Anya panted rapidly, her delicate hands weakly gripping Harry's wrist. Hot tears sparkled in her eyes—longing, fear, and shame all warring inside her.
Her timid, nervous demeanor didn't soften Harry's resolve—it only stoked the beast within him.
Anya looked no older than sixteen or seventeen. Her soft, girlish moans were filled with innocence, feeding Harry's twisted fantasy that he was defiling a young maiden.
Staring at her pink, delicious pussy, Harry swallowed hard, his mouth dry with lust. He could no longer resist the urge to taste her. He buried his face between her thighs, sucking her clit into his mouth with a wet slurp, pressing hard against her slick folds.
