Saara didn’t expect this when she curled up on the couch. Her older cousin, all smooth moves and knowing glances, ‘accidentally’ brushes his hand against her thigh before slipping inside. She gasps but doesn’t push him away—just arches into it like she’s been waiting. The living room lights stay low; curtains half-drawn as he flips her onto her back, jeans around her ankles. Thick thighs parting for him with that hungry look of a girl who knows better but can’t resist. Then he turns serious: hands gripping hips hard enough to bruise as he drives deep inside without warning.
