SINFUL HOUR COLLECTION: Creaming on daddies spicy erotica

“At long last… this fucking wedding is finally over,” I mutter, barefoot, toes curling against the cool tile as I head to the kitchen for something to eat.

Tyler had been glued to me the whole damn day. Every dance, his hands sat low on my waist, fingers digging in like he already owned every inch. I can still feel the pressure of his palms, the way his thumbs kept rubbing slow, lazy circles right above my ass. It made my stomach do this stupid little flip, heat pooling low even now. God, I’m grinning like an idiot just thinking about it.

Soon it’ll be only us. Him. That thick cock I’ve been dying for. His house, his yacht, his last name—mine.

I bite my lip hard to kill the smile.

Footsteps come down the hall. Speak of the devil.

Tyler rounds the corner, shirt half undone, tie gone, whiskey sharp on him. We almost pass each other when his hand shoots out and catches my wrist, grip firm, warm, possessive.

“Don’t forget,” he says, voice low and gravelly, the kind that makes my thighs press together. “Midnight. Your room. I want the truth tonight.”

I step right into him, letting my swollen belly brush against the front of his pants. My fingers trail down his bare chest, nails scraping lightly until I feel his muscles jump under my touch.

“Of course,” I whisper, leaning up so my lips brush his ear, breath hot. “Husband of the year.” I drag my tongue slow over his earlobe, tasting the salt on his skin. “I’ll be naked and waiting, baby. Don’t you dare be late.”

He makes this rough sound in his throat, eyes going dark. “Won’t be,” he growls, then forces himself to walk away toward the master bedroom, shoulders tight.

Get ready, Jess. Tomorrow’s gonna be hell for you.

I’m still grinning when my stomach growls again. Right. Food first.

2:00 a.m.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, completely naked, one leg crossed over the other, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. The lamp casts this soft gold light over everything. My skin feels too warm, too tight.

The door creaks open.

Tyler steps in, shirt hanging open, chest rising and falling fast like he’s been pacing. He closes the door behind him and just stands there, eyes locked on me.

“Lock it,” I say, voice quieter than I expect.

He reaches back, twists the lock without looking away. The click is loud in the silence.

“You actually came,” I breathe.

“You think I could sleep after that shit you whispered at the reception?” His voice is rough, strained, like the words hurt coming out. “Tell me it’s bullshit, Joyce. Tell me my wife didn’t lie to me for months.”

I stand up slowly, hips swaying just a little as I walk to him. I press one finger to his lips, feeling how warm they are.

“Shh… Get on your knees first, daddy.”

He lets out this deep, broken groan and drops right there on the carpet. His big hands grab my ass immediately, squeezing, spreading me open. Then his mouth is on me—hot tongue dragging slow and filthy up my slit before he latches onto my clit and sucks hard.

I’m dripping already. I can feel it running down my thighs, smearing across his chin as he eats me like he’s starving. My fingers slide into his hair, gripping tight, pulling him closer while I roll my hips against his face.

“Fuck—right there,” I gasp, grinding harder, legs starting to tremble.

He pushes two thick fingers into me without warning. They slide in easy, curling just right, pumping fast. I shove his face deeper and ride his tongue shamelessly, breath coming in short, needy pants.

“Oh shit—yes—don’t stop—”

I come hard, thighs shaking, hips jerking as I flood his mouth. He groans against me and swallows, throat moving, messy sounds filling the room while it drips down his chin onto his neck.

I yank his head back by the hair, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath.

“Pants off. Now.”

He stands up fast, hands fumbling with his belt, zipper ripping down. His cock springs out—thick, hard, the head shiny and leaking. It slaps heavy against his stomach.

I turn quick, climbing onto the bed on my hands and knees, ass up high, back arched, belly hanging heavy beneath me, face buried in the pillow.

He grabs his cock, rubs the fat head over my clit once, twice, teasing until I whine and push back. Then he lines up and presses in just enough to stretch me.

“Start talking,” he growls, voice wrecked.

“She’s infertile,” I pant, pushing back onto him. “Been lying for months. Tomorrow she was gonna have them cut the baby out of me at ten weeks—”

He slams in deep in one brutal thrust.

