"You, my dear, have the soul of a writer."
I cringed before glancing at him with a scowl. "You mean the soul of a poet?"
"No. God, no. You're the furthest thing from a poet. Whereas a poem has the capability of designing a truth endowed with ribbo...
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LET'S FUCK AWAY THE FEELINGS, IT CAN ONLY MAKE THEM WORSE
He wasn't a bad person, and he never intended to hurt anyone (who didn't already deserve it). Some days, he found that he had to stress that fact to himself more often than usual—today was going to be one of those days.
Dawn was laying prone under him, her bare chest slapped against the uncovered mattress, and she was whimpering. Marshall could see the tears in her eyes and the way her knuckles grew white as she clutched at the bed frame. He was intentionally being aggressive with her, knowing he was causing pain and that he should probably slow down before she cried out and somebody heard, but ultimately he just didn't care all that much. Dawn really fucked things with Cassandra and that impulsive note of her's, and after a day of fighting and drinking, Marshall wasn't particularly in the mood to be of the forgiving type. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, right by the scalp, and snapped her head back as he slammed himself fully into her. Her internal walls tensed around his cock as she whined, and Marshall laid over her back as he took himself out and roughly slipped back in—balls deep, his hips bucking against her ass, the grip in her hair growing firm until she was begging him to take pity.
He bowed to her ear, giving the brunette locks another sharp yank. She began to cry, a panting mess of sweat and tears that ran sticky trails over her flushed skin. "Why should I?" He demanded, breathless.
Dawn glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to sneer though melting into a grin. She purposely tightened her cunt, backed herself against him with a sudden motion as she reached around and grabbed his wrist, nails like shards of glass over his skin as they snared up his arm. Marshall eventually did ease his hold on her hair, though not without another mean-spirited tug.
"That's right, fuckin' pussy." Dawn giggled, snarky.
"What? Are you fuckin' stupid?" He took her neck and forced her chin up, his palm over her windpipe and squeezing. Dawn gasped once, it was all she could. "The fuck did you just say?"
Marshall could feel a slight vibration against his hand as Dawn tried to groan, and after a moment she began to struggle from underneath him, growing anxious as her air supply became fearfully limited. Marshall snarled, barring his teeth at the crown of her head as he rapidly thrusted himself into her. A quick yet intense beating, making sure it hurt. He felt the buildup of a climax beginning to turn inside of him, his dick twitching as he moved with a certain type of maddened urgency, using his other hand to grab Dawn by the waist and hold her steady as he smacked himself all the way into her one final time. For a moment, his dazed mind considered half-formed thoughts of just coming inside, offering some money for a contraceptive before he left—she had been begging him to fill her up for the last hour or so. Though, not a minute too soon, he pulled out and finished himself off within three quick jerks, his balls tightening as a surge of pleasure emitting from his groin warmed his muscles and flared against his stomach, leaving him winded and shuddering, his cock pulsing with white strings of cum that landed on her back, directly above the dimples at the base of her spine.
