The Wedding Night We Stole: A Sinful Secret No One Knows About (Till Now)

Champagne bubbles. Silk dresses. The scent of gardenias thick in the air—my sister’s wedding was a fairy tale. Until he ruined me.

My cousin-by-marriage. The one with the devil’s smile and hands that knew exactly how to make a girl shiver. We’d flirted before—harmless, right? A wink across the dinner table. A "You look gorgeous" murmured against my ear during hugs.

But that night, with the music slow and our bodies too close, it stopped being innocent.

"Dance with me," he demanded, fingers tightening on my waist.

I should’ve said no.

Instead, I let him spin me into the shadows, where his lips crashed into mine like he’d been starving for the taste. The wall was cold against my back.

 His hands were everywhere.

"We—we can’t," I gasped as his teeth scraped my collarbone.

"Then scream for help," he dared, sliding a thigh between mine.

I didn’t scream.

What happened next was a blur of hitched breaths and desperate hands, my dress shoved up, his belt clinking to the floor. 

The risk of getting caught only made it hotter—every moan swallowed by the distant music, every thrust punctuated by cheers for the newlyweds.

After? We straightened our clothes in silence. Smoothed hair. Walked back separately.

But the way his knuckles grazed my hip as he passed me cake later? The way he still texts me "Remember the champagne?" at 2 AM?

Some secrets don’t stay buried.

And this one?

I don’t want to forget.