didn't let him finish; his fist connected with a sharp crack—a solid right hook right to the guy's left eye. "Spark" staggered back, his hand flying up to his face.
"Jesus—what the hell? Is this your idea of foreplay, handsome?"
Snapping out of his rage-fueled trance, Derek realised his recklessness. This guy probably didn't even know Paige was married. But seeing this cocky flirt, and knowing Paige had chosen him... it had pushed him to act on pure impulse. Without thinking further, he rushed inside, grabbed a frozen bag from the freezer, and handed it over cautiously.
"A peace offering. I'm really sorry—I don't know what came over me."
The guy took it warily, pressing it to his eye. "Can you just tell me who you are and what I could've done to deserve this?"
Derek let out a heavy sigh. "My name is Derek Hale, and you slept with my wife."
The guy—Stiles, apparently—froze for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, then he pulled out a stool at the kitchen island.
"Derek Hale, do you want a beer?"
A beer with his wife's lover? It sounded completely insane, but Derek needed something to steady his nerves. "God, yes."
Stiles grabbed two beers at first, then thought better of it and doubled back to grab the whole six-pack. "I think we're gonna need this. Name's Stiles, by the way." He handed one over. Derek popped the cap and took a long swig, feeling marginally calmer as the cold liquid went down. Meanwhile, Stiles checked his swelling eye in his phone camera, the bruise already starting to turn purple under the skin.
"You really pack a punch," he said with a smirk, tossing the bag back. "For your knuckles."
Derek saw his bruised hand, guilt hitting. He pushed it back. "No, you need it more. I'm so sorry."
Stiles shrugged. "Nah, I slept with your wife—well, honestly, I don't remember her name. I have a rule: no married people. But things get hot and heavy, and details slip. It happens."
Derek's anger flared. This could wreck his family, and this flirt doesn't even recall? "Paige Krasikeva—now Hale. That's my wife, the mother of my son. You met her at a bar after a call—probably against protocol. Saved yourself as 'Spark' and texted for 'Round Two' tonight."
Stiles raised his hands in surrender, that seductive grin fading slightly but not gone. "Whoa, okay... Paige Hale. Got it. Look, I didn't know. And if I had, I wouldn't have touched her. I'm really sorry—like, devastatingly sorry. You're built like a Greek god, and she stepped out? Her loss. But I wanna make it up to you, big guy."
Derek raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the flirtation. "And how would you make up for sleeping with my wife?"
Stiles exhaled, eyes locking on Derek's with intense heat. "I don't know exactly, but I can start by owning it. And maybe... showing you why she couldn't resist."
Derek scoffed, cheeks heating despite himself. "Owning it doesn't change shit."
"No," Stiles said softly, "but maybe it changes what's next."
Derek blinked, confused. "Meaning...?"
"Meaning you're here fighting me instead of her," Stiles replied, voice low and seductive. "And maybe that's because your marriage was crumbling before I showed up. Come on, let's move to the living room for this."
Derek followed, sinking onto the couch opposite Stiles, who set the beers down. "You don't know us. Who are you to say it's over?"
Stiles took a swig. "You're right, I don't. Yet you're still here, handsome. Curiosity about your wife's 'male mistress'?"
Derek chuckled defeatedly, grabbing another beer. "Yeah, guess so."
Stiles' eyes twinkled. "Can't say I've been called that before. Male mistress... has a ring to it." Silence fell, beers opening.
Derek sighed. "You know, I've only ever been with Paige. Started dating as teenagers, she got pregnant, Parents insisted on marriage."
Stiles bolted up. "YOU'VE ONLY EVER BEEN WITH ONE PERSON? Like your WHOLE life?"
Derek, buzzed, rubbed his neck. "Technically, yes. My whole life."
Stiles whistled, pacing. "Man, that's rare. Not even a curiosity fling? No high school experiment?"
Derek hesitated, then spilled. "Well, before Paige, there was this friend. We fooled around a bit—experimenting. Haven't thought about it in years."
