Chapter 900: Chapter 900 Archive
Sarah’s hands pressed against his chest again, not with real resistance but as though she was trying to hold onto the last shred of self-control.
"Please... not here. Someone could walk in."
Ross chuckled softly, a deep, confident sound that sent shivers down her spine.
"Let them," he whispered, kissing her neck again, his hands tracing up her thighs.
"Let the whole world see who you belong to. I don’t care if anyone knows."
Sarah gasped, torn between fear and desire.
Every nerve in her body screamed at her to push him away, but every beat of her heart urged her closer.
This was madness. Dangerous, reckless madness.
And yet... she couldn’t stop trembling for more.
She recalled the nights leading up to this moment.
At first, she had tried to dismiss it, telling herself her husband was simply tired, stressed from work, or not in the mood.
But as the days turned into a week, and then into more cold nights afterwards, the truth could no longer be ignored—he had repeatedly failed to perform in bed.
No matter how she touched him, no matter how she whispered or begged, his cock simply refused to rise.
He would turn away in embarrassment, muttering excuses, sometimes even falling into a restless sleep just to avoid her gaze.
Sarah lay awake beside him, staring into the darkness, feeling lonelier in her marriage than she ever had before.
What she could never imagine, however, was that it was no accident. It was Ross’s doing.
From the very night he first claimed her, Ross had no intention of letting another man—husband or not—touch Sarah again.
He had made sure of that.
With subtle, invisible measures, he stripped her husband of his ability to please her, ensuring that the one place she sought comfort would only leave her empty.
Sarah, of course, would never know.
To her, it was a cruel twist of fate, a slow death of passion in her marriage.
She felt guilty at first, guilty for resenting her husband’s weakness, guilty for craving more when he clearly could not give it.
But guilt did nothing to soothe the ache between her thighs.
Each night, the loneliness grew heavier.
Sarah often found herself tossing in bed, her body restless, her panties damp from thoughts she refused to admit out loud.
She would press her thighs together, trying to ease the pressure, but it only made the hunger worse.
Sometimes she even touched herself, hurried and ashamed, always stopping halfway as tears blurred her vision.
And in those moments of weakness, one name surfaced in her mind, unbidden but relentless—Ross.
His face, his voice, his touch.
She hated herself for it, hated that the very memory of him could make her body tremble and her pussy throb.
By the time Ross appeared again, Sarah was already primed for him, her defenses thin, her willpower fragile.
The heat that had built inside her, the reservoir of frustration and desire that had nowhere to go, made her an easy target for his relentless seduction.
She had been his from the first night—but now, with her husband powerless and her body starving, Ross knew she would fall even deeper into his grasp.
"Ross... I...."
"Hmmmmp..." Sarah tried to resist, but Ross’s kiss crushed the words from her mouth.
His lips devoured hers, his tongue pushing past her defenses and tangling with her own, drowning her in heat.
The more she tried to think, the less she could.
Every ounce of willpower melted under the assault of his mouth.
His hands were merciless.
With practiced ease, he stripped her piece by piece, not bothering with gentleness.
The buttons of her blouse popped open under his fingers, leaving the garment hanging loose around her shoulders.
He didn’t bother to remove it entirely—no, Ross wanted her half-dressed, vulnerable, undone.
Her bra was next.
He pulled it down, unclipped it in a swift motion, and tossed it aside like trash.
Sarah gasped when the cool air hit her bare breasts, her nipples already straining, pink and erect.
A second later, Ross’s mouth descended.
"Ahhhhn!" she cried softly as his lips closed around her nipple.
He sucked hard, his tongue swirling, flicking, biting gently.
Her back arched, her fingers digging into the desk as waves of pleasure surged through her.
When he moved to the other breast, she whimpered, her voice trembling.
Her blouse still clung to her arms, framing the sight of her breasts in obscene contrast.
And then his hand moved lower.
With one decisive tug, he yanked her thong down her thighs and ripped it away, tossing it aside.
Sarah gasped, her legs instinctively pressing together, but Ross pried them apart with ease.
The skirt still clung around her hips, half-covering her like a cruel tease, leaving her shamefully exposed beneath it.
Ross leaned back slightly, his hungry eyes locked onto her glistening folds.
His thumb brushed lightly over her swollen slit, smearing the wetness already leaking from her.
"Delicious," he murmured, his voice low and full of hunger. "You’re dripping for me, Sarah. Don’t pretend otherwise."
"No... it’s not—" Sarah began, her cheeks burning.
But her words were cut short with a moan as his thumb pressed harder, circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes.
Her body betrayed her instantly, her hips jerking forward, seeking more of his touch.
Ross smirked. "See? Married or not... your body knows who it belongs to."
"Stop... Ross... please," she whispered, her voice weak, her breaths ragged.
But her thighs trembled, her pussy already quivering under his touch.
Ross leaned in, kissing her again, his tongue claiming her mouth as his fingers teased her pussy.
He didn’t let her think. He didn’t let her resist.
His pace was patient but firm, each touch designed to break down what little resistance she still clung to.
Sarah’s hands pressed against his chest, but not to push him away—only to steady herself, to stop from collapsing under the weight of the great pleasure building inside her.