Anger used to never enter into the equation in my love life. Gently push her hair behind her ear, kiss her neck, ears, mouth, and eventually work my way up her shirt.
Pants off and usually straight to penetration until I came and she told me I was amazing.
She was lying.
Now? Fuey with the romance novel version of the lovemaking session. Now? It’s full beast mode.
I spot her. I see her. I go right fucking at her.
A kiss and push up against a wall. Wrists in my hands and above her head. Kiss that neck still, but with passion. Passion makes all the difference.
I am starving for her. She needs to feel it.
Clothes off in record time and I am face-deep in whatever region is being served today. Ass? Sure. Pussy? Even better.
Fingering that sweet wet mess into a day at the water park. Left hand around her neck and a stare so intense she wonders if I hate or love her. It’s always the latter, Kitten. Always.
Hitting orgasm number more than 2 is when I grace my own needs with the feel of her wet warm beauty.
Hard. Deep. Fast. Aggressive.
I am angry. I am passionate.
I am seeing red.
Also published on Medium.