Fractures and Fire

Vic’s belt hits the floor with a sharp clink, and his eyes lock onto the bruises blooming on my hips—his marks from weeks ago, dark and undeniable. His fingers tremble as they trace the deepest purple, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the damage he’s done.

“I did this,” he breathes, voice rough and low. “God, I keep doing it.”

I reach for him, but his grip is iron as he pins my wrist above my head. “Don’t,” he growls. “Don’t forgive me.”

Yet his mouth crashes down on mine, fierce and searching—a kiss that’s both punishment and desperate confession, teeth grazing my lip before his tongue soothes the sting.

The Sex: Roughness Laced with Tenderness
He shoves me onto the bed, hands rough as they spread my thighs, but when his fingers slip between my legs, their touch softens, deliberate. “You’re still tender,” he murmurs, circling my clit with a slow, aching rhythm. “Why do you let me break you like this?”

“You don’t break me,” I whisper, arching into his hand. “You make me come like this.”

He snarls, biting my inner thigh hard enough to bruise, then licks the mark as if trying to erase it. “Liar.” His fingers curl inside me, stealing my breath, while his other hand cups my face gently. “Look at me. I need to see what I’ve done.”

When he enters me, it’s not the usual frantic pounding. He moves deep and slow, forehead resting against mine, breaths mingling in the quiet space between us. “You feel that?” he whispers, dragging his cock against the spot that twists my insides. “That’s how much I want you. How much I… fuck.”

His hips falter, but his hands remain tender—one tangled in my hair, the other gripping my hip like I’m fragile glass.

The Confession
Later, he carries me to the shower, scrubbing my skin raw with a washcloth, muttering curses at the bruises. “I’ll stop,” he says, but his hands are already sliding between my legs again. “Tell me to stop.”

“No.” I press his fingers deeper, gasping. “I want the bruises. I want you to ruin me.”

Pinned against the cold tile, his fingers work me open beneath the scalding water. “You’re mine,” he growls, voice thick with need and regret. “Even if I don’t deserve you.”

Breaking Point
At 2 a.m., in the kitchen—him shirtless, me wrapped in his hoodie—he slams his fist into the counter. “I can’t fuck her anymore,” he admits, voice cracking. “Not since you. She… Christ.”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

He pulls me close, burying his face in my neck. “I try, but she’s not you. She doesn’t make me feel like this.” His hands clutch my hips desperately. “I can’t even get hard unless I’m thinking of you.”

Mutual Destruction
His lips find mine—a kiss both savage and reverent, teeth splitting my lip before his tongue cleans the wound. “Forgive me,” he breathes against my skin, hands sliding beneath my hoodie to cup my breasts. “I’ll ruin us both… but I can’t stop.”

“I already have,” I whisper, biting his earlobe hard enough to draw blood. “But I’ll destroy you too. Every bruise, every scream—I’ll take you down with me.”

He stills, eyes wild. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He laughs bitterly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Then we’ll burn together.”