Stiles laughed, leaning closer, shoulders brushing. "You are one repressed guy, Derek. All brooding and intense on the outside, but inside? A volcano waiting to erupt."
"I'm Christian—of course I'm repressed."
Laughter filled the room, a comfortable lull settling. Stiles broke it with a devilish grin. "You know, on second thought, I think I know a way to help you out here."
Derek turned, amusement mixing with confusion. Before he could ask, Stiles leaned in, lips hovering a breath away, eyes dark with seduction. "Let me show you what you've been missing, big guy."
Derek let out a shaky sigh—that was permission enough. Stiles pressed in hungrily, tongues tangling, moans swallowed. Derek's heart raced, his pants tightening as heat built. Stiles pulled back with a pop, eyeing Derek's bulge.
"Oh wow, you're so hard from just kissing. How cute—I really wanna take care of you, make it up to you properly."
Through the denim, Stiles rubbed Derek's cock with his palm, never breaking eye contact. Derek jerked, sighing breathily. "Well, guess it isn't cheating if it's with the same person my wife slept with."
Stiles' grin widened cockily. "Exactly, this is just... getting even. Well, let's move this upstairs, handsome."
Stiles slammed Derek against the bedroom door, lapping open-mouthed kisses on his neck, sucking bruises. Derek's fingers clutched Stiles' shirt, pulling him closer. They stumbled in, lips locked. Stiles pushed Derek onto the bed in a sitting position, running tender fingers through his hair.
"I'm gonna take such good care of you, Derek. I know you're not experienced in this, but can you help me out? So I can focus on nothing but making you feel incredible."
Derek's eyes locked on Stiles' massive bulge—thick, long, straining like a massive snake constrictor. It looked painful, so Derek felt a pang to help. He placed a hand on it, rubbing, leaning in to kiss the outline through the fabric. "It's been a while, but I'm not too inexperienced."
Stiles' cock jumped noticeably under the fabric at Derek's touch, a clear sign of his growing arousal. They stripped frantically, hands fumbling with buttons and zippers in a blur of urgency, clothes tossed aside haphazardly until both were fully exposed. Derek faced Stiles' huge cock directly now—easily ten inches long, thick as a wrist, prominently veined and throbbing with need, the head glistening slightly. He breathed shakily, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he wrapped his hand around it, stroking long and firm from base to tip, the velvety skin hot and pulsing under his palm. His mouth hovered just over the tip, his hot breath teasing out fresh beads of precum that welled up and trickled down, the salty scent filling the air and heightening the intimate tension. Stiles petted his hair gently, fingers threading through the strands as he praised softly, his voice low and encouraging—"That's it, just like that, you're doing amazing." Derek took him deep into his mouth, then, the initial stretch making him gag slightly as the thickness filled him, but he adjusted quickly, relaxing his throat and bobbing faster in a steady rhythm, saliva dripping messily down the shaft and onto his chin, the wet, slurping sounds adding to the raw sensations of fullness and friction against his tongue and lips. Stiles thrust gently at first, his hand guiding Derek's head with careful pressure, building the pace gradually.
"F-Fuck, so good... way better than your wife at this, Derek. Taking my big cock like a natural, sucking it down so eagerly."
Those words hit Derek like a train, making him feel inexplicably good in a way he knew he shouldn't—being compared favorably to his cheating whore of a wife, complimented on his sucking skills by the very guy she'd betrayed him with, and yet he relished it deeply, his whole body erupting in goosebumps from the twisted satisfaction, the electric shiver racing across his skin as arousal mixed with vindication. Stiles' hips jerked deeper suddenly, his control slipping as he came hard, thick ropes of cum pulsing down Derek's throat in hot, overwhelming spurts that flooded his mouth with a salty, musky taste. Derek swallowed desperately, gulping as much as he could, but he couldn't keep up with the volume, excess cum and saliva dripping from the corners of his lips and down his chest in sticky trails. Stiles pulled out with a firm fistful of Derek's hair, tilting his head back before leaning in to kiss him sloppily, tongues tangling as he tasted himself on Derek's lips, the shared flavour intensifying the afterglow. He followed it with a tender forehead kiss, his breath warm against Derek's skin.
