She was boiling the kettle when he stepped into the kitchen.  Something about the way he entere

She was boiling the kettle when he stepped into the kitchen. 

Something about the way he entered caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise, made her bottom lip slip between her teeth for a moment. She narrowed her eyes, curious as to what exactly was different from every other time he walked in. 

One hand slipped around the back of her neck, the other pressing tight against her stomach. Both hands were gripping her quickly, forcing their way into tight little points that dug into her flesh. A whine escaped her lips, her whole body went tense. 

“What…” The hand at her stomach came up, slapped her in the face quickly, the action almost dismissive.

“No.” He seethed into her ear, his voice more of a growl than normal, the bass tones feeling like they echoed around the room, despite the whisper. The hand went back to her stomach.

His hips were grinding against her rear, and she could already feel him starting to swell, feel the occasional twitch, even through the thick denim of his jeans. Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth again, and she closed her eyes, back starting to arch. 

There was another growl, and he pushed her over the counter, forcing her cheek against the cold surface. The hand at her neck was new, forgoing the choke against her windpipe for a stronger grip against her spine, and she wasn’t sure how to react. Not that that mattered. 

He let go with both hands, only to turn her over and push her harder,her arse up onto the counter. There was a little whimper from her lips, her eyes opening to stare up at him. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a savagery. Despite herself, a flare of arousal washed through her, and she let out another whimper, feeling it elongate into a fully fledged moan. 

He chuckled. It was a scary chuckle.

His hands were at her clothes, ripping and tearing, tossing each part to the side as it was done, rendered useless by a quick, violent moment. Her whole body was flushed, her arms all but dangling above her head, one hand tipping the sugar bowl to the side, the coarse grains spilling onto her palm. It tickled. 

His hands were at his belt, his trousers, his fly. All of it pulled aside, given only a margin more care than her clothes. It should’ve been reassuring, that he had enough presence of mind to have that care, but it only made her squirm and tremble all the more. It meant he wanted to rip her naked. He wanted her to experience that intimate violence. Another moan forced its way out of her mouth. 

He was out, she could feel it. Something in the room had changed, like he could make the very air cow when in his presence. A moment later, she felt the lightest brush of him against her, a fleeting tease, a torturous kiss, of the most intimate kind.

She whined. He chuckled, again. Damn him.

And then he thrust home. Angry, fast, desperate, powerful.