Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ross's hands slid over Ella's body with a slow, deliberate hunger, mapping every curve as though he were memorizing her shape.

His palms lingered on her hips, glided over her waist, then traveled up the sides of her body in a way that made her breath hitch.

Every brush of his fingertips sent a trail of goosebumps racing across her skin, the sensation so sharp and electric it felt like her body was reacting faster than her mind could keep up.

She let out a shaky breath, trying to hide just how much his touch was affecting her, but it was useless.

The crowd, the music, the lights—all of it blurred until there was only Ross, his heat, his scent, and the way his hands owned her.

He pulled her closer, closing the gap between them until there was no space left at all.

That was when she felt it—thick, long, and hard—pressing firmly against her lower belly through the layers of fabric between them.

Her body reacted instantly, a rush of heat pooling deep inside her.

There was no mistaking what it was.

Ross was already ready for her, his cock straining against his jeans as if aching to be freed.

Ella's eyes flicked up to his face, and her breath caught.

She could smell him—his clean, masculine scent laced with the faint spice of his cologne, mixing with the faintest trace of sweat from the heat of the dance floor.

It was intoxicating, primal, and it made her want to get closer still.

Ross, reading the look in her eyes, didn't waste the opportunity.

His hand came up to cradle the back of her neck as he dipped his head, and in the next moment, his lips claimed hers.

The kiss was hot and demanding, his mouth moving over hers with a hunger that left her dizzy.

She tasted the faint sweetness of cherries from her lipstick, a flavor he seemed to savor as his tongue brushed against hers.

His grip tightened on her hip, pulling her flush against the hard ridge pressing into her belly, making sure she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.

Around them, the crowd swayed and moved to the beat, but in that moment, they could have been alone.

The music faded to a dull thrum in the back of Ella's mind, the flashing lights just a blur.

All she could focus on was the firm press of his body, the heat of his mouth, and the way his hands roamed with possessive certainty, as though reminding her—here, now, and later—she belonged to him.

When Ross finally broke the kiss, his lips hovered dangerously close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"This is just the warm-up," he murmured, his voice thick with promise.

The two kept grinding together, their movements no longer innocent sways but slow, deliberate thrusts in time with the pounding bass.

The club's flashing lights washed over them—red, purple, blue—each color flickering across Ross's sharp jawline and Ella's flushed cheeks.

Her perfume mixed with the faint scent of sweat and the smoky air, but all Ross could smell was her—sweet, intoxicating, and already turned on.

Ella's hands weren't idle.

They wandered boldly over his chest, tracing the defined lines of his muscles, then down his abs until her fingers met the thick, heated bulge straining against his pants.

She squeezed it lightly, feeling the solid weight of him, and a shiver of desire ran down her spine.

Her strokes grew firmer, her palm rubbing him up and down through the fabric, teasing, testing how far she could push him.

Ross's eyes darkened, a dangerous glint flashing in them.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk—one that told her she'd just crossed the point of no return.

Without warning, his hands dropped to her thighs, gripping them with the kind of strength that left no doubt who was in control.

He lifted her with effortless ease, her skirt dress riding high as she instinctively locked her legs around his waist.

The sudden lift pressed her fully against him, her core grinding against the hard ridge in his pants.

When he shifted his hips forward, the thick length of his cock slapped against her panty-clad slit, the pressure making her gasp into his ear.

The fabric between them did little to hide how wet she'd already become, and Ross could feel the heat of her arousal even through it.

The crowd danced on, oblivious, the heavy beat masking every sound they made.

The haze of smoke swirled around them, neon lights flickering across Ross's broad shoulders as he ground against her again, harder this time.

Ella bit her lip to hold back a moan, her nails digging into his shirt as each roll of his hips sent another wave of pleasure shooting through her.

She'd started the night worried about being seen, but now, the thought of people's eyes on them—watching, knowing—only made her wetter.

Every grind, every subtle thrust, made her care less about propriety and more about the thick, hard promise between his legs.

Ross's voice was low, husky against her ear.

"I can feel you soaking through already, Ella… You want it that bad?"

Her breath hitched, her thighs squeezing tighter around his waist.

She didn't trust her voice enough to answer, but the look in her eyes told him everything.

A wicked grin spread across his face.

Without breaking eye contact, Ross slid a hand between them.

In one swift, deliberate motion, he hooked a finger into the side of her thong and yanked it aside.

The cool air of the club brushed her now-bare folds, making her shiver.

Ella's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat.

"Ross…" she whispered, half-plea, half-warning.

But he was already moving.

The other hand went to his pants, unzipping them just enough to free himself.

His cock sprang out, thick and heavy, the tip glistening in the strobe lights.

Up close, she could see the sheer size of him—and feel the heat radiating off him as he positioned himself right at her pink pussy.