"You did so well for me, took it like a champ. Now, face down, ass up on the bed, baby—let me take care of you next."
Derek complied without hesitation, positioning himself face down on the bed as instructed, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and lingering nerves. But before proceeding, Stiles paused, realising Derek still had on his pants and underwear—the only remaining barriers after their earlier haste. With a cocky grin, Stiles hooked his fingers into the waistband of Derek's jeans, tugging them down slowly over his hips, the rough denim scraping lightly against his skin and sending subtle shivers up his spine. He whistled low and appreciative as Derek's plump, hairy ass came into view, the sound sharp and teasing in the quiet room—"Damn, look at that view"—before sliding the underwear off next, the cool air hitting Derek's exposed skin and raising goosebumps along his thighs, the sudden vulnerability intensifying the tingling sensations of exposure and arousal. Once fully bared, Stiles pushed Derek's head gently but firmly into the pillows, muffling his breath slightly, then grabbed his waist with strong hands, fingers digging in just enough to feel possessive, and spread his legs wide apart to expose him fully. Derek's ass was fat, perfect, round, and huge—plump, hairy cheeks jiggling enticingly with even the lightest spank from Stiles' palm, the sharp sting radiating warmth through his flesh like two firm, inviting pillows begging to be worshipped and claimed, each movement heightening the electric hum of desire coursing through Derek's body.
Stiles couldn't help but let out a low, appreciative whistle as he took in the sight, his voice dripping with vivid praise. "God, Derek, look at this ass—it's fucking incredible, so massive and perfectly shaped, way better than your wife's ever was. Hers was nice, sure, but this? This hairy, round beast is on another level, so juicy and grippable, made for my hands." He slapped one massive, hairy bootycheek hard, watching it ripple and redden, then slapped the other for good measure, the sharp cracks echoing in the room. Derek's face flushed deep red, and he bit his lips trying to contain the sounds that threatened to escape him while a blush started spreading from his cheeks down his neck as the compliments and smacks sent a mix of embarrassment and arousal surging through him.
Satisfied with Derek's reaction, Stiles spread those plump cheeks wide, revealing Derek's tight, virgin hole, pink and twitching under his gaze. He peppered the soft, hairy skin with light kisses and teasing nibbles, working his way inward slowly, building the anticipation. Lowering further, he kissed the hole open-mouthed and wet, his tongue dipping in tentatively at first, then more insistently, swirling around the rim in slow, deliberate circles. The sensations hit Derek like waves—warm, slick pressure probing and teasing, sending electric tingles radiating from his core outward, making his skin prickle and his breath hitch unevenly.
Stiles dove deeper, his tongue thrusting in and out rhythmically, lapping at the sensitive inner walls while his hands kneaded the huge cheeks, spreading them even wider. "Fuck, this ass tastes amazing, so much tighter and sweeter than hers—it's like it was waiting for me," Stiles murmured against the skin, his hot breath adding to the overwhelming mix of wet heat and friction. Derek's eyes rolled back in his head, his legs shaking uncontrollably as the intense, probing pleasure built, fists clenching the sheets so hard his knuckles whitened. Finally, unable to hold back, Derek cried out loudly—a raw, desperate moan that echoed through the room—as Stiles' tongue flicked and delved relentlessly, pushing him right to the brink.
"F-fuck, Stiles, I can't take much longer," Derek gasped, his voice trembling as the relentless waves of pleasure built to an unbearable peak, every flick and thrust of Stiles' tongue sending sharp, electric jolts through his body, making his toes curl, and his breath come in ragged pants.
