The wedding date was creeping up fast— just a couple months away now, invitations out, venue booked, all that fairy-tale bullshit. Stiles’s phone buzzed one afternoon while she was lounging by the penthouse pool in a tiny bikini that left nothing to the imagination, her big tits spilling over the top, ass eating the bottoms. It was the boutique—time for her wedding dress fittings. She squealed a little, excited butterflies in her stomach. This was it: the dress that’d make her look like a princess… or, knowing her, a p*rnstar princess.

But underneath the thrill, a weird sadness tugged at her. As she pictured walking down the aisle, it wasn’t Peter’s handsome silver-fox face waiting—it was Derek’s, all tattooed and smirky, those piercing eyes undressing her. “It would’ve been nicer if I were marrying Derek,” she thought, her pussy clenching at the forbidden idea. Younger, hotter, rougher—the way he degraded her, owned her. But nah, that was crazy. She shook it off, shoving the thought deep. Peter was the safe bet: money, stability, that thick daddy dick. Derek was just… complication.