Chapter 937: Chapter 937 Gacha
Nina’s hips lifted off the bed, chasing the friction, every nerve alive with need.
Her gaze wandered to the chair across the room—her handbag. Inside it was the note.
The one Ross had given her, folded neatly, waiting.
Just the thought of it made her shudder.
She bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood, trying to fight the urge, but her body betrayed her again, pulsing with desperate want.
"Oh my god... I’m such a slut," Nina whispered hoarsely, rubbing faster, torn between disgust and hunger.
She knew Ross was dangerous.
She knew he was a playboy, that he had Carrie, that he would ruin her the same way he ruined anyone who got too close.
She knew all of this, and still... she couldn’t stop.
Her eyes fixed on the bag.
She could almost feel the note calling to her, daring her to reach for it, to unfold it, to see his number staring back at her.
Her hand slowed, trembling. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
"No... I shouldn’t..." she told herself.
But even as she whispered it, her body screamed the opposite.
Her cunt ached, begging, pleading for her to give in.
And in the end, Nina did what her body commanded.
With shaking fingers, she pushed herself off the bed, crossed the room, and reached into her bag.
When she pulled the note free, her entire body quivered.
It was just paper. Just ink. Just a phone number.
But to Nina, it felt like opening a door she could never close again.
"I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t do this and yet..." Nina muttered, her voice trembling as she stared at her phone screen.
Her thumb hovered over Ross’s number, hesitating, trembling, retreating, and then coming back again.
She bit her lower lip until it nearly bled, her whole body caught between fear and desire.
Her mind screamed no.
Every rational thought begged her to delete his number and forget she had ever received it.
But her hand disobeyed, as if possessed by something stronger than her will.
With a sharp inhale, she pressed the button.
The phone rang once. Twice. Each second stretched like eternity.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, and she felt the sweat forming on her palms.
Please don’t pick up. Please—
The call connected.
Nina froze, her mouth opening but no sound escaping. Her breath caught in her throat.
"This must be Nina," came Ross’s voice—deep, smooth, and utterly confident.
The kind of voice that didn’t just speak; it commanded.
It reached through the phone and wrapped around her, sending shivers down her spine.
"If you want to get some of what Carrie had in the washroom... then meet me at Lincoln Park tomorrow at noon."
Click. The line went dead.
Nina stared at the phone in disbelief, her heart racing like a runaway horse.
She hadn’t even said a single word, and yet Ross had taken control of the conversation as if she were his from the beginning.
Her hands trembled. Her thighs pressed together.
Heat pooled in her belly, growing stronger with every echo of his voice in her mind.
"No... no... I can’t... I shouldn’t..." she whispered, but her body betrayed her.
Her hand slid down, almost without permission, slipping past her waistband, her fingers finding her swollen clit.
"Ahhhhhh..." The moan escaped her lips uncontrollably as her body arched off the bed.
The orgasm slammed into her, fierce and overwhelming.
Her back stiffened, her legs kicked, and her eyes rolled shut.
Wetness burst from her, soaking the sheets beneath her as she squirted harder than she ever had in her life.
It was raw, shameful, and yet so utterly pleasurable that her body convulsed in helpless waves.
When it was over, Nina collapsed on the bed, trembling, gasping for breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Her phone lay discarded on the pillow beside her, Ross’s words replaying again and again in her head.
She covered her face with both hands, torn between self-loathing and lingering bliss.
"Oh my god... I’m such a dirty white..." she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking.
Shame clawed at her heart, but even as she said the words, her mind circled back to the same thought:
Tomorrow... Lincoln Park...
The shame wasn’t enough to stop the hunger that was already growing inside her.
***
The morning after, Nina rose with the sun.
She hadn’t slept well—her mind refused to rest, spinning over Ross’s words on the phone, over Carrie’s moans in the washroom, over the shameful climax she had given herself in the dark of her bedroom.
By the time she finally sat up, her sheets were twisted around her legs like a noose, and her chest was still tight with guilt.
And yet she dressed.
It was Sunday, and the city was alive.
Families pushed strollers down the sidewalks, street vendors sold breakfast pastries, and the sound of dogs barking mixed with children’s laughter in the distance.
To Nina, though, all of it felt muted, as if she were walking in a dream that wasn’t her own.
Every step she took was heavy, deliberate, weighted with the knowledge of what she was about to do.
This time, it was her turn to wear a disguise.
She slipped on an oversized pair of sunglasses and tugged the brim of a wide hat low enough to shadow her face.
She wrapped herself in a loose coat, though the weather was warm, and caught her reflection in a store window.
Her heart skipped—she looked like someone trying too hard not to be noticed.
A guilty woman.
By 11 o’clock, she was already in Lincoln Park, her nerves fraying with every passing minute.
She sat on a wooden bench beneath a tree, fidgeting with her fingers, then stood and paced, then sat again.
Her eyes darted left and right, scanning every figure that passed, desperate to see Ross’s tall silhouette emerge from the crowd.
But he never came.
The clock on her phone glowed 11:30. Her pulse quickened.