They were both panting hard, chests heaving, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat in that cramped private room. Stiles’s tits were red and sore, nipples puffy from Derek’s mouth, her dress bunched around her waist like a useless belt, pussy still twitching from her orgasm. Derek’s fingers glistened with her cum, his trunks sticky from his own release, but his eyes were dark, satisfied yet hungry.

He stepped back, running a hand through his messy hair, that tattooed chest rising and falling. “Fuck, Stiles… good luck with your wedding. Though I’m not so sure a single dick can ever satisfy a slut like you.” He smirked, voice rough, teasing but with an edge that hit her right in the gut.