I’m a feminist until the day I die. I’ve never wanted to play the part of a weak, helpless woman. I’m no damsel in distress. But seeing his torn-up knuckles and thinking about the way he protected me today has turned me into a puddle. He presses himself against my entrance before plunging deep. I gasp as his piercings rub my inner walls just right. “You know that rush when I first push inside you?” I nod as he thrusts. It’s my favorite. “That is worth fighting for. It’s worth bloody knuckles. I will never make you feel the way he did. I will never try to control you or own you. But when my
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