"Nothing about you is dirty, Sabrina," he growled, voice low and reverent, laced with raw desire.
"You're fucking perfect—every hole, every inch. Clean, sweet, and made to take me everywhere."
It was true.
Sabrina was the picture of radiant health and beauty—skin silky and glowing, scented faintly of vanilla and the clean soap she'd used that last morning.
Even after hours of being fucked senseless, stretched and filled and soaked in their combined release, she smelled intoxicating, felt like heaven.
There wasn't a single part of her that wasn't pristine, inviting, begging to be claimed.
She opened her mouth to protest again, a weak "But—" forming on her swollen lips, but Ross chose that moment to press forward.
His thick thumb breached the tight ring with steady, unrelenting pressure until—pop—the muscle gave way and he sank in to the first knuckle.
"Ahhhh—!" Sabrina's cry was sharp, raw, a mix of shock and something far more dangerous.
