“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have by now,” she breathes, almost as a placation to her own fearful thoughts. She’s wrong. I do want to hurt her. I’d love nothing more than to see her bare ass reddened by my hand. Or the faintest of bruises around her neck where my fingers grip as I drive into her. And those beautiful eyes filled with tears, pleading for me not to go any deeper down her throat. Husbands don’t hurt their wives the way I want to hurt her. They save those darker desires for their salacious nights in brothels, where those actions are considered disrespectful but acceptable.
