Evil MC's NTR Harem

It was maddening. Adele's body craved Ross, longed for him, even as her mind screamed in protest.

She felt like a stranger to herself, as if Ross had awakened something primal and insatiable within her—something that refused to be ignored.

"I'm going crazy," Adele muttered under her breath, shaking her head as if to physically dislodge the thoughts.

She stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over her glass of milk, and paced the kitchen.

She needed to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the heat pooling between her legs and the relentless ache that seemed to grow with every passing second.

She cleaned the spill.

She poured herself another glass of milk, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to steady her breathing.

All she wanted was a peaceful night's sleep, free from the dreams that had been plaguing her—dreams of Ross, of his hands on her body, of his cock driving into her with a force that left her breathless.

She hated how those dreams felt so real, how they left her waking up drenched in sweat and aching with need.

"Just let me sleep tonight," she whispered to no one, as if pleading with the universe.

She didn't want to think about Ross, didn't want to feel the way her body responded to him.

But deep down, she knew it was futile.

The memory of him was etched into her skin, into her very being, and no amount of denial could erase it.

As she finally made her way back to her bedroom, she couldn't help but glance down the hallway toward the guest room where Ross was staying.

The door was closed, but her imagination ran wild, picturing him lying in bed, his body strong and commanding, his cock hard and ready.

She shook her head violently, forcing the image away.

"Get a grip, Adele," she scolded herself under her breath.

But even as she climbed into bed beside Steven, who was already fast asleep, she knew it was no use.

Her body was alive with desire, and sleep felt like a distant hope.

She closed her eyes, praying for peace, but deep down, she knew the dreams would come again—and with them, the undeniable truth that her body belonged to Ross now, whether she liked it or not.

***

The days blurred into one another, each as frustrating as the last.

Adele had tried everything to stir her husband's desire—subtle touches, lingering kisses, seductive glances.

When those failed, she became bolder, dancing for him, stripping bare in the flickering candlelight, even pleasuring herself right in front of him.

But no matter what she did, his reaction remained the same: inpotent and weak.

His cock has no more strength to stand up.

The inability stung, leaving her feeling unfulfilled, unsatisfied.

At first, she clung to hope, thinking Maybe tomorrow… but tomorrow came, and nothing changed.

Slowly, the fire in her dimmed, until she stopped trying altogether.

That night, as she lay in bed, the hunger gnawed at her, relentless and unforgiving.

Her body ached for something more, something real. She clenched her thighs together, trying to ignore the need, but it only made things worse.

A desperate thought crossed her mind.

Should I just take care of it myself?

She hesitated, biting her lip. It felt like giving up—like admitting defeat.

But as another wave of heat curled in her belly, all hesitation crumbled. Lust won.

Slipping out of bed, she locked the door behind her, ensuring her solitude.

The room was dimly lit, the silence pressing in around her.

She peeled off her nightgown, the cool air prickling her skin. Her fingers ghosted over her breasts, teasing her already hardened nipples.

A shiver ran down her spine as she trailed lower, her touch slow, deliberate.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as her fingers found their way between her thighs.

She was already wet—achingly so. She spread her legs, sinking onto the bed, her breath coming in short, shallow pants.

Closing her eyes, she tried to summon her husband's face in her mind, to imagine it was his hands touching her, his body pressing against hers.

But then, another image slipped through the cracks. A different face. Dark, piercing eyes.

A smirk that sent shivers down her spine.

Ross.

A surge of heat flooded her at the thought of him—so sudden, so intense, it sent her spiraling.

Her fingers worked faster, deeper, the pleasure rising like a tidal wave.

"Ohhhhhh!"

Her release crashed over her, stealing her breath, her body quaking with pleasure as her juices spilled onto the sheets.

She lay there, panting, spent, but the high quickly faded, leaving behind a hollow emptiness.

This wasn't enough.

No matter how much she tried to satisfy herself, it would never compare to the real thing.

And for the first time, she let herself wonder—what if she didn't have to settle for just imagination?

That day, Adele surrendered to her desires over and over again—ten times, yet it still wasn't enough.

No matter how many times she climaxed, no matter how desperately she tried to satisfy herself, the hunger only grew stronger.

It was as if her body had become a vessel of endless pleasure, a fountain of desire that refused to run dry.

Her sheets were soaked, her skin damp with sweat, and yet the ache between her thighs remained insatiable.

Each time her fingers delved into her slick heat, she thought she might finally be satisfied—but the moment her high faded, the craving returned with even greater intensity.

And through it all, one name echoed in her mind.

Ross.

The mere thought of him sent shivers down her spine, made her core tighten with need.

She imagined his hands roaming her body, his lips pressing against hers, his weight pinning her down as he claimed her completely.

The fantasy alone was enough to make her moan, her body trembling with yet another wave of pleasure.

This torment continued for an entire week.

No matter where she was or what she was doing, she couldn't escape the longing that consumed her.

Her husband barely crossed her mind anymore. Even in his presence, she felt nothing—no excitement, no desire.

But when she was alone, when the night stretched on and the silence surrounded her, Ross was all she could think about.

And then, at last, clarity struck.

"I need Ross," Adele whispered, her voice trembling as she finally accepted the truth she could no longer deny.

This wasn't just lust. This was something deeper, something more dangerous. And she could no longer fight it.