No tenderness here. No savoring the reunion.
This is punishment, a brutal clash of bodies ripping open old scars.
I tear her shirt up, exposing her heavy breasts, nipples already stiff and begging.
I pinch one roughly, twisting until she gasps, then latch on with my teeth, biting down as she arches into me.
She claws at my shirt, ripping it off, her nails raking bloody trails down my back. "Harlan," she moans, wrecked and desperate, her voice mine to break.
I shove her skirt up, fingers finding her soaked panties, ripping them aside to plunge two digits into her dripping pussy.
She's tight, wet, clenching around me like she never left.
"You left me hard and empty for years," I growl against her throat, pumping my fingers faster, thumb grinding her clit. "Now take it back."
She bucks against my hand, her curvy body grinding down, auburn hair wild as she bites my shoulder, drawing blood.
Her free hand strokes my cock roughly, jerking me from base to tip, pre-cum slicking her palm.
I pull my fingers out, slick with her juices, and shove her higher against the wall.
With one thrust, I bury my cock deep inside her, no warning, no easing in.
She cries out, legs tightening, pussy walls gripping me like a vice.
I fuck her hard, slamming up into her with every ounce of pent-up fury, the wall shaking with each brutal drive.
Her breasts bounce against my chest, nipples scraping skin, and she meets me thrust for thrust, nails digging deeper, urging me on.
"Harder," she demands, voice hoarse, hazel eyes locked on mine, full of anger and possession.
I oblige, pounding into her relentlessly, the wet slap of our bodies echoing in the room.
Sweat slicks us, mixing with the metallic tang of blood from her bites.
I grab her ass, spreading her cheeks, fingers teasing her tight hole as I rut deeper, claiming every inch.
She's close—I feel it in the way her pussy flutters, milking my cock. "Come for me, you lying bitch," I snarl, biting her earlobe.
She shatters, screaming my name, walls convulsing around me, juices soaking my balls.
It pushes me over, and I thrust one last time, flooding her with hot cum, marking her inside as mine.
Her back presses against the baseboard, my shirt discarded across the room.
We're both panting like animals, chests heaving, but the fire's not out—it's just banked, waiting to ignite again.
Both of us are breathing like we just ran a mile.
The living room looks like a crime scene—bar cart shifted, a picture frame knocked off the end table, the leather chair shoved sideways from where she stood up.
Marlena has her head back against the wall, eyes closed, hair wrecked, and I can see the marks I left on her throat.
Red.
They'll be purple by morning. Good.
I sit on the floor beside her, not touching.
