Evil MC's NTR Harem

Chapter 1236: Chapter 1236 Kingdom

“Please… fill me again…”

“Deeper… fuck, Ross, breed me…”

“Don’t pull out… stay inside… want it all…”

He obliged. Every time.

On the final night—day seven bleeding into eight—the frenzy reached its peak one last time.

Ross had them both on their backs, legs hooked over his shoulders, side by side so he could see their faces as he alternated.

Deep, punishing strokes into Bella until her eyes rolled back and she sobbed with overstimulation—then straight into Jenny, grinding against her cervix until she screamed and clenched so hard he nearly lost it.

When he finally let go, he buried himself in Bella first—groaning low as he pumped rope after thick rope deep inside her spasming cunt.

Pulled out still twitching, plunged into Jenny, and unloaded the rest—filling her until it bubbled out around his base and ran in creamy rivulets down her ass.

They came with him—one last shattering, full-body convulsion that left them quaking, squirting weakly, pussies fluttering around the memory of his cock.

Then silence. Heavy, ringing silence.

They collapsed in a sweaty, cum-soaked tangle: Bella curled into Jenny’s side, Jenny’s arm draped limply over Ross’s chest, both women’s thighs slick and shining, pussies leaking slow, steady streams of his seed onto the already destroyed sheets. No one moved.

No one spoke. Breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps.

The moans had finally stopped.

The base outside felt quieter too—like it had been holding its collective breath for a week.

Ross lay between them, one hand possessively cupping each woman’s cum-stuffed pussy, fingers lazily tracing the messy evidence of his claim.

A faint, satisfied smirk curved his lips as he stared at the ceiling.

Seven days.

No barriers.

No mercy.

Just raw, repeated, deep creampie claiming—until both women were utterly, irrevocably his.

The moment Ross stepped back into public view, he was treated like some kind of mythical figure—a cock monster, as some of the more vulgar onlookers whispered.

Men practically flocked to him, crowding around, eyes wide with curiosity and envy, voices all but shouting over one another.

“Ross, how do you do it?”

“What food do you eat to have stamina like that in bed?”

“Can you teach me some techniques? Please, I’ll do anything!”

Their questions were shameless, relentless, and unashamed.

Ross stood there, calm as ever, listening to a barrage of inquiries that would have made any ordinary man blush—or run for cover.

But these men weren’t ordinary. The apocalypse had changed everything.

Tomorrow was never promised, and the world they lived in was ugly, broken, and crawling with zombies at every turn.

So they clung to the present, obsessed with small victories.

They wanted to find comfort wherever they could—in food, in weapons, in companionship, and above all, in the fleeting pleasures that reminded them of life before everything fell apart.

Pleasing their wives, keeping their girlfriends happy, and claiming any semblance of normal intimacy had become a survival skill in itself.

And Ross, with his legendary stamina and seemingly supernatural prowess, had become their unwilling teacher—a beacon in the chaos, a man who somehow reminded them that desire, humor, and pleasure still existed even in a world that seemed determined to strip it all away.

The room buzzed with tension, laughter, and incredulity as they peppered him with more questions, each more absurd than the last, while Ross simply shook his head with a small, knowing smirk, as if to say: If you only knew the half of it.

While the rest of the base crowded around Ross—cheering, slapping his back, shouting congratulations over some fresh victory or close call he’d pulled off—June stayed on the periphery.

She leaned against the cold metal wall of the corridor, half-obscured by a stack of supply crates, arms folded so tightly her knuckles whitened.

From that distance, she could watch without being seen. And watch she did.

Ross stood in the center of the chaos like he belonged there—broad shoulders relaxed, easy grin flashing as he traded jokes and fist-bumps.

Sweat still clung to his neck from whatever firefight or training run he’d just finished.

His uniform was rumpled in that careless, lived-in way that made her stomach twist every time.

She’d spent days—maybe longer—telling herself it was nothing. Just admiration.

Respect for a colleague. Professional curiosity. But the lie had worn thin long ago.

Tonight it tore completely.

Her gaze traced the line of his jaw, the way his throat worked when he laughed, the casual flex of his forearms as he gestured.

Heat pooled low in her belly, uninvited and insistent.

She clenched her thighs together, trying to ignore the sudden, traitorous slickness between her legs.

She’d resisted this pull for so damn long—denying herself even the smallest release when thoughts of him crept in at night.

She’d convinced herself wanting him was dangerous, unprofessional, a distraction she couldn’t afford.

But watching him now, effortless and magnetic in the middle of the crowd, something inside her finally gave way.

Not with a crash. With a quiet, deliberate click.

She was done starving.

She pushed off the wall, turned on her heel, and walked away before anyone could notice the flush creeping up her neck or the determined set of her mouth.

The decision had crystallized in that moment: no more waiting. No more pretending.

She was taking what she’d denied herself for too long.

The next day, at precisely 7 in the morning, Ross’s comm pinged with a private message.

*My office. Come alone.

—June”

No context. No explanation. Just the time, the location, and her name.

He arrived at the dot—curious, a little wary, but not hesitant. The door hissed open at his approach.

The office was small, utilitarian: metal desk bolted to the floor, two chairs, filing cabinets lining one wall, a single overhead light casting harsh shadows.

June stood behind the desk, back straight, hands braced on the edge like she was steadying herself for impact.

The moment he stepped inside, she moved.

She crossed the room in three quick strides and launched herself at him—arms looping around his neck, legs hooking around his waist as if she’d rehearsed the motion in her head a hundred times.