Building up the speed until he was completely pounding into me. He had his hands on my ass, riding me with abandon. My breasts were bouncing back and ...orth until I grabbed one with my hand massaging it roughly. I looked into the mirror at him staring back at me. “You like that? You like your tits?” “Yes I love it. I love my tits.” “Do you like my dick all the way inside you?” “Your dick feels so good inside me. I love the way you’re hitting my ass.” As if to punish me, he slowed. He leaned. Hands that had killed. For a hundred different reasons, but also for her. He had never raised them in violence against her, not even to shake reason into her. In fact, he had rarely touched her, doing so only when necessary; to heal her, to support her, to carry her to bed when she’d fallen asleep where she wasn’t supposed to. In those moments, his touch had always been gentle, as gentle as it was now when he brushed those fingers across her cheeks and cupped her face, strong fingers. More

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