Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ella's mind was still foggy, still adrift in the afterglow of their earlier madness, but the sensation was undeniable—someone's mouth was on her breast.

Ross.

His head was bent low, his lips wrapped around her pink nipple, his tongue rolling lazily in slow, indulgent strokes.

He sucked her with a steady rhythm, almost like a man savoring fine wine, taking his time with each pull.

It was tender, intimate—almost too much for her sleepy body to handle.

"Mmmmmm…" she sighed, her back arching ever so slightly.

Her voice came out husky, thick with the remnants of sleep. "Ross…"

It took her a moment to recall where she was, what had happened—the frantic pace of earlier, the way he had filled her so completely, the way she had screamed his name like she'd forgotten the rest of the world existed.

By the time her thoughts caught up, her hand had already found its way to his hair, fingers curling into the thick strands, holding him close.

He responded by sucking harder, his tongue teasing her bud with wicked precision.

Every flick, every swirl sent little electric shivers down her spine, awakening that restless heat between her thighs again.

Five long, deliberate minutes passed like that, her breathing growing heavier, her grip on his hair tightening each time his teeth grazed her just enough to make her gasp.

Only then did Ross pull back, his lips wet, his eyes gleaming.

Without a word, he slid lower.

His palms smoothed down her sides, fingers gliding over her hips, until they reached the soft skin of her thighs.

He spread them slowly—possessively—forcing her legs apart until her most intimate place was exposed to him.

Ella's breath hitched.

Her pussy was still flushed from earlier, the delicate folds a rosy hue, glistening faintly under the low light.

Even after what he had done to her before, she somehow still looked tight, still looked untouched in a way that made him ache.

Ross leaned closer, inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her arousal.

With both thumbs, he gently parted her folds, baring the tender pink inside.

That's when he saw it—a single bead of clear liquid slipping down.

She was wet.

Already.

Ross's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Oh, Ella…" His voice was low, velvety, almost a growl.

"Look at you. You're ready for me again, aren't you?"

Her cheeks burned, but her hips twitched involuntarily.

He dipped his head until his breath fanned over her, warm and teasing.

"You know what that means…" His fingers spread her wider.

"Before this is over, you're going to scream for me again. And you're going to squirt—harder than before."

Ella's breathing grew ragged, her chest rising and falling as anticipation coiled inside her.

Ross lowered himself, his lips brushing the very edge of her folds, not quite touching where she needed him most.

His tongue darted out just enough to tease before retreating again.

She whimpered. "Ross…"

But he only chuckled darkly and kept her waiting, dragging the moment out until her thighs trembled, her toes curling with frustration.

Then—finally—he closed his mouth over her, his tongue sweeping in one long, slow stroke that made her gasp and clutch at the sheets.

And just like that, Ella knew she was his all over again.

The room pulsed with the rhythm of their lovemaking.

The sharp slap of skin against skin echoed again and again, mingling with the wet, obscene sounds of Ross's cock plunging into Ella's drenched pussy.

Her voice rose and fell in waves—sometimes a soft moan, sometimes a breathless cry, sometimes a sharp gasp when Ross hit that perfect spot deep inside her.

Neither of them knew they weren't alone.

In the dim glow of another room, Mario sat hunched over a monitor, the cold light from the screen illuminating his face.

Every corner of the bedroom was under surveillance, his hidden cameras capturing every angle, every twitch, every trembling breath.

His hand was wrapped around his cock, trying—desperately—to stroke some life into it.

He squeezed harder, gritted his teeth, even tried to time his strokes to the rhythm of Ross's thrusts.

But it was no use.

His dead flesh stayed limp, unresponsive, mocking him with its uselessness.

Finally, he gave up.

He leaned back in his chair, breathing hard—not from arousal, but from the strange mix of humiliation and hunger gnawing at him. His eyes never left the screen.

Ella was unrecognizable.

Her face was flushed, her hair wild and clinging to her damp skin.

She clung to Ross as though afraid he'd vanish, her nails raking down his back with every surge of pleasure.

Her cries were sharp, unrestrained, and they cut into Mario like knives—because she had never sounded like that with him.

Not even close.

Ross manhandled her with ease, rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her back onto his cock, then flipping her over to pound her from above.

Ella's body moved like water in his grip—pliant, obedient, and desperate for more.

Mario's throat went dry as Ross grabbed her hips and slammed into her with brutal precision, drawing another long, broken moan from her lips.

She came again, her legs trembling violently as her pussy clenched around him, milking him for more.

Ross wasn't done.

With a deep, guttural grunt, he buried himself to the hilt and held there, pumping his thick load deep inside her.

The camera caught the moment perfectly—the way Ella arched her back, the way her mouth opened in a silent scream, the way Ross groaned low in his chest as he painted her insides white.

Mario leaned closer to the screen, his pulse pounding in his ears. He hated it. He loved it.

He couldn't stop watching.

But Ross didn't stop there.

Even after finishing inside her, he pulled out only to push back in again, his cock already hard and ready for more.

He fucked her like a man who had all night—and maybe all week—his stamina endless, his rhythm merciless.

Every thrust sent Ella into another gasp, another moan, another shudder.