Spreading My Legs Wide Open

18: Aching for real di-ck

~ Evie ~

We are pulling up to the Poole's house, and I'm just staring out the window like a total i***t. This place isn't a house - it's a freaking palace. Massive gates swing open like they're welcoming royalty, and the driveway alone is longer than my whole street back home. The mansion looms up, all white stone and huge windows, with fountains spraying water like it's no big deal. I've never seen anything like this in real life, not even in those dumb movies where the girl marries the billionaire and everything's perfect. Intimidating? Yeah, that's the word. I feel small, like I'm stepping into a world where I don't belong.

The driver opens my door, and Marcus is right there, smiling that polished smile, hand out to help me. "Evie, you made it. Welcome home - for the weekend, at least." He pulls me in for a quick hug, his cologne all expensive and woodsy. I hug back, but my mind's already racing. Claire texted me like five times on the way over, all "Have fun!" and "Call if you need anything!" And Jack - oh man, his texts are blowing up my phone. "Don't do this." "Come back." "I need you." I shove my phone deeper in my purse. Not now, Jack. But damn, I miss him already.

Inside, it's even crazier. Marble floors that echo when I walk, chandeliers hanging like they're made of diamonds, and servants - actual servants - taking my coat and offering drinks. Marcus's family swarms me: his mom with her perfect hair and pearls, dad in a suit that probably costs more than our car, aunts and uncles all smiling like they've won the lottery. "Evie, darling! Our future bride-to-be!" his mom says, pulling me into a hug. Bride-to-be? They introduce me like that to everyone, calling me the "queen of the palace" or some crap. I force a smile, but inside I'm like, whoa, slow down. We just met, and now I'm queen? The dinner table's set like a feast - crystal glasses, silver everything, more food than I could eat in a week. It's loud, everyone talking over each other about business deals and vacations in Europe. I'm treated like royalty: they pour my wine, ask about my "interests," laugh at my lame jokes like I'm hilarious. It's nice, I guess, but overwhelming. Claire calls again during appetizers... "Everything okay?" - and I whisper-yell into the phone that yes, I'm fine, stop hovering.

Marcus sits next to me, his hand on my knee under the table now and then. Possessive, yeah, but not in a bad way yet. He leans in. "You look stunning. Can't wait to have you all to myself later." His voice is low, flirty. I blush, but my brain's already wandering. Claire mentioned I'm staying the whole weekend, till Monday or something. "Get to know the family," she said. But all I'm thinking is, okay, if this is happening, how's Marcus gonna f**k me? Like, marathon-style, the way Jack does? Jack could go for hours, pounding me till I'm sore and begging, then flipping me over for more. Would Marcus do that? Pin me down, make me come over and over till Monday morning? My p***y twitches at the thought. s**t, Evie, focus. Eat your salad.

Dinner drags on - rich food, rich talk. They toast to "our union" like it's a done deal. I sip my wine, nodding along, but Jack's texts keep vibrating my phone. "Miss your pussy." "Thinking about you riding me." Dirty as hell, and it makes me shift in my seat. Horny already? Great. Marcus catches me smiling at my phone. "Everything good?" I nod. "Just family stuff." Yeah, stepbrother stuff.

Finally, dinner ends, and everyone scatters. Marcus grabs my hand. "Come on, I'll show you my room." His bedroom - holy crap, it's bigger than our whole house. King bed with silk sheets, a balcony overlooking the pool, walk-in closet that could fit my apartment. Richer than anything I've seen. He closes the door, pulls me close. "Alone at last." We kiss - his lips are soft, tongue gentle. It's okay, but no fire like with Jack. He strips my dress off slow, like he's unwrapping a present. I'm naked now, and he looks at me like I'm gold. "You're perfect." He pushes me onto the bed, climbs on top. Kisses my neck, hands on my t**s - finally. But he's fumbling a bit, like he's nervous or something. I reach down, grab his d**k through his pants. It's... soft? What?

I stroke him, trying to get him hard. "Come on, Marcus, f**k me." I'm horny now, p***y wet from all the buildup. He groans, but it's weak. I unzip him, pull it out - decent size, but limp as hell. I grip it tight, pump fast. He twitches, then - bam - he comes. Just like that, all over my hand. What the f**k? He hasn't even touched my n*****s properly, hasn't sucked them or anything. No fingers in me, no d**k dipping inside. Just my hand on his useless c**k, and he blows his load. Twice? Wait, no - I stroke again, hoping for round two, and yep, he releases a second time, sputtering out like a sad fountain. I'm staring at it, c*m dripping down my fingers. Horny as f**k, c**t throbbing, but he's done? Already soft again, shrinking in my hand.

"Marcus?" I say, voice all whiny. "You okay?" He rolls off, face red. "Sorry, Evie. It's... been a while. Nerves, I guess." Nerves? Billionaire CEO, and he can't even get it up for more than a handjob? I almost laugh - it's kinda funny, this "possessive" guy popping off like a teenager. But my body's screaming for more. What do I do? Jack would have me coming by now, his thick c**k stretching me wide. Marcus just lies there, breathing heavy. "We can try again tomorrow," he mumbles. Tomorrow? I'm stuck here till Monday, and this is it?

It's midnight now, and I'm wide awake next to him. He's snoring already - out cold after his pathetic double-shot. My phone buzzes under the pillow: Jack again. "You okay? Miss you." I text back quick: "Miss you too. This sucks." But sucks? Understatement. I'm horny, frustrated, p***y aching for real d**k. Marcus's room feels like a cage now, all this luxury but no action. I stare at the ceiling, mind racing. What if I just... leave? Sneak out, grab an Uber back home, slip into Jack's room? Climb into his bed, wake him with my mouth on his c**k, ride him till we both come hard. He'd f**k me marathon-style, no problem - hours of it, making up for this disaster.

The thought makes me wetter. I slide a hand between my legs, rub my c**t slow under the sheets. Marcus doesn't stir. Yeah, I could do it. Run back to Jack, let him ruin me like always. But the families? The deal? They'd freak. Still... god, I need it. His texts keep coming: "Come home. I need to f**k you." Dirty, desperate. I bite my lip, circling faster. Almost there - imagining Jack's c**k slamming into me, not this limp bullshit.

I come quiet, shaking next to sleeping Marcus. But it's not enough. Not even close. What a f**k-up of a night. Do I stay and fake it through the weekend? Or bail and blow everything? Jack's waiting. My p***y's begging. s**t, I need to decide - now.