Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ella pressed her lips more firmly against his. The contact sent a shiver through her body—not of fear, but of release.

Her fingers, uncertain, reached up and rested on his chest.

His body was warm and steady beneath her hands, and when his own hands finally moved—slowly, cautiously—they found her waist, resting there with a quiet strength.

Ross responded with just enough pressure to let her know he was present, that he accepted her kiss, but he let her set the pace.

Ella felt a soft gasp escape her lips as his mouth moved gently against hers.

Her nerves had not disappeared entirely, but they were melting, little by little, beneath the warmth of the moment.

She let her eyes flutter shut, focusing only on the feeling—the heat between them, the quiet hum building beneath her skin.

She pulled away slowly, just a breath's distance, her lips tingling. Her eyes opened, meeting his.

"I want this," she said softly.

"Not just because of the plan. Not just for the baby. I want… to feel this. To be wanted. To remember that part of me still works."

Ross looked at her, steady and calm.

"You deserve to feel all of that," he said quietly. "And more."

He didn't kiss her again right away. He let her come to him.

And she did.

This time, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his.

Their kiss deepened—still slow, still soft, but with the growing undercurrent of something more.

The barrier between intention and desire was dissolving.

Bit by bit, the reason they were here faded into the background.

What remained was simply a man and a woman—two people who had both lost something, both carrying a quiet ache, and both needing to feel alive in someone else's arms.

"Mmm…" Ella sighed into Ross's mouth, her lips parting just slightly as the kiss deepened.

Her eyes slowly closed, letting herself drown in the moment.

It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this—longer still since she had allowed herself to feel anything beyond duty, responsibility, or resignation.

But now, all of that faded beneath Ross's warmth, his scent, the strength of his arms pulling her closer.

He kissed her not like a man in a rush, but like someone who understood the weight of the moment.

There was no fumbling, no urgency.

Only steady confidence—an understanding that this was her choice, her pace, and he was merely responding to what she gave him.

When their lips finally parted, Ella's chest was rising and falling in slow, unsteady breaths.

Her body felt light, her nerves tingling.

Ross looked down at her with quiet focus, his hands resting gently on her waist, waiting.

She nodded once, slowly, and he understood. Without words, they moved to the bed.

It wasn't just sex.

It was a ritual—intentional, sacred in its own strange way.

As they reached the edge of the mattress, Ross's hands moved with care, slipping beneath the hem of her cardigan and slowly easing it off her shoulders.

Ella shivered—not from cold, but from the intimacy of it.

She helped him, lifting her arms, letting each layer be peeled away like old armor.

Her camisole came next, lifted over her head and tossed aside with deliberate slowness.

Then the jeans—tight, restrictive denim undone by Ross's sure fingers.

She had chosen them on purpose, she realized.

Dressed conservatively, even modestly.

As if one last layer of clothing might protect her from the emotional weight of what tonight represented.

But now, under Ross's touch, all that hesitance fell away.

Every button undone was another wall lowered. Every inch of skin revealed was a silent promise.

She looked into Ross's eyes. There was no judgment there. No smugness.

Only the quiet intensity of a man who knew what he was doing, and why.

Her jeans slid down her legs and were gone. Her panties followed.

And then… she stood there, completely bare.

Ross stepped back just a half-step, letting his eyes drink her in without rushing, without speaking.

Her skin was luminous under the soft lamp glow—smooth, creamy, untouched by the sun.

Her breasts rose gently with every breath, full and natural, with dusky-pink nipples that stiffened slightly in the cool air.

Her stomach was flat and soft, curving down into the gentle swell of her hips.

Between her legs, her folds were already slightly parted, the delicate pinkness of her arousal glistening faintly.

She was flushed. Vulnerable. Exposed.

And stunning.

Ella's instinct was to cover herself—her arms twitched upward to shield her breasts, her thighs began to press together.

But Ross reached out, gently taking her hands in his and guiding them down.

"You don't have to hide," he said, his voice low and steady.

"You've given me permission to see you. Let me look. Let me appreciate you."

His words weren't flirtatious. They weren't spoken like lines or seduction.

They were quiet. Honest. They steadied her.

Ella swallowed, her throat tight. But she didn't pull away. She stood there, letting him look.

Letting herself be seen. Fully. For the first time in years.

"This is strange," she whispered, her voice fragile. "But I don't feel… scared anymore."

Ross stepped closer again, his palms returning to her waist, drawing her in.

"You shouldn't be scared," he said.

"You're doing something brave. Something beautiful. And I'm honored you chose me for it."

His lips met her shoulder. A slow, deliberate kiss. Then another along her collarbone.

Ella's breath caught in her throat.

His mouth was warm, his stubble rough enough to send tiny thrills across her skin.

Her fingers found his shirt, hesitating at the hem—then slowly began to lift it, her hands gliding over his chest as she helped him pull it off.

She had never seen Ross's body like this before.

Thick with muscle, scarred in places, firm in all the right ones.

A man who had lived in his body. A man who had used it, over and over, to create life.