The Fight

I stand there with a glass bottle in my hand thinking only one thing: what part of his body do I want to hit with this? I don't give a shit that there are twenty people separated from us by only one wall or that my parents and his parents are out there; I don't give a shit if they hear me screaming or not. I was right and he was wrong and he is going to fucking hear it.

He looks up at me, our eyes locking, and I can see his jaw clench and flex at the sight of me poised to throw this bottle at him. His hands curl into fists and then open, again and again, and I can hear him struggling to control his breathing; I feel his heart racing from across the room.

"Apologize," I say barely more than a whisper. I see his jaw moving and I know he's grinding his teeth. The muscles in his arms are flexing, his blue eyes narrow, his freckled nose scrunches up at me for a second as he takes a quick breath in.

"Apologize," I say again, this time with a bite to my voice, my pitch possibly audible to the party we have waiting outside for us.

"Apologize or I fucking lose it." I can feel my pulse beating in my head, my grip tightening on the bottle, my breath becoming shallow. He steadies himself before speaking.

"Not on your fucking life. Get out of the fucking doorway."

I stare him, speechless for a moment before my voice starts rising in pitch. "Where the hell do you think you're going? You're not fucking leaving."

"I am leaving this goddamn apartment right now and I'm not fucking coming home tonight. You can entertain these people, you can explain that because you're so fucking stubborn I had to leave, you can explain that you're sorry that I couldn't be here."

"Are you fucking delusional? This is

your

party, this is mostly

your

family. And you're not coming home?" I say, starting to yell. "Where the fuck do you think you're staying tonight? Is there something else we should be fighting about? Is there something I should know?" He turns away from me, clenching his hands into fists and leaning his body against them into the wall, touching his forehead to it.

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with you tonight," he says, "but you're acting like a psycho. Move your ass out of the doorway or I'm going to move it for you." This should phase me; I'm five foot two, he's six foot three. I'm the manager of a bookstore and he's a former marine; I workout by moving stacks of books around my store, he works out by taking part in the occasional triathlon. At this moment though, I could give a fuck.

I throw the bottle.

He turns just in time to catch it before it hits him in the ass. He looks down at it, then at me. Holding it, I can see that if he squeezes it any harder, it will break. His nostrils are flaring.

I go to speak, but in two steps he is on top of me. His right hand drops the bottle and grabs my face, just around my mouth, pushing me back and pinning me up against the door, his left hand holds my right arm back. My free hand grabs his wrist and he stands there, bending his tall, muscular body down, his face just inches from mine, his hot breath on my skin, his blue eyes staring at me for what feels like forever. I try and pull his hand from my face and it begins to register that I have no actual control anymore. My words are useless here; he has more strength in his hand than I have in my entire upper body. I go to speak again and his hand clenches a little harder. He moves closer to me.

"This attitude of yours needs to disappear," he says, "and it needs to disappear now." His voice is calm and in control, just above a whisper, but very firm; he doesn't blink as he speaks. "If you ever throw something at me like that again, I'm going to put my fists through these walls so many times that you won't even recognize it as a room." I can feel his pulse through his wrist as he continues to stare at me, his hands not easing their grip. "I have never raised a hand to you and I never will, but if you ever push me like this again, I'm going to fucking leave whether you want me to or not. Now I don't give a shit that you think you're right and you think I'm wrong, or that our friends and family are standing five feet outside this door or that every fucking one of them can hear the shit that's been coming out of your mouth. You need to shut the fuck up and control yourself. You're acting like a spoiled bitch and as much as I love you, I'm not putting up with this shit."

He stands there, not moving, barely breathing. My eyes move from his eyes to his mouth, my hand moves from his wrist to his chest, and I gather some of his shirt in my hand. I've never seen him this angry. I let go of his shirt and move my hand to his neck, moving the tips of my fingers along his skin.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, looking back up at him.

With his hand still holding my face, he pulls me to him, his kiss angry and hard as it is needing and gentle. The suddenness of it takes my breath away and I can still feel the adrenaline moving through my body; my legs are shaking, my hand returns to his wrist where I squeeze him hard, wanting him, hating him, loving him all at once. He pulls back for a second, taking me in with his eyes, his hand still on my mouth when his grip softens and instead of holding me back, he's drawing me in again. I can still feel the tension in his body as he lets my arm go and I can feel him with my hands; his arms and back, even his mouth is tensed as if he's still restraining his anger. It's alarming and exciting all at the same time.

His one hand is still on my face and he pushes me harder into the door as his kiss becomes deeper. I feel his other hand move to my ass and then lift me up, pinning me off the ground against his body and the door, his dick hard through his pants. His mouth is hungry for mine and he alternates between soft and slow and hard and deep; our tongues move between playing with each other and fighting with each other, his hands mimicking his emotions. I bite his lips and he pulls back for a second to look at me; he moves to kiss me again and I bite him again. Then he buries his face in my neck, biting, nibbling, kissing, biting. I feel his hand move from my face and slide up my back, his other hand holding my ass as he moves me from the wall and carries me over to the bed. He drops me down and his face pulls away from mine, his eyes travelling all over my body, taking in the way my skirt is scrunched up around my thighs, the way my hair is tangled and messy. The muscles in his jaw flex again and I can no longer tell if it's anger or lust that I'm seeing.