Stiles, fueled by the desperate plea, pressed his tongue even deeper into Derek's tight hole, swirling and probing with renewed intensity while adding a finger alongside it, slowly stretching the sensitive walls with deliberate licks that teased and ignited every nerve ending. The sensations overwhelmed Derek—the warm, wet intrusion delving deeper, creating a burning fullness mixed with tingling sparks that radiated outward, making his skin flush hot and his muscles clench involuntarily. Derek moaned gutturally at first, the sound low and primal, but as Stiles' tongue flicked relentlessly against that perfect spot inside, he jerked away from the overwhelming pleasure, his body instinctively trying to escape the intensity even as he craved more. Without missing a beat, Stiles grabbed Derek's hips firmly, flipping him onto his back in one swift motion, positioning Derek to sit directly on his face. Derek ground down desperately now, chasing the sensation, his huge ass smothering Stiles as he rode the probing tongue, the friction and heat building to a fever pitch. Stiles, near suffocating in that huge, perfect ass, was in pure bliss, his hands kneading the plump cheeks while his tongue worked tirelessly, making Derek cry out-moan loudly—a raw, uncontrolled sound that echoed through the room—as the pleasure crested, pushing him right to the edge of release.
Finally, Stiles tapped Derek's thigh urgently—air was needed. Derek rolled off reluctantly, collapsing beside him, both men catching their breath in heavy heaves. Once recovered, Stiles sat up with a wicked grin and said, "Need more prep, though. Show me how many fingers you can take, beautiful."
Stiles leaned back against the headboard, his hand lazily stroking his massive length, the thick shaft throbbing in anticipation. Derek, face flushed and body still buzzing from the rimming, positioned himself ass-up facing Stiles, the vulnerability making his heart race. He sucked two fingers wet, coating them thoroughly with saliva, then inserted them slowly to the knuckle, a soft moan escaping as he felt the initial stretch. Building momentum, he added a third finger, stretching himself further in rhythmic motions, the fullness sending fresh waves of pleasure through him. Stiles watched intently, then grabbed Derek's wrist, guiding his hand deeper and faster, before adding his own finger to the mix—four fingers now stretching Derek's virgin hole wide, the sensation a delicious burn that had Derek biting his lip to stifle his groans. What a sight it was: Derek's fat, round ass swallowing the fingers like it was made for it, clenching and releasing around them greedily. Finally, Stiles removed them all with a wet pop, smacking that huge cheek hard enough to leave a red imprint, the sting adding to the haze of arousal.
He lined up his huge cock at Derek's entrance, pushing in slowly at first, inch by inch. "Derek—you're so tight, fuck. That perfect hole opening up for me like it was meant to take my big cock."
He hilted fully, pausing for a moment to let Derek adjust, the overwhelming fullness making Derek's breath hitch. Derek whined breathily, squirming slightly. "S-Stiles, move... please fuck me."
Stiles started slow, grinding in deep, circular motions that teased without rushing. "This isn't your first time bottoming, is it?"
Derek smirked back over his shoulder, his voice laced with challenge. "Told you, experiments, some fingering, toys here and there. Now stop coddling—I bet you can do better than that."
Stiles' eyes darkened with mischief, a sly grin spreading as he decided to get back at him. Without warning, he pulled out almost entirely, then surprised Derek by burying his massive cock back in with one powerful thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt in a single, fluid motion that stretched Derek to his limits, making him gasp.
"Don't get cocky, big guy," Stiles murmured, his voice low and teasing as he held Derek in place. "You've never taken a cock, especially this big one, before—trust me, the real deal is better, you're gonna feel every inch for weeks." Derek's only response was a series of helpless moans, raw and involuntary, as Stiles' massive cock hit his prostate accurately with each precise thrust, the sensations exploding like fireworks—intense pressure and pleasure radiating from that spot, rendering him speechless and lost in the rhythm, his body arching instinctively to meet every accurate hit.
