After all that had transpired; after all the hatred he'd have to fight through to get back to his love for her, it came as no surprise that he liked it rough sometimes.

He'd be quiet and thoughtful as night began to set in, and she'd know what was coming. She liked it; looked forward to it even. It excited a part of her that was buried but very, very real. Because even after the three years it took to get them to the stage where they could be this open with each other physically, she still hated herself a little. She still wanted penance.

But this was different. This fed her hunger in a way that made her want more.

He'd carry her up to bed, biting kisses at her neck. The short journey saw the flames grow in her stomach faster than when he was gentle and loving. This was far more bearable; this hunger for her flesh that had more to do with territory than it did with love.

Naked and panting in the dark, he bent her over the edge of the bed and bit a way up to the base of her neck. She fisted her hands into the familiar linen of their sheets, grounding herself.

"Tell me you want me," he growled low into her ear.

"I want you," she gasped. "Always."

"Only me," he continued.

"Only you."

He pushed into her without ceremony or warning, she bit back her gasp of pain and let the pleasure push through it. When she rested her forehead against the soft mattress, he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her back up.

"Don't think about him," he snapped

"I'm not," she reassured him.

"Don't, don't, don't," he whispered against the back of her neck, and fucked her so hard the headboard crashes against the wall with every thrust.

Afterward, he was soft and loving as ever, loosening her hair and re-braiding it down her back. He ducked beneath the sheets to kiss the pink marks his fingers left on her hips. She wondered what he'd be without the hijacking.

She wondered if he still hated her, just a little, somewhere deep inside.