Lie Whisey

He kissed along her collarbone, nibbling gently, hand around the back of her neck, massaging the pads of his fingers along her skin.

She sighed but not out of pleasure, it was out of frustration and disappointment.

He kissed up her neck and she found herself rolling her head away, not feeling goosebumps on her skin. He nibbled her earlobe, breath hot against her ear and she willed herself to get into it.

His hands crept down to her wrists, sliding around them, carefully, tentatively holding them down.

'Perhaps...' she tried to lift her wrists to see just how much he'd hold her down... but he relented immediately, sitting up just as fast.

"I'm sorry..." he stammered, "I'm trying... I just can't..."

He shook his head as if to rid the horrid thought from his head.

"I love you," he said sadly, "Why can't that be enough?"

She sighed, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world.

"I'm sorry..." she resigned, sitting up and dropping her head, "It is enough. I'll get used to it."

He winced and she felt him retreat from her. "You shouldn't have to just get used to it..."

She sighed as she had for months, feeling like she'd betrayed him.

His love was enough for her, she got more than enough of it, but that wasn't what she hungered for.

When they'd met, she adored the fact that he treated her well, respected her, and when they finally made love, he'd been attentive and doting. Well into their relationship this hadn't change, a fact that she had been proud of, seeing friends whose relationships wilted after two years.

No, he loved her relentlessly, always doting and lavishing affection on her, always making her feel appreciated and loved.

One day, she was buying simple lingerie and the sales girl commented about how her husband wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her tonight. She laughed, bought it, but on her way home it hit her: her husband had never had a moment where he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her.

He'd never succumb to pleasure and came to her in a moment of passion. He'd never kissed her heatedly, pushed her against the wall, or threw her onto the bed desperately.

Perhaps it was because they weren't teenagers anymore? She asked herself... Perhaps it was because they'd been together for years? She wondered... Perhaps he didn't find her heart-stoppingly attractive and worthy of such passion? She questioned...

But then she shook her head. He loved her, that was no question. He told her she was beautiful every single day. He made love to her often. He treated her as most wives wished their husbands treated them.

But she needed more. It was then when she realized that beneath the love making, the happiness at finding such a husband, that what she liked, what she hungered for was passion, for him to be rough.

She'd felt ashamed the first time she suggested for him to be more rough with her. She felt like such a slut asking her wonderful, sweet husband to hold her down or to throw her against the bed... but even saying it, she felt her blood boil at the idea.

He'd blushed, felt self-conscious, but like the good husband he was, he offered to try.

That had been six months ago. All attempts had failed and she felt worse each time, wishing she hadn't even said anything.

The idea to him was abhorrent. Why would he treat his wife with such rudeness? He loved her and he loved making love to her. Why wouldn't he? The thought of treating his wife with anything less than love disgusted him. He promised to love and cherish her, why would he ever be rough with her?

He couldn't understand her reason for asking... and it made him question.

Was she unsatisfied with their marriage? He wondered. Would she get frustrated and have an affair for what she needed? He thought. Why is love not enough? He asked.

The first time he asked her that, she felt like a monster. At only 24, married for a year, she still felt young, still felt fire. At 28, he was disappointed he couldn't please her.

She was pleased, she assured him, but she still hungered, requested more.

He tried... but each time he couldn't do it. And every time he tried more, he was terrified he'd go too far and she'd leave him.

But now, sitting with him on the bed, the two of them frustrated, she regretted ever saying anything at all. She'd never gone back to that lingerie store again.

"I don't know what I can do for you," he said sadly, "Do you want permission to have an affair to get what you need?"

He knew his suggestion was the last thing he wanted but he needed her to know he desperately wanted to make her happy.

"No, no," she assured, "Never. I don't want anyone but you. Please, let's just forget I ever said anything."

She crawled into his lap and he held her limply. They were both getting tired of this.

"I'm going to shower and then I'll meet you in bed," she offered him a kiss and headed off to the shower, considering pleasing herself while she could, knowing sex tonight would be out of the question.

He sighed, watching her go. He didn't want her to have to give up what she wanted, perhaps just tolerating having sex with him for the rest of her life.

He padded to the kitchen, staring into the fridge, when he closed it, said 'fuck it', and poured himself a little too much whiskey.

He heard her get out of the shower and he took a big sip of whiskey, feeling it burn. He winced but he liked it. She had never understood how he could drink it, she hated the burn of liquor in her throat.

He chuckled. He loved whiskey and the burn while she hated it... she liked rough sex and he avoided it.

Finishing the last drop, he poured himself more. Every sip, every burn of fire down his throat that he loved made him consider how he could, in turn, be rough with her.

