“Last night was insane,” she said, walking into my room and climbing into my bed. I wasn’t sure if I could listen to another one of her stories, even if it meant getting laid, but I put my book down anyway.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Come to bed,” she whispered. “I don’t really want to talk. Come hold me and kiss me.”
I could see the bruises on her body as I undressed her, but her mouth was gentle and soft against me. She touched my cheek, and I brushed her hair behind an ear as we slowly lost our clothes and slid beneath the light blanket. Her neck was red and there were finger marks on her collar bone. Each wrist was marked with lines that were turning an angry shade of green and black. I kissed each nipple, watching them harden beneath my light touch, and she sighed sweetly as she opened her thighs.
“I want you slowly,” she whispered as I rolled a condom down over myself minutes later. I looked into her eyes for a long time as I rubbed against her, but her moans never grew frantic. When I finally entered her we kissed like we were in love.
“I like your bruises,” I whispered as I moved faster, and for a moment I pictured it all in my head.
“Don’t,” she moaned, pulling me deeper inside her as she wrapped her arms around me. “I don’t want you to like them. Just hold me.”
I struggled to hold back and to slow down. I tried not to imagine fucking her with everything I had, slapping her face and her ass until I painted my own picture on her body, but it was nearly impossible. Each time I thrust harder, she held me tighter, her voice a whisper in my ear telling me to be gentle. When I finally came it was all I could do not to tell her horrible things.
“Thank you,” she whispered as we lay next to each other in the dark room.
“Why do you do that? Why won’t you let me fuck you for real?”
“That is real.”
“You know what I mean,” I said, rubbing my hands through my hair, my cock still hard from all the things I wanted to do with her.
“You’re the only one,” she finally said, rolling to her back. “I guess I need someone to be sweet to me, because no one else is. Not even me.”
“Most people are the other way around,” I said. “They love their husbands, but they fuck their lovers like they can’t get enough. They don’t do crazy shit at home and then crawl into my bed needing to feel loved.”
“I know,” she whispered, pulling me close again. “I know.”
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