But Ross... he was different.
He didn’t beg. He didn’t plead.
He took.
And in that mont, as their lips clashed and her body lted against his, Joan knew—this was what she had been waiting for.
Not a boyfriend. Not a partner. A master.
Her master.
She moaned softly into the kiss, the sound muffled by his mouth, her fingers tangling in his shirt.
Her knees felt weak, her breath quickened, and she could already feel the warmth pooling between her thighs.
Her desire was rising fast, unrelenting, and completely out of her control.
She didn’t care.
For once in her life... she didn’t want to be in control.
"Hmmmm..." Joan moaned sweetly as Ross kissed her hard, her lips parting instinctively to welco him in.
The mont his tongue t hers, exploring, teasing, and finally sucking it gently into his mouth, another sweeter moan escaped her lips.
It was shaless, breathy, and full of yearning.
She clutched at his shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric as her body trembled.
A wave of pleasure surged through her, leaving her lightheaded and weak in the knees.
She leaned heavily into him, pressing herself against his solid, muscular chest.
His body felt like a wall of warmth and strength, and she clung to it as if it was the only thing keeping her from lting.
Her heart raced wildly. Her breath ca out in hot little gasps between kisses.
Every ti Ross’s lips moved against hers—firm, hungry, possessive—it felt like her body was being set alight from within.
Her mind was drowning in the kiss, in him, in the feel of his arms wrapped securely around her back as he walked her toward the bedroom.
Joan closed her eyes, surrendering fully to the mont.
She didn’t need to see where they were going. She trusted him completely.
His kiss never wavered, never stopped.
Even as the door clicked shut behind them and he led her toward the bed, their mouths stayed locked together like they were trying to consu each other.
Her legs bumped the edge of the mattress, and she gasped softly, her eyes fluttering open for a brief second before Ross gently lowered her onto the bed.
The world tilted as her back hit the soft sheets, and Joan felt herself sink into the mattress, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
Still, their kiss continued—deeper now, slower, more intense.
Ti seed to stretch as if nothing else existed except their tangled breaths and racing hearts.
Then Ross reached for the blanket, never taking his eyes off her, and pulled it over them both in a single smooth motion.
The weight of the covers added a new layer of intimacy, cocooning them together, bodies close, heat rising between them.
Joan looked up at him, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes filled with sothing between desire and awe.
And still, Ross held her close, his hand trailing gently down her side, fingers brushing over her waist, making her shiver again—but not from cold.
No words were spoken.
They didn’t need any. Their bodies were already speaking loud and clear.
"You’re my beautiful slave," Ross murmured, his voice husky and laced with possession, each word brushing against Joan’s ear like a soft caress.
The way he said it made her body react before her mind could catch up—her breath hitched, her thighs pressed together, and a heat blood deep inside her.
Without waiting, Ross made quick work of her clothes.
His hands were confident and deliberate, slipping beneath the fabric and peeling it away from her skin piece by piece, until she lay bare before him.
Her clothing hit the floor with a soft thud, forgotten and irrelevant.
For a heartbeat, Ross simply stared. His gaze devoured every inch of her, lingering hungrily on her breasts—perfectly full and untouched by any man before tonight.
Her nipples were already hard, standing tall and pink, as if begging to be kissed, touched, claid.
"God..." he breathed, almost reverently. "You’re even more beautiful than I imagined."
Joan squird under the intensity of his gaze, but her body responded shalessly.
Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and her skin was flushed from anticipation.
When Ross finally leaned down and took one of her ripe nipples into his mouth, she gasped loudly, her back arching off the bed in a sudden wave of pleasure.
His lips wrapped around the sensitive peak, warm and wet, sucking gently at first, then with increasing intensity.
His tongue flicked across it, playful and skilled, driving Joan wild.
Her moan was sweet and full of desperation, her fingers tangling in his hair as she held him close.
At the sa ti, Ross’s hand slid over to her other breast, kneading it slowly before his fingers rolled the second nipple between them—pinching, stroking, toying.
Joan was completely at his rcy, her mind turning to static under the dual assault of his mouth and fingers.
"D... oh..." she whimpered, her voice trembling, each sound laced with longing.
Her hips shifted beneath him, her thighs parting ever so slightly, as her body instinctively sought more contact, more friction, more of him.
Ross alternated between her breasts, giving each equal attention—licking one, sucking the other, then switching, never letting her co down from the high he was building inside her.
Her moans grew louder, needier, the sound of her pleasure echoing in the room.
"You like that, don’t you?" he murmured against her skin, his breath hot as it tickled across her chest.
He looked up at her then, lips wet, eyes gleaming with hunger.
Joan could only nod, dazed and breathless, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted in a silent plea for more.
She had never felt anything like this—so desired, so consud, so thoroughly seen.
Ross moved back up, capturing her lips in a deep kiss as his hand slid down her trembling body, past her stomach, heading lower with an unmistakable purpose.
Joan’s breath caught again, her anticipation sky-high, her body more than ready for whatever he intended to do next.
And through it all, Ross never stopped whispering softly against her skin—his voice a promise of pleasure, dominance, and sothing deeper, sothing raw and real building between them.
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