The sheets tangled in a whirl around them as the roles were reversed, and Tiberius climbed atop his wife. He thought she would struggle, and took a stance to prevent her doing so as much as possible: his knees on the outsides of her legs, his shins angled in to pin her thighs in place with his body weight. He would have anchored her arms down, too, except that his hands were busy violently tearing off what thin layers of clothing she did still have on. He couldn't really see what he was doing, since the only light in the room was still his wand, and it had fallen to the floor when he'd dropped it. He wasn't being careful. He hoped he damaged something. He hoped this was her favorite nightgown, and that it would be unsalvageable once he discarded it onto the floor by the bed.
"Worthless harlot," he said viciously as he removed his own underthings and hiked the night shirt up over his hips. He was surprised to find that he was already fully erect, his head bobbing ridiculously against his stomach as he shifted to kick his underclothes away. When had that happened? He hoped he hadn't started stiffening while she'd been on top of him, and hoped even more that if he had, she hadn't been paying enough attention to notice the difference through the thin layers of clothing that had separated them. The idea that she had attempted to seduce him and it had worked was mortifying.
But it could just have easily had occurred since then, he told himself. It wasn't as though it took a good deal of time. That was what he would choose to believe — that it was the idea of taking advantage of her, of dominating her, that had done this to him.
Tiberius wet his index finger against his tongue and shoved it roughly down against her — not for her comfort or pleasure, but rather to ease his imminent passage there — and discovered a hint of wet between her legs already. That had never happened before, and it confused him, but not enough to make him halt his efforts.
He pushed into her with all the force he could manage, as deep as he could. He wondered if it hurt, particularly since he wasn't sure how well that particular area had healed after her last attempted birth. He hoped it did hurt. He wanted to hurt her.
"Worthless harlot," he said viciously as he removed his own underthings and hiked the night shirt up over his hips. He was surprised to find that he was already fully erect, his head bobbing ridiculously against his stomach as he shifted to kick his underclothes away. When had that happened? He hoped he hadn't started stiffening while she'd been on top of him, and hoped even more that if he had, she hadn't been paying enough attention to notice the difference through the thin layers of clothing that had separated them. The idea that she had attempted to seduce him and it had worked was mortifying.
But it could just have easily had occurred since then, he told himself. It wasn't as though it took a good deal of time. That was what he would choose to believe — that it was the idea of taking advantage of her, of dominating her, that had done this to him.
Tiberius wet his index finger against his tongue and shoved it roughly down against her — not for her comfort or pleasure, but rather to ease his imminent passage there — and discovered a hint of wet between her legs already. That had never happened before, and it confused him, but not enough to make him halt his efforts.
He pushed into her with all the force he could manage, as deep as he could. He wondered if it hurt, particularly since he wasn't sure how well that particular area had healed after her last attempted birth. He hoped it did hurt. He wanted to hurt her.