Evil MC's NTR Harem

"For now, let's eat first—before I fuck you long and hard."

"Ross…" Ella's eyes widened, her face heating instantly.

Her gaze flicked nervously toward the tables around them, half-expecting people to turn their heads in shock.

But to her relief, no one seemed to notice.

The conversations, clinking glasses, and soft background music of the restaurant swallowed his words completely.

She exhaled slowly and sat down, still feeling the weight of his gaze.

They ordered their food, and for a few minutes, they made small talk—about nothing in particular—though Ross's eyes lingered on her in a way that made her heart race.

Then, mid-meal, Ross leaned forward, his voice low but direct.

"Tell me, Ella… was Mario the only man who'd ever fucked you before me?"

Her fork paused halfway to her lips.

She swallowed, cheeks warming again, and then gave a small shake of her head before speaking.

She was slowly becoming used to the way Ross talked—shameless, blunt, dripping with confidence—and the worst part was that it didn't turn her off.

Quite the opposite.

Every crude word made her pulse quicken, her thighs press together, her body betraying her.

"Yes," she admitted quietly. "Mario was the only one… until you."

Ross's smile deepened, the kind of smile that made her stomach flutter and her breath shorten.

"Ohhh… so that's why you're so tight, Ella," he murmured, leaning just close enough that only she could hear.

"I love how your tight little pussy grips my big cock so perfectly. Feels like it was made for me."

Ella's face burned crimson.

She looked down, unable to meet his eyes, but her body's reaction was impossible to hide.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and she shifted in her seat, trying to relieve the growing ache between her legs.

Ross noticed. Of course he noticed.

His foot slid forward under the table, brushing against her ankle, then trailing upward along her calf.

She bit her lip, glancing quickly around to make sure no one was watching, before looking back at him.

He sat there as if nothing was happening, casually sipping his drink, his eyes locked on hers with that same dangerous glint.

"You're already wet for me, aren't you?" he said softly, not as a question, but as a fact.

Ella's breath hitched. She wanted to deny it, to play coy, but her body refused to cooperate.

The way his voice dipped, the certainty in his tone—it made her feel exposed in a way that was both mortifying and thrilling.

"Eat," he said with a smirk, pulling his foot back as if nothing had happened. "You're going to need your strength for later."

Ella's heart pounded, and suddenly the food in front of her seemed like nothing more than a delay.

The thought of what would happen once they left the restaurant made it nearly impossible to sit still.

Every bite, every glance, every smirk from Ross was just winding her tighter and tighter.

She knew one thing for certain—by the time they finally made it somewhere private, she wouldn't be able to wait.

An hour later, after lingering over their meal and stretching the conversation into a slow, teasing rhythm, Ross finally pushed his chair back and stood.

He reached across the table, his large hand engulfing Ella's smaller one as he helped her to her feet.

She smiled faintly, already picturing the next step—slipping into his car, heading to some discreet, high-end hotel, and losing herself in him until morning.

But Ross had other plans.

Instead of heading toward the main exit, he guided her around the side of the building, where the muffled thump of heavy bass began to grow louder with each step.

The moment they stepped inside the adjacent venue, Ella was swallowed by an entirely different world.

The music hit first—deep, pounding beats that vibrated through the floorboards and up her legs.

Streaks of red, blue, and gold light cut through the smoky haze, flashing over a restless sea of bodies moving in chaotic unison.

The air was thick with the mingled scents of alcohol, sweat, perfume, and smoke.

Laughter, shouts, and the occasional whistle blended into the pulse of the music, creating an intoxicating chaos.

"Ross, this place is…" Ella began, her voice faltering as her eyes darted over the crowd.

It wasn't disgust that twisted in her chest—it was discomfort.

She wasn't used to places like this.

Growing up in a world of crystal chandeliers and quiet, exclusive lounges, she had rarely seen such raw, unfiltered energy.

Ross leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke over the music.

"Don't worry. We'll have our fun here first, then continue somewhere private. Trust me. I'm here, and I won't let anything bad happen to you."

His tone was calm, but there was an undercurrent of promise in his words that made her heart race.

Before she could respond, he was already leading her forward, his hand firm on hers as he wove them through the shifting bodies until they reached the center of the dance floor.

The moment they stopped, Ross pulled her against him, his hands sliding to her hips as though they belonged there.

The heat of his body pressed into her through the thin fabric of her dress, and for a brief second, she forgot about the crowd entirely.

The pounding music seemed to sync with the beat of her heart.

They began to move, first in time with the rhythm, then in a slower, more intimate pattern that was entirely their own.

Ross's grip on her hips tightened, his thumbs stroking the curve of her waist.

His head dipped closer, the scent of his cologne cutting through the haze of smoke and sweat.

Every time the crowd surged around them, Ross pulled her in tighter, shielding her from stray hands and pushing bodies.

But his touch lingered just a little too long each time, his fingers brushing the small of her back, the curve of her thigh, the side of her breast.

Ella tried to tell herself it was just dancing—but the way his hands and hips moved left no room for doubt about what he was thinking.