This was a deliberate hit. And it bothered me in ways I wasn’t quite prepared for. In ways I couldn’t quite rightly explain. Because just a few days ago, I’d caught a quick glimpse of the bruises I’d put on his throat and, as disturbing as it was, I found it hot. I’d marked his skin. Imprints of my fingers when I’d gripped his throat while I fucked him. While I owned him, owned his body in animalistic ways. Yes, it was fucked up. Me marking him? I was totally on board with that, and so was he. But someone else? Someone else hurting him? Yeah, that didn’t fly with me.