Stiles gripped Derek's hips hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, deep and hard, the force sending shockwaves through both of them. Moans echoed through the room, mingling with the rhythmic skin-slapping sounds—plap, plap, plap—growing louder and more insistent as their bodies collided in a building frenzy.
"Oh God, Derek, your hole's taking me so good," Stiles groaned, his voice rough and cocky, laced with that signature sarcasm even in the heat of the moment. "Like it was born for this—for my fingers stretching you open, my tongue tasting every inch, and soon... fuck, soon all my cum flooding you deep. That virgin ass of yours is opening right up, so perfect and huge, bouncing on my massive cock like it was made for it. Bet you never thought in your wildest dreams you'd end up like this, huh? Taking your wife's fling's huge dick, loving every second of it, moaning like a whore who can't get enough. Admit it, big guy—you're hooked already."
Derek gasped sharply, short-breathed and moaning helplessly.
"Ah—fuck, Stiles—yes—I'm... hooked—oh God, please"—his words fracturing into ragged pants and desperate whimpers, body trembling uncontrollably as Stiles' perfect cock filled him completely, every thick inch stretching his walls with a burning, exquisite pressure that sent waves of electric pleasure radiating from his core, hitting his prostate in precise, mind-melting thrusts that made his vision blur and his toes curl, his own cock throbbing and leaking endless streams of precum onto the sheets in slick, soaking pools that testified to his total surrender. In that haze, fragments of the night flashed through his mind—the betrayal in Paige's texts, the argument that shattered their fragile marriage, the drive to confront her lover—all of it a twisted path that had led him here, to this raw, liberating ecstasy he'd never known he craved, until reality snapped back only when Stiles pulled out suddenly, leaving Derek whining and needy, his hole clenching around nothing, aching for that massive dick to return and fill him again.
"Shh, easy, big guy," Stiles comforted with a teasing grin. "I just wanna cum inside you while watching that gorgeous face of yours twist in pleasure. Would you let me do that? Fill that fat, perfect ass of yours until it's overflowing?"
Derek, completely cockdrunk and lost in the overwhelming pleasure, could only manage a desperate nod, his eyes glazed over. Stiles grinned triumphantly and flipped him face-up in one smooth motion.
"Oh yeah, I wanna see that gorgeous face of yours when I come inside you, when I mark you from the inside out."
The pounding resumed with renewed intensity, Stiles hauling one of Derek's thick, muscular legs over his shoulder for even deeper access, his massive cock driving in with unyielding force, hitting that sweet spot relentlessly and sending jolts of white-hot pleasure through Derek's core with every precise thrust. At the same time, he wrapped his hand around Derek's throbbing cock, stroking it firmly in perfect time with his thrusts, the dual sensations building to an unbearable peak. Derek thought to himself amid the haze, *I could cum just from his cock hitting my G-spot like this—untouched, over and over,* his body betraying the idea as tension coiled tighter. He tensed up suddenly, his whole body arching off the bed in a rigid bow as he came hard, thick ribbons of cum spilling over Stiles' fingers and splattering onto his heaving stomach in hot, sticky bursts. Stiles didn't let up for a second, thrusting deep one final time and holding there buried to the hilt, filling him with endless cum—thick, hot loads pulsing out in relentless waves, so much that it overflowed, spilling out around his cock and leaking down Derek's trembling thighs in slick trails.
Stiles collapsed on top of him after a few long minutes, still grinding lazily to push every last drop deeper, kissing Derek sloppily—wet, open-mouthed presses along his jaw and lips. Finally, he pulled out with a wet pop, and cum spurted from Derek's stretched, gaping hole, flooding out in a messy puddle on the sheets beneath them.
Derek stared down in disbelief, his chest heaving as he tried to process the sheer volume.
"Jesus, no one can cum this much. Good thing I can't get pregnant, or we'd be in real trouble."
