The week after that disastrous dinner had been a whirlwind of stolen moments and filthy secrets. Derek and Stiles couldn’t keep their hands off each other—whenever possible, they’d sneak quick fucks in risky spots. Back alleys behind the club after his shift, her bent over a dumpster while he pounded her from behind, calling her a “cheating step-slut” and slapping her ass red. Or in the penthouse bathroom during one of Peter’s quick work calls, Derek’s hand over her mouth to muffle her moans as he finger-fucked her rough, whispering how she was “dripping for stepson dick.” Always rough, always degrading—him pinning her down, choking her lightly, making her beg for his cum like the whore she was. She’d go home to Peter with bruises hidden under clothes, pussy sore but craving more. The taboo of it—fucking her fiancé’s estranged son—only made it hotter.

Then, one morning, Peter kissed her goodbye at the door, suitcase in hand. “Business overseas, baby. Back in two days. Be good—don’t touch that pussy without me.” He smirked, squeezing her ass.