Yes they can

Ben watched it all, stomach turning. Those women would keep going until they collapsed, exhausted, humiliated, dripping sweat and exhausting their energy for nothing. Because Damian had made sure of it.

Damian kept thrusting into Sofia, steady rhythm, one hand sliding up her back to grip her hair and pull her head back slightly. She stared ahead vacantly, that soft smile plastered on her face. Then he turned his head just enough to look at Evie.

Evie was staring straight into Damian’s eyes.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, mascara running in dark tracks. Her bare breasts rose and fell with shaky breaths. But under the crying, her face was twisted with raw anger, jaw clenched, eyes burning, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked like she wanted to tear him apart with her bare hands.

Damian caught the look. His thrusts slowed for a second, then picked up again, harder.

He smiled wider.

“That’s the fire I missed,” he said between breaths. “Keep looking at me like that, Evie. It’s only going to make this sweeter.”

“You know there was no need for any of this, Evie,” Damian said, still buried deep in Sofia, hips rolling slow and deliberate now. “If only you’d known my worth back then, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

He kept his eyes locked on her the whole time, watching for any crack in that furious mask she was wearing. Evie didn’t blink. Her jaw stayed clenched, tears still sliding down her cheeks in silent tracks, rage burning steady behind the wet shine in her eyes.

Damian smirked wider. “It’s cute you think I care how you feel, sweetie.”

He lifted one hand from Sofia’s hip and pointed straight at Evie’s face.

“Smile!”

Evie’s lips trembled. Ben could see the fight in her, muscles twitching, trying to hold the line but it was useless. Her mouth curved up slowly, **** at first, then settling into one of her best genuine smiles. The kind that used to light up rooms, the one that showed her dimples and crinkled the corners of her eyes. Except now those eyes were still leaking tears, mascara streaking black lines down her cheeks. The contrast made Ben’s chest ache.

“That’s much better,” Damian said, satisfied. He gave another thrust into Sofia, making her body rock forward against the table. “I’m sure you don’t want to feel like you’re missing out on all the fun your friends seem to be having. I still remember what a slut my goth girlfriend was.”

Evie flinched hard at the words, like he’d slapped her. Ben knew exactly what he was talking about. She’d told him late one night, months into dating, how she’d gone full goth phase while with Damian. Black lipstick, fishnets, corsets, the whole thing. She’d laughed it off then, said she only realized later it was never really her; she’d just been trying to please him, molding herself into whatever version he wanted most. She’d cried a little when she admitted it, said talking to Aunt Maria had helped her see it clearly. Hearing Damian throw it back in her face now made Ben want to scream.

Damian wasn’t done.

“Why don’t you fuck yourself with your fingers while you watch me have some fun,” he told her. “I know that stupid wedding dress probably makes it a bit difficult. But you know me, I always have the solutions.”

He smiled then, the same easy, knowing smile he’d worn the whole time.

“Hey, cuck,” he said, turning his head just enough to look at Ben. “Be nice and hold up her dress for her so she has easy access. And stuff her panties into your mouth so you can have a final taste of her pussy before I take her away from you.”

Ben’s body moved before his brain could even process the horror. His legs bent on their own. He dropped to one knee, gathered the long train of Evie’s gown along with the skirt in both hands, bunching the white fabric up messily around her waist. The silk and lace bunched awkwardly in his fists, but he held it high, exposing her from the hips down. His other hand, shaking inside, even if it didn’t show reached under the hem, hooked the waistband of her white lace panties, and tugged them down her thighs. He lifted one foot at a time to slip them free, the sheer pantyhose whispering against his fingers. Then he balled the damp fabric and shoved it into his own mouth.

The taste hit him immediately, salty, warm and familiar. He gagged once, silently, but his jaw stayed shut, cheeks hollowing as he held the panties in place with his tongue pressed against them.

He straightened up, both hands now lifting the dress higher, keeping it out of the way. Evie’s legs were bare below the waist except for the sheer pantyhose that ended at her toes. Her feet shifted on the stone floor, toes curling in embarrassment and shame. The whole congregation could see her smooth thighs, the dark triangle of hair above her pussy, the way her fingers hesitated before moving, but no one reacted. No gasps. No stares. Just that same calm, distant watchfulness.

Evie’s right hand shook as it came down between her legs. She spread herself with two fingers, then slid the middle one inside. A small, choked sound escaped her throat around the **** smile. She started moving, slow at first, then deeper, matching the rhythm Damian had set with Sofia. Her other hand stayed fisted at her side, nails digging into her palm. Tears kept falling, but the smile never slipped.

Damian laughed, loud, genuine, echoing off the high ceiling.

He sped up his thrusts into Sofia, one hand sliding around to rub her clit while the other kept her hair fisted tight.

“Look at you two,” he said between breaths. “Perfect little wedding picture. Bride fingering herself next to her groom,, while I fuck her best friend on the altar table. This is what you get for thinking you could just move on, Evie.”

Evie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She just kept going, finger pumping in and out, hips twitching forward against her will. Her eyes stayed locked on Damian’s, still furious, still wet, still trapped behind that bright, broken smile.

The heavy double doors at the back of the church swung open with a low creak.