It all happened so fast. he was barely aware of his own movements, frenzy and need taking over, leading him through the motions. He didn't know if he hit her, if he tore her clothes or his own. He was in a fevered, desperate state, and his body knew better than his mind what he needed.
His right hand was his main weakness, and he used his arm to steady her weight. He worked through the pain, riding the endorphins and hormones and the high of the sex, heedy and thick in the air. He was in a base, animalistic state, unable to discern what he was doing, or how terribly wrong it was.
He didn't know if he succeeded, if he breached her sex. Before he realisd what was happening, he was knocked to the floor, driven down hard by a hand that knew how to hit. Instinct immediately took over, and he drove himself forward, without the familiar grip of a guard at his back, one on one, at least giving him the illusion of a fair fight.
Henry Spivey didn't play fair, not when it came to his wife. When he's come in to the house, he'd expected to find her playing with the baby, not entertaining a rapist wearing Department of Correction sweats. Henry lacked Edward's training, but he had Edward's basic instinct to protect what was his.