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Ugly.
That's what I was. That's what I am.
That's how he makes me feel. I lay with half my face pressed against the feather pillow, the hundred thread count pillow case made from Persian cotton, and the floral pattern that stands out indents my cheeks. My half clothed body pushes against the silk sheets of the bed he shares with his wife while he pushes in and out of me.
He groans in my ear, moans, and pants through a breathless whisper about how beautiful I am. How tight I am. How wet I am. His fingers press into my hips harshly gripping the flesh of my skin, his touch sends painful jolts through my body, and he thrusts himself into me, hard. Painfully. Like, I'm the ones who's hurt him.
Over and over.
I feel the muscles in my stomach and of my core tighten around the intruder that wasn't invited and hot liquid filling up my insides. His sweat drips from his forehead onto my back, his hand glides over the skin of my spine, my lower back, to the flesh of my behind and gives it a harsh squeeze before once again pushing. Prodding. Leaning his weight against me before he leaves.
"I need to see that pretty face of yours."
He flips me over. My shirt gets tossed to the floor. Exposed.
Sun kissed skin, pale green eyes, hair that's usually gelled back perfectly now looks unkempt from the strenuous activity he's been engaging in for fifteen minutes and forty five now forty six seconds. Toned chest, not a hair out of place, and thick arms used to force me into submission raise up and ripple as he brushes his hand through golden locks and wipes the perspiration from his face as he smiles.
He leans over me, eyes roaming over my face, my eyes, my nose, lips, hair. I feel his gaze but I don't and can't return it.
Frozen.
That's what I was. That's what I am.
That's how he makes me feel. I lay with my back pressed against the the silk sheets made from a place I've never been. The pillow rests under my head and it just makes it easier for him to press his lips to mine. The sheets feel like air against my skin as I'm pressed against this bed that he and his wife share in the nighttime.
His breath hits my ear, his hands touch my body kneading and groping the flesh that I had grew into all too soon. He pants, moans, and god, he groans about how gorgeous I am. How ready I was. How soft my skin is. Lips on my neck, teeth grazing my shoulder, his chest pressed against mine, the intruder comes back again.
Over and over.
He thrusts. Hard. Faster and faster. His weight holding me down. The endless rocking, pushing, prodding, and feeling of him doesn't go away. His mouth latches onto me. His tongue swirls and his lips suck the sensitive place that now holds no feeling. He makes a sound of pleasure. I make no sounds at all. His hands grip me, they grope me, they own me.
