You cannot have love without limits.
Audrey dug her teeth into her bottom lip, and she wasn’t sure if the saltiness she tasted was her blood or her tears. Her forehead banged repeatedly against the headboard of the bed, the staccato beat as the polished wood hit the wall giving her something else to focus on besides what was going on behind her. Her nails dug into the edge of the mattress so fiercely she wondered for a moment if she might rip the sheet. She occasionally let out something between a gasp and a whimper when the thrusts were especially rough, but apart from that she was silent in her suffering.
After what felt like an hour, but what was really more like 7-10 minutes, he gripped her hips, let out a staggered groan, and pushed himself into her so suddenly and deeply that she cried out in pain. Then he pulled himself out and collapsed on the bed beside her, his panting breaths taking the place of the rhythmic thumping of the headboard. She curled into herself and laid just there, facing the closet across the room, and resisted the urge to grab the blankets from off the floor and cocoon herself in them. Her forehead throbbed from the banging, other places throbbed from the other banging, and her thoughts were swimming with regret and shame. She sniffed, and smeared her face across the pillow she was laying on to wipe away the few tears that leaked from her eyes. She closed her eyes and tried to tell her whole body that everything was okay now, that it was all over.
She felt his hand on her shoulder and she stiffened. He scooted closer to her, spooning her, and she could feel his wilted self all soft and fleshy against her backside. His hand traced its way up her waistline, danced over her shoulder and tickled her neck as he brushed her hair away and kissed her. When she didn’t respond, he tugged at her arm gently until she rolled over to face him. He smiled at her.
“I love you, Audrey,” her rapist cooed.
“I love you too, Dean.” And she did.