Freya’s POV

He kicked my feet apart.

Rough fingers found my soaked folds and plunged inside without preamble—two thick digits curling deep, stretching me open in one brutal stroke. I cried out, back arching off the wall, palms slapping the tile for balance as my body jolted from the sudden fullness.

“Fuck—already dripping,” he growled against my ear, voice low and filthy. “Pathetic little slut. Begging a stranger to wreck you on your wedding night.”

“Yes,” I whimpered, pushing back against his hand like I could force him deeper. “Please—more—”

He curled his fingers harder, found that spot inside me that made my vision blur, and pumped steadily while his...