A/N: The chapter below contains material of a sexual nature that some people may find disturbing. Obviously nothing too graphic, but...seems only fair to warn.


"Do you like it?" Paolo whispered into her ear, his lips brushing her lobe.

"It...it's beautiful!" She breathed.

And it was. Beautiful. Simulataneously beautiful and frightening because of what it meant for their relationship. The next step. It was clear that Paolo truely cared for her--loved her, her mind insisted--because he'd gone all out to ensure that it was special for her. Floating candles, rose petals, what more could a girl ask for? Marriage, whispered a traitorous voice inside her head. She squealched the dissenting thought ruthlessly. Paolo loved her. She loved him. There was nothing wrong with what they were about to do. So why did she feel so...odd? Why did this feel...wrong? Nerves. Had to be. She'd never done this before. Of course she was nervous. Who wouldn't be?

"Happy anniversary." He murmured, spinning her around to face him.

Her pulse raced with the certainty of what he was about to do. He didn't disapoint, his mouth was on hers before she could draw breath, crushing her lips in a desperately passionate kiss. He wasted no time, his left hand sliding from her waist to her breast, crushing it. It wasn't as if he'd never touched her that way before--he'd done so dozens of times--but never so roughly, with such clear intent. She gasped involentarily, as much in surprise as in pleasure. He thrust his tongue forcibly past her partially parted lips, his tongue scraping her teeth in his eagerness.

"Fuck, Lily." He hissed, ripping at her blouse.

Lily stiffened. This was fast. Really fast. But he obviously wanted her. How could she ask him to control himself, to go slower? He'd already waited on her for two months. It would be cruel to demand restraint when he knew what was coming. He was only a man after all. She should feel flattered that he was so frantic for her.

Her blouse was off in a heart-beat, tossed to the floor with a careless contempt. Paolo didn't even pause, his hand moving instantly to the clasp of her bra and unfastening it faster than Lily herself could.

And then the bra was off, joining her blouse in a heap.

He pulled back slightly, this time pausing to look at her, to stare at her bare breasts.

"Fuck." He said again, his hands moving to brush her lightly, finally showing a little of the tenderness she'd hoped for.

She groaned slightly, feeling the beginnings of arrousal stirring between her legs. The gentleness didn't last long. Encouraged, she presumed, by her low moan, he increased the pressure, violently crushing her tender flesh, his kisses bruising her lips.

Something firm and soft brushed the backs of her legs. The bed. How had they...? But she didn't have time to contemplate it, for he was pressing down on her, shoving her backward and onto the mattress, crushing her small frame under the weight of his much larger one. One hand tangled into her hair angling her mouth for deeper contact while the other tugged at her skirt, sliding it down till it caught against her hips. He pulled harder. The skirt was stuck. He peeled his lips from hers with a frustrated groan.

"Up." He demanded in a ragged whisper.

She complied, tilting her hips. He tore the skirt from her roughly, his fingers scraping--scratching--her thighs. She whimpered a bit at the sting, which he either ignored or failed to hear in his arroused state. He seemed so focused, already unbuttoning and discarding his shirt and trousers.

This wasn't what she'd expected at all. Where was all the tenderness, the romance? It was almost frightening the way he clutched at her--groped her. A memory flashed to the forefront of her mind. Of James and the expression on his face after he'd comforted her earlier in the week. Why wasn't Paolo looking at her--holding her--like that? Why was he being so rough? She wanted him to stop. But how could she possibly tell him that? She didn't want to hurt him, she loved him. She was naked. He was nearly so. What man would be able to stop at this point? It was too late. Far too late.

Finished divesting them of their clothes, Paolo flopped onto the bed next to her, pulling her atop him. She felt the length of his errection twitch in eagerness beneath her as her most intimate parts of her came into contact with his. She couldn't look at it. She was afraid to. She felt so exposed--trashy--not beautiful or special at all. She felt like a cheap slag. At least she could breathe. Her lips parted with the intent of sharing with him some of what she was feeling, but his hands were atop her head, pushing at her, shoving her down his body.

What was he...? Oh. Oh! It was suddenly very obvious what he wanted. But she had no idea how to...do that. She never even seen a man's...

And then suddenly that was no longer true.

Turgid flesh pressed against her unwilling lips, shoving past them and into her mouth. It was worse than she could have imagined. She gagged slightly, wishing frantically to be somewhere, anywhere else. But he was thrusting and groaning, clearly unphased by her lack of enthusasim. With a final thrust, he pulled out, tugging her upward violently and rolling so that she was beneath him. Now was the time to tell him, to beg him to stop before it was...

Too late.

The pain came in blinding flash--searing and ripping. She cried out, writhing in it. Why wouldn't he stop? Couldn't he see he was hurting her? She choked back a sob, trying to force her eyes open so that she could see him.

There.

His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. He was clearly enjoying himself. This should have pleased her. But it didn't. Because she was hurting. She wanted this to be over. She wanted to hit him. To cry. Bawl her eyes out. But he was still rutting incessantly between her legs, panting and cursing.

"Fuck!" He cried out, shoving harder and clinging to her.

She hadn't thought it possible to be in more pain than she already was, but his final thrust caught and tore at something within her. She cried out as well, but in agony, which he mistook for appreciation at his skills, for he smirked a bit. He rolled off of her, finally opening his eyes.

"We'd better get back." He said--rather coldly to Lily's way of thinking--rising from the bed and tugging on his trousers.

She didn't move. She couldn't. She hurt. A tear worked it's way down her cheek. It wasn't supposed to be this way...

"What are you waiting for?" He demanded, sounding a bit annoyed. He tossed her shirt at her. "We have to get back before they miss us. We've been gone too long as it is."

He was, of course, right. He wasn't trying to be insensitive, she reasoned. He was trying to protect her, to protect them. She couldn't fault him for it. She sat up and winced, pulling her blouse on and fastening the buttons with shaky hands. Her skirt hit her in the face.

"Hurry!" He urged, apparently unaware of how callous he was being.

She swung her rubbery legs to the edge of the bed and tried to slip her skirt on. What she managed to do was throw up. A lot. All over the floor.

"For fuck's sake!" He hissed, jumping back from her with a disgusted expression on his face.

"Sorry." She said weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when the heaving finally subsided.

"Come on!" Was his only reply.

She tugged her shoes on and tried to rise, stumbling a bit. He sighed, grabbing her arm in a bruising grasp and dragging her to the door.

It was at that moment that Lily realized that he'd never said he loved her.