The dinner table was silent except for the clink of forks. Stiles's thighs stuck to the wooden chair, her soaked panties hidden beneath a too-short sundress. Jackson slurped his noodles loudly before suddenly speaking: "What if we invited Grandpa Derek to fuck you?"
Stiles's spoon clattered into her soup. "Darling!" Her blush crept down to her heaving cleavage. "That's—that's wrong, I'm your wife—"




















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