Standing up, I looked back at the bed. Turning around, I pulled my shirt over my shoulders and began fastening it up as I looked down at her on the bed. I was too rough, too angry. Looking down at her skin, it was littered with bruises. Bite marks, of course that were done when my d*ck was not inside of her. Her hair was a mess and scattered across the bed. She would heal quickly, of course, given her genetics. But she looked like she had been at a war, not hours of me using her body to get my frustrations out on. Why I keep taking sh*t out on her, I do not know.
Turning back around, I sat on the edge of the bed and placed my hands on my head. I was usually not like this. I was usually so collected. My next moves would not be ones she would like. But I still needed her to see me, me. Not