“Fuuuck!” I cry out into the pillow, fingers twisting in the sheets.

He doesn’t go easy. His hips slap hard against my ass, balls smacking my clit with every thrust. My tits swing heavy, belly bouncing under me, the bed creaking loud. I’m so wet it’s messy—creamy arousal coating his cock, leaving white rings every time he pulls back.

He grabs the veil still tangled in my hair, yanks my head back like reins, and fucks me harder, deeper.

“Say it again,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“It’s our baby—only ours—she was gonna steal it—”

He flips me onto my back so fast my head spins, throws my legs over his shoulders, folding me in half. I’m wide open, helpless, his weight pinning me down.

“Ultrasound’s in the folder—look—”

He snatches the papers with one hand, eyes scanning while his hips keep slamming into me, relentless.

“She lied to my fucking face?” he snarls, throwing the papers aside.

His hands grip my hips tight, pounding so deep I feel him in my stomach.

“Yes—daddy—yes—”

I squirt hard, soaking his abs and thighs, my whole body shaking. He pulls out, slaps his wet cock against my clit twice—sharp, stinging—then buries himself again and comes with a deep, broken groan. Thick, hot spurts flood me as he keeps grinding through it, cock twitching inside.

We collapse together, both panting, his heavy body pressing me into the mattress, cock still buried deep, pulsing.

I reach under the pillow, grab the pen, and push it into his hand.

He signs every page without pulling out, cum leaking around him with every scratch of the pen.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers against my mouth, voice raw, “she’s gone.”

I smirk and clench around him, milking that last drop.

“Good boy.”

7:00 a.m.

I walk downstairs barefoot, the shirt I stole from Tyler barely covering anything. Fresh hickeys cover my neck and chest, and my thighs still feel sticky from last night.

Jessica’s already in the kitchen, tote bag on her shoulder, that little white tennis skirt riding up slightly, ponytail swinging as she hums like nothing’s wrong. She thinks we’re just running errands before tomorrow’s “procedure.”

Tyler comes down first—barefoot, sweatpants hanging low, face cold as stone. I follow right behind him.

Jessica turns, smiling bright. “Hey honey, good morn—”

The smile drops the second she sees me—half-naked in his shirt, belly obvious, looking freshly fucked.

“Is it true?” Tyler asks, voice flat and cold.

Her face goes pale. “Is… what true?”

“That you’re infertile. That tomorrow you were gonna have doctors cut my son out of Joyce and pretend it was yours.”

The tote bag slips from her fingers and hits the floor with a dull thud.

“Tyler—”

“Answer me.”

Tears start falling immediately. “Y-yes,” she chokes, voice breaking. “I was scared you’d leave me. I didn’t want to lose you—”

She drops to her knees, hands grabbing at his sweatpants. “Please… please don’t—”

Her eyes dart to me, full of hurt and rage. “You… After everything? The double shifts so you could go to Cambridge? Paying your tuition? Writing your essays while you were out partying? I gave you a home, a future… and you do this? Steal my husband and my baby the day after my wedding?”

I lean against the doorframe, one hand slowly rubbing my belly, watching her crumble. It feels so fucking good.

Tyler steps closer to her. “None of that matters anymore,” he says coldly. “I needed a son. Joyce is giving me one. You two look the same anyway. It’ll be like nothing changed.”

He pulls the signed divorce papers from his back pocket and drops them at her feet.

“Out by noon.”

Jessica breaks completely—sobs tearing out of her as she crawls forward, clutching his legs, begging through ugly, shaking cries.

Tyler turns away from her like she’s nothing. He walks straight to me, slides both hands over my belly, and kisses me deep and slow, tongue sliding against mine while she sobs behind him on the floor.

“P-please… Tyler… Joyce… don’t do this…”

I break the kiss just enough to look over his shoulder at her.

“It’s over, bitch. You’ve got until noon to get the fuck out of my house.”

I lace my fingers with Tyler’s, and we walk away together, leaving Jessica shattered and crying on the cold kitchen floor.