It's in the way she crawls on the bed, hands and knees touching the soft mattress, she looks back at him with those blue eyes of hers. Lips are swollen and used, and she smiles at him and begs and loves him too much and he wants to hurt her for it.
Hands on her hips at first, he adjusts her, slaps her butt and she yelps, laughs as he observes the red hand-print on her left cheek. He holds his erection by the base, slides his cock on the cleft of her ass, one, two, three times and then moves to rub the head on her clit, delighting himself as she hangs her mouth, trying not to moan when he teases and threatens to enter her.
She's dripping wet and it's all because of him, she's all his his his, and he wants her to be his forever, wants her on her knees forever, wants her to be just as selfish as he is and want him back with the same intensity. And she already does, and when he slides inside she throws her head back, and he takes a moment to fall over her, his chest on her back.
They breathe and exist and for a second that's all they know how to do. Then he backs away, holds her by the shoulders and starts to move. It's not gentle, it's not slow. It's everything he gives and it's what she takes and it's more because she wants it. Somewhere along she picks up on his rhythm, meeting his thrusts, then it's so easy to just be.
He pulls her closer until she's against him, her head resting on his shoulder as one arm finds its way up so she can tangle her fingers on his hair. He runs his right hand down her body, finding that little bundle of nerves, driving her mad. She gets loud then, to the point of screaming, but they're not alone in the house and he covers her mouth with his left hand, her muffled cries invading his ears.
She pulls on his hair, goes still for a moment, trembles in the next one, comes and she's nothing but a quivering mess of languid flesh. Her cries turn into something close to desperation, and he realizes he's still playing with her clit when she takes his hand away. Too much, it's too much, and she falls back onto the mattress, her hair all over the place.
His hands find their way back to her hips, fingers digging into flesh, marking and bruising, and it doesn't take much until he throws his head back, thrusting a few more times before collapsing on top of her.
They stay that way for a while. She doesn't mind the warmth, he doesn't mind the affection. Then he kisses her nape as he slips out, settling himself next to her on the bed.
With shaky hands, he brushes her hair out of her face, and she looks at him as if he's the prey and smiles that smile and he kisses her.
Just because.