Stiles cuddled close, wrapping an arm around him possessively, his voice turning playful and teasing again. "Hey, we could try really hard—who knows, with my endless supply of cum and your amazing, out-of-this-world ass gripping me like that, anything's possible. Imagine it, Derek: you, all filled up and loving it, just like you did with my massive cock tonight."
Derek blushed but scoffed amusedly, shaking his head despite the lingering haze. "Yeah, don't think so. That's not how any of this works."
Silence settled over them for a moment, the room filled only with their slowing breaths.
"So, forgive me?" Stiles asked, batting his lashes with those exaggerated puppy eyes.
Derek met his gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah... It's not your fault. Hell, not even Paige's anymore. You've got this weird charm—like an incubus, drawing people in whether they want it or not."
Stiles chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against Derek's skin. The room fell silent for another beat, the weight of the night sinking in.
Derek sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling. "Pretty sure I'm gay."
Stiles let out a soft, amused hum, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Derek's chest as he propped himself up on one elbow, those amber eyes gleaming with that trademark mischief.
"Pretty sure? Come on, Derek, after what we just did—after how your perfect, huge ass took my massive cock like it was meant for it—you're definitely gay. Or at least bi-curious with a Stiles-specific kink. But hey, no rush on labels. We've got time to explore that."
Derek's breath hitched, still coming down from the high, his body slick and spent, the sheets beneath them a mess of cum and sweat. He turned his head slightly, meeting Stiles' gaze, a mix of vulnerability and newfound certainty flickering in his eyes.
"Time? This was... a one-time thing, right? Revenge fuck or whatever people called it."
Stiles grinned wider, cocky and seductive as ever, leaning in to nip at Derek's earlobe before whispering hotly,
"Oh, big guy, you think one round's enough? With an ass like yours—fat, round, hairy, and a tiny little hole begging for more—I could go all night. Bet you'd love it, moaning for my big dick again, opening up and getting filled just like before. But sure, if you wanna call it revenge... though from where I'm lying, it feels a hell of a lot like the start of something." He shifted closer, his hand sliding down to squeeze one of Derek's plump cheeks possessively, making it jiggle under his palm.
Derek flushed deeper, a low groan escaping as the touch reignited sparks in his oversensitive body, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he let out a shaky laugh, his voice rough. "You're impossible. But... yeah, maybe not just revenge."
They lay there tangled for a while longer, Stiles' endless energy keeping the conversation light and flirty, some kisses here and there, peppered with praises about Derek's body and promises of "more rounds" if he stuck around. Eventually, as the night deepened, Derek's phone buzzed from the floor—more missed calls from Paige—but he ignored it, choosing instead to drift off with Stiles' arm draped over him, the weight of the world feeling a little lighter.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the loft windows, and Derek woke to the smell of coffee. Stiles, shirtless and humming in the kitchen, shot him a wink.
"Morning, handsome. Stick around for breakfast? Or should I say... for me?"
Derek smirked, sitting up despite the delicious ache in his body.
"Breakfast sounds good. The rest... We'll see."
Stiles' eyes lit up with that mischievous spark, and now Derek understood the meaning behind the nickname his wife gave him as the young cop poured two mugs of coffee, sliding one across the kitchen island to Derek. The loft was bathed in morning light, casting a warm glow over the sleek counters and the remnants of last night's chaos—empty beer bottles still scattered in the living room. Derek, dressed only in his boxers from the night before, felt a strange mix of contentment and guilt settling in his chest. He took a sip of the coffee, strong and black just how he liked it, and watched Stiles whip up eggs and toast with surprising efficiency for someone who'd been up half the night giving Derek the pounding of his life.
"Man, you look good in the morning light," Stiles said, flipping the eggs with a flourish. "All rumpled and satisfied. I could get used to this view." He plated the food and sat down across from Derek, digging in with enthusiasm. Between bites, he shot Derek a playful grin. "So, I was thinking about that policy of mine—no messing with taken people. Yeah, I might have to forget it ever existed. I'd do anything for that ass of yours, big guy. It's like... hypnotic. One taste, and I'm done for."
