Chapter 1225: Chapter 1225 Ramen
The dual assault made Jenny cry out, back bowing sharply as fresh ecstasy arrowed through her.
“You love this, don’t you?” he rasped against the shell of her ear, voice rough with lust. “Being fucked like this… so deep… so full… taking everything I give you.”
The filthy, reverent words sank into her like heat. Jenny could only whimper in answer—high, desperate, wordless.
Her body answered for her: hips rocking back to meet his thrusts, inner walls fluttering and squeezing around his cock with every punishing stroke.
Ross’s pace turned relentless—faster, deeper, more possessive.
Each snap of his hips sent ripples through her ass and thighs; each withdrawal left her achingly empty for only a heartbeat before he filled her again.
The wet lewd sounds of their bodies meeting filled the room, underscored by her broken cries and his low, guttural groans.
She was close—dangerously close—teetering on a razor’s edge.
And Jenny couldn’t believe in how fast it was happening.
Sensing it, Ross shifted his grip.
One hand slid down her trembling stomach, fingers finding her swollen, slippery clit.
He circled it with firm, steady pressure—once, twice—then rubbed in tight, fast little strokes that matched the brutal rhythm of his cock driving into her.
That was it.
Jenny shattered.
“Fuck! ing!” She screamed.
Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave—violent, blinding, all-consuming.
A raw, sobbing cry tore from her throat as her pussy clamped down hard around him in rhythmic, desperate spasms.
Her whole body convulsed; her arms buckled pletely and she collapsed forward onto her elbows, cheek pressed to the pillow, ass still high and impaled as Ross fucked her through every shuddering pulse.
Pleasure rolled over her in endless waves, leaving her shaking, gasping, tears of pure overwhelm slipping from the corners of her eyes.
He didn’t stop—didn’t even slow.
His thrusts grew erratic, primal.
Fingers dug bruisingly into her hips as he chased his own release.
A low, animal groan rumbled from deep in his chest. With one final, bone-deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came—hot, thick pulses flooding her again, filling her until she could feel the excess leaking out around his cock and trickling down her inner thighs.
They stayed locked together for long, trembling moments—both breathing hard, bodies slick and spent.
Slowly, reluctantly, Ross eased out.
A soft, wet sound acpanied the withdrawal, followed by another warm rush of their bined release. Jenny whimpered at the sudden emptiness, legs shaking too violently to hold her weight. She collapsed fully onto the mattress, boneless, dazed, glowing.
Ross lay down beside her and gathered her close, pulling her sweat-damp body against his chest.
He pressed tender kisses along her hairline, her temple, the corner of her mouth still parted on soft, aftershock breaths.
“Still with me?” he murmured, voice softer now, almost reverent.
Jenny managed a small, exhausted laugh that melted into a contented sigh.
“More than with you,” she whispered, curling tighter into him. “Way more.”
And in that quiet, sated aftermath, the long months of loneliness felt like a distant memory—replaced by warmth, fullness, and the quiet, certain promise of more nights just like this.
And of course Ross wouldn’t be Ross if he did not take Jenny to the whole circus.
Ross didn’t stop until he had taken her through every single position it described. And then some.
They restarted it slowly.
Missionary first—classic, intimate, deceptive in its gentleness.
He braced above her, forearms caging her head, watching her pupils blow wide every time he sank in to the hilt.
Her nails raked red trails down his back; she gasped his name like a prayer each time he bottomed out.
“Ahhhhh… Ross—fuck—”
He kissed the sound right out of her mouth and rolled them so she was on top. Cowgirl.
Then reverse.
Her thighs trembled as she rode him hard, grinding down until her clit dragged against his pelvis with every roll of her hips.
He gripped her ass, spreading her wider, thumbs teasing the sensitive skin just behind where they joined.
She threw her head back, hair sticking to her sweat-damp neck, voice cracking into high, broken whimpers.
“Ohhhhh… God, right there—don’t stop—”
He didn’t.
When her legs gave out he flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up—prone bone, deep and punishing.
The angle made her sob into the pillow.
He reached under, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing fast little circles while he fucked her into the mattress.
Her whole body jerked with each thrust; the headboard thudded rhythmically against the wall.
“Ughhhh—too deep—Ross, I can’t—”
“You can,” he growled against her ear. “You’re gonna take it all.”
She did.
Spooning came next—lazy at first, almost tender.
He curled behind her, one arm banded across her chest, the other hooked under her knee, holding her open while he rocked slow and filthy into her from behind.
He sucked bruises into the side of her throat; she reached back, fingers twisting in his hair, begging for harder, faster, more.
They shifted again. Lotus—face to face, legs wrapped tight around each other, rocking together until breathing became impossible.
She buried her face in his shoulder and bit down when she came the third time, muffling a scream that vibrated through his bones.
He carried her—still impaled—to the wall next.
Standing, her back pressed to cool plaster, legs locked around his waist.
Gravity did half the work; he did the rest, driving up into her with short, brutal strokes.
Pictures rattled on their hooks. She clawed at his shoulders, leaving crescent marks.
“Fuck—Ross—I’m gonna—”
“e again,” he ordered, voice rough. “One more. For me.”
She shattered. Loud. Wet. Shaking so hard he had to pin her tighter to keep her upright.
They made it back to the bed somehow. He put her on all fours—classic doggy—then modified it, pressing her chest flat to the sheets so her ass arched high.
He draped himself over her back, one hand fisted in her hair, the other between her thighs, rubbing her oversensitive clit until she was crying real tears of too-much-pleasure.
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