“Baby, I’ll give it to you as hard as you want,” he ground out, the thin walls doing nothing to muffle the sounds of mattress springs and slapping skin, “but you’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.” My cheeks burned like his palm had cracked across either side of my face. He’d said those exact words to me, that exact way, not four nights ago. He’d called me baby and I’d loved it. I’d felt so special, so chosen. So precious. I’d felt like we had something real. Like the ring I’d found in his drawer last month was meant for me.
