A few days had slipped by since the toy room escapade, and Derek’s frustration had built to a boiling point. Every late-night call from Stiles—her voice whiny and defeated after another failed flirt with Scott—chipped away at him. Why him? Why not me? I’ve given her everything—made her body sing, her pussy drip, her ass clench around my cock. And she still pines for that clueless boy? Hurt twisted in his chest, but he buried it deep, telling himself: She’ll choose me. I’ll make her see she needs me, craves me. One day, it’ll be my name she moans without prompting.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He planned a weekend getaway—private, intimate, designed to drown her in pleasure until Scott was a distant memory. He texted her: Pack a bag for the weekend. Tell your parents it’s a girls’ trip. I’ll pick you up a few blocks from home Friday afternoon.