Derek choked on his coffee, a laugh bubbling up despite himself. The words hit a little too close to home, stirring the fresh memories of Stiles' hands gripping him, spreading him wide, and that massive cock filling him in ways Paige never could. He set the mug down, his hand trembling slightly as he looked away for a moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts—guilt over his marriage, the thrill of last night, the fear of what admitting this meant. But the pull was too strong, the pleasure too undeniable to deny any longer. Finally, with a deep breath, he met Stiles' gaze with a heat he couldn't quite suppress, his voice hesitant, breaking slightly as he spoke.
"You're impossible, you know that? But... I-I don't know, Stiles, this is crazy, I shouldn't even be thinking this, but... yeah, I can't argue. Last night—you, your cock, all of it—that was... damn, that was the best fuck I've ever had. Hands down. Paige and I... It's always been routine, you know? Safe, but nothing like... like that. But you? You've got me hooked. I... I really can't get enough. I'd do anything, even if it means turning the tables on her. Keeping this going behind her back." He paused, his cheeks flushing as the words hung in the air, a reluctant acceptance settling over him like a weight lifted, mingled with a spark of eager anticipation.
Stiles paused mid-bite, his fork hovering, eyes darkening with a mix of surprise and desire. "Whoa, Derek, going full rogue? I like this side of you. Revenge affair, whatever you want to call it, it is, then. We'll be discreet, whatever it takes. Just promise me you'll come back for more of this..." Then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he pushed back his chair and stood up abruptly. He reached down, grabbing the enormous bulge straining against his loose sweats—the outline of that ten-inch monster still half-hard from their morning closeness—and gave it a slow, deliberate shake, letting it sway heavily for Derek to see. The fabric stretched taut, emphasising every thick inch, the head pressing prominently against the gray material. "That perfect, hairy ass of yours deserves to be fed regularly."
Derek laughed slightly at the brazen display, a short, breathy sound that betrayed his amusement—but at the same time, his mouth watered involuntarily, a rush of heat flooding him as he stared, remembering exactly how that massive cock had stretched and ruined him so perfectly just hours ago. He shifted in his seat, swallowing hard, the sight reigniting that insatiable craving that was now poisoning and consuming him.
They finished breakfast in a comfortable rhythm, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—Stiles' job as a cop, Derek's job as a mechanic and his latest car repairs, even a bit about Eli without delving too deep into the family complications. But underneath it all, the tension simmered, promises exchanged in lingering glances and casual brushes of hands. By the time Derek checked his phone—dozens more missed calls and texts from Paige—he knew he had to go. He dressed quickly, pulling on his rumpled clothes from the night before, the scent of Stiles still clinging to his skin.
"Text me later?" Stiles asked, pulling him into a deep, possessive kiss at the door. "Don't make me chase you, handsome."
Derek nodded, his body already aching for the next time. "Yeah. This isn't over."
The drive home felt surreal, the quiet streets of Beacon Hills blurring past as Derek replayed the night in his mind. The betrayal from Paige still stung, but now it was layered with his own secret—one that thrilled him in a way he hadn't expected. He pulled into the driveway of their modest house, spotting Paige's car and feeling a pang of something like pity mixed with resolve. She wouldn't know. Not yet, anyway.
Inside, Paige rushed to him the moment he opened the door, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, Eli playing quietly in the living room with his toys. "Derek, oh God, where were you? I was so worried—I called everywhere. I'm so sorry about everything. Please, let's talk. I never meant to hurt you."
Derek pulled her into a hug, his expression neutral, hiding the fresh marks under his shirt and the lingering fullness after being stretched and filled with another man's cock and cum in his body. "I needed space. Drove around, cleared my head. It's... okay. We'll figure it out." He kissed her forehead, the gesture mechanical, his mind already drifting to the next text from Stiles. Turning the tables felt right—after all, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. And for the first time in years, Derek felt alive.