For a second, she was worried he was going to play gentleman and treat her like she was made of glass - like she didn't know what she was asking. But in the next he was fucking her and it was raw and beautiful and she clung to the couch for dear life because she wanted the pain and she wanted the pleasure and she wanted something to remember.
Something to remember him by.
Sweat poured over the back of her neck, drenching her tattoo until it glimmered dimly in the half light and she turned her lips into his hair, wishing he'd bite and mark her but too far gone to ask.