He gets onto the bed, laying himself on top of me as he grabs both my wrists and pins them above my head.

"You're going to be quiet. I don't want to hear a fucking sound out of you right now."

I blink and nod my head.

Still looking me in the eye, he pins both my hands underneath his one hand while the other hand reaches underneath my skirt, grabs my underwear at one side and pulls; I hear a ripping sound and I gasp.

He moves his face closer to mine, those blue eyes boring into me and says "Not a fucking sound."

He pauses a second before bringing his mouth to mine, slow at first, his lips grazing my lips, his tongue searching my mouth for a second and then disappearing. I feel his hand moving to the other side of my hips, his fingers hooking around the other side of my underwear, another pull and a tear. My sound this time is lost in his mouth as I feel him pull my underwear away from me entirely. He moves my hands down to his pants, where I pull at his belt and the button and zipper on his cackies. I can feel his dick pushing through his boxers as I go to push his pants away. I get everything off of him and he sits back on his legs, pulling his shirt over his head. His body is lean and strong and I can see him glistening with sweat already, a green shamrock on his shoulder the only color on his beautiful Irish body.

"Come here," he says and I sit up, closer to him. He pulls my shirt over my head and stares at me, my body for a minute. He still looks angry.

"Go," he says. It takes a second for me to understand what he's talking about, but then I shift my focus from his face to his cock and see what he wants; I bend towards his dick.

I hear him take a deep breath as I take his dick in my hand and then start running my hot, wet tongue along the bottom of his shaft, then move to his head, then down again. His hand roughly grabs my hair as I put him in my mouth, taking as much of him as I can; even though I'm blessed not to have a gag reflex, his dick is huge. I feel it hit the back of my throat and I wrap my hand around his base, slowly starting to move him in and out of my mouth. I alternate between being gentle and intentional and I can hear it in the way he's breathing that he loves what I'm doing. I pull him out of my mouth and run my tongue along his length again, sucking on his head, then taking him in my mouth again. I feel his dick getting harder and harder in my mouth, and just as I think he's about to cum, he pulls my head away, has me sit up straight, turns me around and bends me over. I feel his big, strong hands move my skirt up around my waist, and he pauses for just a second with the tip of his cock waiting to enter me. Then he pushes forward and I moan and say "fuck" simultaneously as he fills me up.

He grabs my hair and pulls my head back and says very quietly "Shut the fuck up."

I bite down on my lower lip to keep the noise in, then, very quietly respond "Fuck you."

I hear him smile and laugh for a second, then start pounding into my pussy from behind. I try and pull my head away from his grasp but he whispers "no", so I pull a pillow up to my face to stifle my sounds. His other hand reaches around in front of my body and his fingers find my clit and start to rub. He can feel me struggling to keep myself quiet, so he lets go of my hair and I bend my head all the way down to the bed, the pillow swallowing up my noise. With my right hand I reach to his ass and dig my nails into him; his hands wrap around my hips to pull himself deeper and deeper into me.

He feels that I'm about to cum and he stops everything.

"It's not going to end like this," he says hoarsely. He pulls himself out of me and turns me over, laying me down on my back. He slowly lowers himself on top of me, searching me over as he does so, smiling for a second, then looking me in the eye as he slides his throbbing cock into me. I take a sharp intake of air, my back arching up off the bed, my eyes closing in pleasure. I feel his mouth on my neck, my tits, his hands pulling them out of my bra, his teeth and tongue playing with my hard nipples. He moves slowly in and out of me, feeling me with his hands, his dick bringing me closer and closer to pleasure with every slide. I can feel my legs shaking as I wrap them around his body, my nails scratching into the skin on his back, and his mouth finds my mouth, his tongue finds my tongue, needing and gentle all at the same time. Our kisses slow but get harder as his cock pushes into me deeper and faster and I feel myself on the verge of cumming.

"Open your eyes," he whispers.

I open them, my blue-green eyes finding his blue eyes and we watch each others faces as we both cum. I can feel his warmth inside me and he can feel my pussy pulsing around his dick. I can feel his arms shaking on either side of me and my whole body shaking as I continue to orgasm. Finally my body rests and he slows his movements to a stop and we stare at each other.

"I'm sorry about tonight. I love you, but you were a bitch," he says, his fingers gently moving a piece of hair away from my face. "I'm sorry too, but you were wrong."

He laughs for a second, then says, "That's something we can

talk

about later."

He goes to move off of me and I stop him, grabbing his arms with my hands. He looks at me.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you too," he says. He lowers his mouth to mine, slowly, softly, gently kissing me. We both start to feel aroused again, but we force ourselves to separate.

"Later," he whispers, and we get off the bed.