Ti blurred.
The digital clock in the corner of the feed ticked past hour after hour, but Mario barely noticed.
His wife was being wrecked in every way possible—lifted, twisted, pinned, ridden, filled—over and over until she was nothing but a trembling ss beneath Ross.
By the ti the first faint glow of morning touched the curtains, Ella was sprawled on the bed, utterly spent.
Her legs lay open, her pussy dripping a ssy mix of her own wetness and Ross’s cum.
Her breathing was shallow, her eyes half-lidded, her body limp with exhaustion.
Ross, on the other hand, looked like he could go another round without breaking a sweat.
He leaned over her, brushing her hair from her face, and smiled faintly—like a man who had just claid sothing precious and knew it was his now.
Mario sat there in silence, his limp cock resting uselessly against his thigh, and wondered if there was any part of her left that still belonged to him.
That afternoon, when they finally stirred from sleep, Ross pulled Ella into his arms once more.
The sunlight streaming through the curtains bathed her bare skin in gold, and the warmth of the mont made it impossible for him to resist her.
Their bodies t again, slow and deliberate at first, before lting into the sa hunger that had consud them the night before.
Afterwards, they lay tangled together, catching their breath before finally rising to eat.
Yet even a al could not cool the heat between them. Before the plates had cooled, Ross had her again—this ti taking his ti, savoring every sound she made, as though claiming her more deeply each ti they ca together.
By the ti he finally left, it was already midnight the next day.
And as he walked away, a deep satisfaction settled in his chest.
He knew, without a shred of doubt, that Ella was now carrying his child.
His mission had been accomplished, but the thought didn’t bring closure—it only ignited sothing darker.
This wasn’t an ending.
It was the start of sothing far more dangerous, and far more thrilling.
Mario had long been incapable of touching his wife, years of frustration and failure having reduced him to a man who could only watch helplessly from the sidelines.
That would never be Ross’s fate. Ella was his now—in body, in heart, and soon in bloodline.
He would never be the one to be cuckolded.
And as for him and Ella? Their fun had only just begun. The thought made Ross smile.
What had started as a friendly help was now becoming sothing else entirely—sothing addictive, sothing he had no intention of ending.
***
A week later, Ella was lounging on the couch when her phone buzzed with a notification.
The screen showed an unknown number. She almost ignored it, but curiosity won.
When she opened the ssage, her heart skipped.
It’s , Ross. Let’s go out tonight and have so fun. I believe you’re already pregnant, but it never hurts to make absolutely sure. Tonight, I’ll pump you so full of co you won’t be able to walk straight.
Her lips parted slightly as she read it again, her cheeks warming.
It was bold, crude, and shaless—and yet every word set off sparks in her body.
She hesitated for only a mont, staring at the ssage, before the heat in her chest pushed her toward the inevitable answer.
Why should she say no?
Her husband had given her his blessing to see Ross whenever she wanted.
There was nothing to hide, nothing to explain. And truthfully... she wanted to go. Badly.
Decision made, she padded toward the bathroom.
Steam soon filled the air as hot water cascaded over her bare skin.
She took her ti washing, her hands lingering in certain places as her mind replayed Ross’s words.
By the ti she stepped out, her pulse was racing.
She opened her wardrobe and pulled out her most dangerous weapon—a deep crimson dress that hugged her body in all the right places.
The fabric clung to her hips and waist like it had been sewn for her alone, the plunging neckline offering a generous view of her cleavage, while the hemline barely skimd her thighs.
She finished the look with heels that made her legs look endless and a touch of lipstick to match the dress.
When she checked herself in the mirror, she saw not the dutiful wife she had been for years, but a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and who she was going to get it from.
She ssaged Ross to confirm.
The eting spot was a high-end club known for its dim lighting, expensive drinks, and private booths where deals—both business and otherwise—were struck.
The mont she stepped inside, the low thrum of bass and the scent of expensive cologne wrapped around her.
She didn’t have to search for long.
Ross was by the bar, a drink in hand, dressed in a fitted black shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders like it had been painted on.
His dark jeans emphasized the solid build of his thighs, and his tall, muscular fra made him stand out in the crowd like a predator among prey.
The dim lighting caught the sharp line of his jaw and the faint smirk on his lips as his eyes found her.
Her breath hitched.
Ella’s gaze, almost without her consent, drifted lower—down to the obvious bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans.
She swallowed hard, a rush of heat pooling low in her belly.
How could sothing so big be hidden under there?
Ross’s eyes swept over her slowly, deliberately, his smirk widening just enough to make her feel naked despite the dress.
And in that mont, Ella knew—tonight wasn’t going to be about catching up.
It was going to be about reminding her exactly why she had never been able to resist him.
"Let’s save the fun for later," Ross said with a smirk as he held her chair for her.
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