Evil MC's NTR Harem

Cara's lips still tingled. Her heart felt like it had lost all rhythm.

For a second, no one knew what to do.

But Ross didn't stop.

With steady hands, he gently but decisively guided Cara toward the bed.

She stumbled slightly on the soft carpet but didn't resist.

Her back met the mattress with a soft thud, and she found herself lying flat, the weight of anticipation settling deep in her chest.

Ross moved with deliberate slowness, peeling off his shirt.

The dim set lights revealed a broad, sculpted chest, every muscle defined beneath his smooth skin. Cara's breath hitched involuntarily.

The sight of him like this—vulnerable yet powerful—made her pulse quicken.

Before she could lose herself in the moment, Ross lowered his massive frame over her, his body warming hers instantly.

His weight was firm but careful, as if he wanted to hold her without overwhelming her.

Cara's summer dress was light and flowing, the kind that caught every hint of a breeze, but it did little to hide the softness beneath.

Ross's hands moved to her sides, feeling the delicate curves of her waist and the gentle rise of her chest pressed against his own.

Her breasts were crushed tenderly against him, warmth radiating between them, their rhythm syncing in the quiet stillness.

His lips found hers again, this kiss deeper and more demanding than before—slow and insistent, leaving no room for hesitation.

Then suddenly, Cara's eyes shot open, a startled gasp escaping her lips.

"Hmmmph!" she breathed sharply.

She felt something unexpected—something long, thick, and unmistakably hard—pressed firmly against her lower abdomen.

Even through the thin fabric of his swimming shorts, the presence was undeniable, impossible to ignore.

Her heart hammered wildly as a rush of heat flooded her.

The unmistakable outline of Ross's arousal pressed against her most sensitive area, teasing and tantalizing.

The warmth sent a thrilling shiver coursing through her body.

Cara's mind spun. This was new. Scary. Exciting. Confusing.

Her hands twitched at her sides, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

She could feel the strength of his body above her—the solid heat of his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

His breath mingled with hers in the close space between them.

Her skin tingled with anticipation, every nerve alive and buzzing.

And yet, amid the rush of sensation, a whisper of doubt flickered through her thoughts.

Is this really happening?

Am I ready for this?

What happens after?

Ross's lips brushed hers once more, softer this time, as if sensing her hesitation.

His voice was low, almost a whisper.

"Are you alright?"

Cara's breath hitched again. She nodded, even though uncertainty still lingered.

Her eyes searched his, looking for reassurance, for patience, for some sign that he would wait for her—wait for her to choose.

The room seemed to hold its breath alongside her.

Cara said nothing, only nodded softly in response.

That subtle, almost silent signal was all Ross needed.

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against hers with a tenderness that made her heart skip.

The kiss began gentle—slow and deliberate—as if he wanted to memorize the feel of her lips, the way they softened beneath his.

But then, almost imperceptibly at first, the kiss deepened.

Ross's lips parted, and their breaths mingled as the pressure between them grew stronger, more urgent.

Their mouths moved in a heated dance, exchanging soft sighs and gentle sighs, a rush of warmth flooding Cara's body.

The exchange of saliva added a layer of raw, undeniable intensity that made the moment electric, sending waves of shivers down her spine.

Even in this whirlwind of sensation, Ross's hands remained respectful.

They found their way to the sides of Cara's waist first, then slowly, carefully, they moved upward to her chest.

His fingers brushed over the soft fabric of her summer dress, gently fondling her breasts without crossing any lines.

It was clear he was committed to the scene's romantic tone—nothing explicit, nothing rushed. Just the simmering chemistry that made hearts race.

As their kiss continued, Ross's hand reached for a nearby blanket and drew it over them, cocooning their bodies beneath its soft warmth.

The fabric muffled any subtle sounds, making their connection feel private and intimate, even as cameras continued to roll.

For the next two minutes, time seemed to slow.

They kissed like it was the only thing that mattered—the outside world fading away, replaced by the quiet hum of shared breaths and racing pulses.

Their lips moved with a fluidity that spoke of growing trust, their bodies pressing closer under the blanket, warmth radiating between them.

Finally, Ross broke the kiss gently, resting his forehead against Cara's as he gazed into her eyes with a softness that took her breath away.

His voice was low, steady, and full of something deeper than the script required.

"Are you ready?" he asked, searching her face for the answer.

Cara's heart pounded loudly in her chest.

The question hung between them—heavy with promise, with uncertainty, with the weight of what might come next.

She took a deep breath, feeling the heat from his body against hers, and for a moment, the entire world fell away.

"Yes. Please… be gentle," Cara whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation, nervousness, and something deeper she didn't quite understand.

Ross met her gaze, a flicker of tenderness softening the usually confident glint in his eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly adjusted his position and began to move—his thrusts deliberate and measured at first, as if testing the boundaries between performance and something more real.

"Ahhhhhh…"

A breathy moan slipped from Cara's lips, unexpected and real.

Her face flushed deeply, beads of sweat forming at her hairline, glistening under the soft studio lights.

The exertion, the tension—it all felt so vivid, so immediate.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and every nerve in her body seemed alive.

Their movements became a fluid rhythm, almost hypnotic.

They were acting, yes—she wore her panties, and Ross still had on his boxers and swimming shorts.

But the physical closeness, the warmth of his body pressing against hers, the steady pressure of his hardness against her covered pink cunt—it all felt real.