Conrad pounced on Victoria so quickly that she didn't even get a gasp out before his lips were on hers. He breathed in her gasp and it only added to his urgency.
He pinned her on the hardwood floor. Although it was uncomfortable, Victoria didn't say a word. He ripped the top of her dress, exposing her bra. Her beloved pearls were caught in the crossfire, rolling all over the floor. Still Conrad didn't stop. He pushed her dress up at the bottom and ripped her underwear. Victoria watched as the pieces of black lace fell to the floor. But still she said nothing. She knew she should feel scared. But she wasn't scared. She thought she should have felt aroused at his intensity. This was better than her fantasies about Conrad had ever been. And yet, he looked so lost, so desperate that all she felt was sorry for him.
He yanked on her hair as he plowed into her. It wasn't painful enough to elicit a yelp or cry; it wasn't pleasurable enough for her to enjoy her or Conrad spoke. Neither moaned. There were no romantic kisses, no foreplay. She arched her back, letting him go deeper and allowing herself to tilt her head and calm her screaming scalp.
Before long she could feel him hit his peak. He looked at her for a brief second before scooping her into a silent embrace. He buried his head in the dark hair that she has pushed to the side of her neck. It was only when he was surrounded by the comfort of his wife's embrace and the smell of her perfume that he let himself go, sobbing uncontrollably into her hair. Still, Victoria didn't say a word. She tightened her embrace with him and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him against her neck. He was broken and she was fixing him the only way she knew how.