Raven looked down.
The blood was immediate.
Thin, bright red, running along the base of his cock where it met her entrance — the honest, visible evidence of what had just been crossed — spreading into the wet sheet below her hips in a slow, spreading stain.
Her pussy around him was nothing like the ass.
The ass was trained, learned, the grip of something that had been educated and retained the lessons. This was raw — the original, factory tightness of something that had never been worked, the walls clamping down around him with the reflexive, desperate force of muscle that had no framework for relaxation, squeezing him with the full, panicked strength of the untouched.
He grunted.
Low. Involuntary. The honest sound of a man whose body has just received information it found genuinely impressive.
"Tight." Not to anyone in particular. Just the word, exhaled. "Fuck."
