Cry For Me, Angel.

His fingernails underline her simmering veins,
Unsatisfied with her unbroken skin,
Melding his rough, rough, rougher, with her softest.
"Scream," He tells her.
"Beg."

So scream, she does.
And beg, she will, if he wills it.
If he begs for her to beg.
She writhes beneath his shackles, his smother.

He is a smirk, Teeth bared and ready.
An animal lives within his core,
Thrusting its power against her servant.
He lusts for her blood, magnetic.
He lusts for her sweaty screams, pathetic.
He lusts for that glimmer in her eyes
That tells him how she loves it.
It hurts. It's terrible. It terribly hurts.
And she loves it, loves, loves, loves it.

Because love it, she does.
She has become but a maid to his hurricane,
Tending to the tragic wake he leaves on her body.
Her back arches upwards,
Hard, hard, harder.
Her hips part farther,
Hot, hot, hotter.
Her want grows stronger,
Wet, wet, wetter.

"Please," She finally breaks, the begging he requires.
He is Cheshire, a cat and a tiger.
His hands drop to her ankles, pushing them up,
Wearing them around his neck,
And giving her the body that she wants,
Armor. "Cry for me, Angel," He whisks,
Sweat on sweat.

She sweats.
She swears.
She cries,
For he needs it.

He breaks, moans.
Shows that, still, he is vulnerable.
She hears it, she moans.
For a moment, they are love again,
Remembering the normal days.

This sprouts the hot further,
And the hatred breeds hotter,
And the bruises grow deeper,
And his mouth growls deeper,
And his manhood goes deeper,
And she screams,
High, high, higher.

They reem, high, high, higher.

Hot. Hotter.
Wet. Wetter.

Beg.

Scream,

Lust,

Dream,

"Cry,"

"Please."

Slut,

Tease,

Animal. Animal.
The air is now flammable.
Rolling, pressing,
Closer, closer,
"Come on."
"Shut up."
"I hate you."
"I love you."

Swears, names.
Their favorite game.

Best two out of three?