I was sure that he purposely made me angry so that he could tell me that I was “so sexy when I was mad.” Although I loved when he complimented me, I was far too upset to take it in.
He attempted to touch me but I snatched away from him.
“You are so fucking sexy when you’re angry,” he slowly emphasized each word.
He looked at me fiercely, taking short breaths; it was like he might pounce on me any second.
I told myself not to cave. I promised myself I wouldn’t reward him again for starting a fight just to get me worked up because it got him worked up.
“Shut up,” I rolled my eyes, “leave “me al…” He put his finger to my lips interrupting my words.
I pulled away and backed up which he seemed to get a rise out of. He bit down on his lip, trying to contain himself and sighed deeply.
“Mmm,” he basically growled stepping closer to me, “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”
I wanted to contest, to say no, not this time, driving me crazy is not foreplay.