She promised something, not able to withstand his eyes for long, and he knew that she did not want to hear his warning. She wanted everything but caution. How could he deny her? He loved her. However little it looked like it right now, going by appearances, her power over him grew ever stronger. His biggest failing had always been to give those he loved what they wanted, instead of what was right, sensible, and safe. Please. She pleaded. Her hands caressed his back, then dug into it, he felt the sharp of her nails and he braced against it, still holding her hips, pressing his hands painfully down on her hipbone. Her touch on his scars made him flinch, the circles seemed to want to jump out of him. She strained against him, trying to move, trying to get him to move. When he finally did, it was excruciatingly slow. He had been holding his breath, it seemed. She offered him her neck and he denied her, his breath on her skin, a hint of his lips, but nothing more, just his weight. He put it on her in full now, did not mind anymore that she gasped and fought under him. His hands released her hips, finally. He grasped her neck and face instead, felt her teeth at his fingers, lost his sense of what he was doing. The moment of restraint was over, they struggled against each other.
He wanted her to give him things she never permitted another man to take from her. They were being impossible. It could not be enough, it would never sate them. Mark me, she demanded. Don't make me, he wanted to say. I will give in. "You don't know what you're asking for. What you're really asking for." A bruise would only be a stand-in, the first step of their descent. He felt that they had never before clicked like this with each other; he understood now that all the violence others had sought from him for their degradation would serve to exalt her: his teeth on her skin barely scratched the surface of what she really wanted. He needed to find a way to stop this, to break her hold over him — when the morning came to freeze him out of this bout of madness. Not now.
He got into her in whichever way he could; he was in pursuit of her, had his demands ready, as she had hers; there would be a point where he was going to surrender, it was only the question of when and of what she then would dare to ask for. That knowledge was terrifying. He felt powerless to stop it. Just this, he thought: It would not be tonight. He could not allow that.
He wanted her to give him things she never permitted another man to take from her. They were being impossible. It could not be enough, it would never sate them. Mark me, she demanded. Don't make me, he wanted to say. I will give in. "You don't know what you're asking for. What you're really asking for." A bruise would only be a stand-in, the first step of their descent. He felt that they had never before clicked like this with each other; he understood now that all the violence others had sought from him for their degradation would serve to exalt her: his teeth on her skin barely scratched the surface of what she really wanted. He needed to find a way to stop this, to break her hold over him — when the morning came to freeze him out of this bout of madness. Not now.
He got into her in whichever way he could; he was in pursuit of her, had his demands ready, as she had hers; there would be a point where he was going to surrender, it was only the question of when and of what she then would dare to ask for. That knowledge was terrifying. He felt powerless to stop it. Just this, he thought: It would not be tonight. He could not allow that.
