...she knew he was there. Purple headscarf half-off, eyes squeezed shut but lips parted like a prayer as Dante pins her down. Thick thighs clamped around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders. No warning—just the sound of wet slaps and her breath hitching when he hits that spot inside her. Tattoos on his arms brush against her bare skin every time he thrusts deeper. She whimpers when it gets too much, then bites her lip and takes it all again.
