Novel Full Chapter 1083 Chronicle
Chapter 1083: Chapter 1083 Chronicle
Marissa’s thighs shook, her stomach tightened, and her toes curled until her foot cramped.
Ross felt every spasm, felt her body milking him, and he captured her gasp with his lips as he kissed her again—slow, devouring, claiming.
He held her pinned beneath him, buried to the hilt, letting her ride out every shudder and quake.
Marissa’s arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer, her breath hot and broken against his ear as she whispered a shaky, needy moan that sent heat straight down Ross’s spine.
They continued kissing thereafter.
The kiss was a frantic, breathless tangle, a prelude to the raw, unrestrained passion that consumed them.
Ross did not stop; his rhythm was a relentless, driving force, each thrust a deliberate, powerful stroke that buried him deep within Marissa’s cunt.
He moved with the untamed ferocity of a wild animal, all primal instinct and consuming need, yet there was a devastating artistry to the way he handled her body.
His hands, rough and knowing, charted the landscape of her curves—gripping her hips to anchor her, skimming up her waist to cradle her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts until she arched against him, a silent plea for more.
Marissa was lost in a continuous, shattering cascade of pleasure.
Each time she felt she had reached the peak, Ross would shift his angle, change his pace, or drag his teeth along her throat, and a new, more intense wave would crash over her.
Her cries were not singular events but a sustained, breathy symphony of surrender, punctuating the slick, rhythmic sound of their joining.
"Ahhhhh..." she gasped, her head falling back as he drove into her, hitting a spot that made her vision blur.
"Ross... please..." she begged, though for what, she didn’t know—for him to stop was unthinkable, for him to continue was almost too much to bear.
He answered with a guttural groan, his own control fraying. "You feel... too good."
In a single, fluid motion born of desperate urgency, he lifted her from the plush armchair, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.
He carried her the few stumbling steps to the heavy oak table, sweeping a stack of leather-bound books to the floor with a deafening clatter that neither of them registered.
He laid her back upon the cool, polished wood, the contrast of the cold surface against her feverish skin a fresh, shocking delight.
Mounted atop her, he plunged back into her depths, the new angle allowing for even deeper, more penetrating strokes.
He plowed into her with a focused intensity, his gaze locked on where their bodies joined, on the evidence of her desire that gleamed on his skin.
Marissa’s pleasure built to a fever pitch, a pressure coiling so tight and hot within her she thought she might break. And then she did.
With a sharp, keening wail that echoed off the vaulted library ceiling, she came, a torrent of release so intense that her body convulsed.
Her inner walls fluttered and clenched around him in rapid, milking pulses, and a gush of her essence, her slick pussy juice, escaped her in a warm rush.
It was so much that it freely dripped from the table, pattering onto the ornate rug below in a steady, rhythmic beat that matched their own.
Soon, a small, shimmering pool began to form on the floor from their combined juices, a sign to the abandon they shared.
"Ohhhhh... God..." she sobbed, her body still trembling with the aftershocks, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his forearms.
Her cries, now louder and utterly shameless, ricocheted through the silent library.
She did not care anymore if a whole lecture hall heard her.
All that existed was the feeling of Ross’s big, fat cock moving inside her, stretching her, filling her so completely.
Judging by the exquisite, burning stretch around him, she knew it was not only impressively thick but also long, a perfect, devastating instrument of pleasure that knew exactly how to fuck her right to the edge of sanity and back.
Her heels hooked behind his back, pulling him impossibly deeper, her body demanding everything he had to give.
And of course, their positions didn’t stay the same for long.
Every time Marissa thought she couldn’t possibly take any more, Ross shifted her, moved her, used her in a new way that left her breathless all over again.
An hour in, he had her bent over the table—her palms flat against the polished surface, her back arched perfectly as he took her from behind with heavy, punishing thrusts.
Every time his hips collided with her, the table creaked beneath them, sliding inch by inch across the floor.
Marissa’s voice had already gone hoarse, reduced to sharp gasps and broken moans as her body shuddered with each deep stroke.
But Ross wasn’t anywhere near done.
When her legs began to give out, he wrapped his arms under her thighs and lifted her effortlessly, carrying her as if she weighed nothing more than a pillow.
Her arms instinctively curled around his neck, but he didn’t even wait for her balance—he had her pinned against the wall in the next second.
He drove into her again, harder, hungrier, the force of each thrust making the wall tremble.
Picture frames rattled, dust drifted from the corners, and every slam of his hips echoed through the room like a heartbeat gone wild.
Marissa clung to him helplessly, completely at his mercy, her body trembling with overstimulation and desperate pleasure.
She could feel him everywhere—his strength, his intensity, his heat—devouring her piece by piece.
Their pace only grew more wilder.
They fucked on the wall, on the table, on the floor, even briefly on the couch before Ross flipped her over and took her on her hands and knees again.
Time blurred into something meaningless.
Minutes became hours, and hours became a haze of sweat, heat, and instinct.
They were tangled in each other, pressed together, colliding again and again with the single-minded need to consume everything the other offered.