He heard her close the closet door, putting on an old t shirt of his for bed. He threw back that last of his whiskey, relishing the feeling and stalked towards the bedroom, more confident that he'd felt in months.

She was rubbing lotion into her hands as she came into the bedroom, regarding him carefully as if he was still upset.

His hands went straight for the bottom of the t-shirt, pulling it up over her head as she tried stumbled back shocked, confused, frowning.

He pushed her back, the thought of apologizing glazed behind the whiskey, making her stumble.

She stared at him wide-eyed, not seeing any remnant of her sweet, loving, gentle husband in his eyes. For a moment, it made her nervous, worried that if he backed down, he would be even more disappointed in himself.

But he didn't waver. He pushed her against the wall hard, feeling her shoulders hit and smiling. He wondered if that gave her a similar burn of the whiskey.

She moaned as his body pressed her against the wall hard and for the first time, his hands curled into her hair, pulling her face to his. He kissed her just as hard, tasting the whiskey on his breath. She could taste it too, but even more, she felt him pressed against her firmly, kissing her hard.

She pushed against him but he pushed her back, making her moan into his mouth, his hands trailing down her breasts quickly, not pausing to gently touch.

His hands ran up and down her sides, eliciting goosebumps that made him grin and made her shudder.

Gripping her shoulders, he stepped back, pulling her with him, and tossing her onto the bed, seeing the glint of fire in her eyes. She was loving this.

Leaning down, he trailed his hands up her legs, tipping her back onto the bed and climbing over her.

He was still careful how he placed his body over hers. He still greatly outweighed her and he was much stronger than her. He would be rough, but he wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

Coming down on her lips once more, he kissed her deeply, feeling her teeth nibble on his bottom lip, feeling just as good as the whiskey had felt. He growled in his throat, making her squirm underneath him.

He kissed roughly down her neck, letting the scruff on his jaw brush against her skin and she shivered.

He bit down gently on her collarbone, kissing down her chest, hand encircling her breast and squeezing hard.

He wondered if this would be too much, if this would be where she stopped him...

But her hand came up, covered his, and squeezed around his, urging him to grip her just a little bit harder.

He smiled, lowering his lips to her other breast, teeth grazing her nipple. He felt her chest rise and fall dramatically as she struggled to control her breathing.

Lips still on her breast, he reached down and pulled his shirt off, tossing it away. She reached to touch him and he swatted her hands away softly, taking hold of her wrists and pushing them down.

One hand trailed down her stomach, down to slip off her underwear as the other hand still gripped her breast. Her hands flowed through his hair, gripping him back just as hard and pulling him down to kiss her.

He kissed her breathlessly as her roughness pushed him to match her. His hand went down to his pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, and kicking them off, his hand gripping her hip as she writhed beside him

Finally naked, she tried to pull him on top of her, desperate and waiting for what she wanted but he pushed her away, pushing her shoulders down onto the mattress.

He snaked a knee forcefully between hers, making her widen her legs and to pull him harder against her. Again, he pushed her back, seeing the defiance in her eyes and the satisfaction in her smile.

He slipped his other leg between hers and settled against her, pulling her hips roughly to him, hand finding its way behind her neck.

She pulled him against her, ready and tired of waiting, legs wide to urge him on.

At this point, he would have made sure this was what she wanted but the whiskey had done its job and had burned him good, now it was his turn to make her burn as well.

Without hesitation, without questioning, he plunged into her, knowing just how much she could take, hoping, just a little, it would give her the burn she craved.

Her back bowed and she arched against him, hands clawing his shoulders.

He briefly looked down at her breathless face, just to be sure, her eyes desperately urging him not to stop.

He withdrew and plunged into her once again, just as roughly as the first time. She raised her hips to meet his, their hipbones colliding into the others. She bit gently into his shoulder, savoring the feeling.

He slid into her again and again, keeping his pace and his force, but now, he was the one to want more. He wanted her to get everything she wanted.

He withdrew his hips from her and pulled her up by her wrist as he laid down in her place, he wanted her above him, riding him, showing her how rough she wanted it.

As she sat up, hair falling around her shoulders, she swung her leg over him and took him inch by inch. He'd never felt her this wet and tight. His hands gripped her hips to slow her, savoring the exquisite feeling.

She shuddered as her hips rested against his, grinding, her hands on his chest to steady herself.

She began to move slowly but his hand crept up from her hip to her breast, remembering how hard she had him grip her and he repeated it, fingers holding fast to her flesh.

The touch made her moan, a sound he even felt inside her. His other hand gripped her hip to keep a hold on her as her hips unleashed their purpose.

She rode him fast and hard, a way he'd never seen from her before, a way that made his back arch and raise his hips to meet her.

She grinned down at him, sweeping hair from her face, tipping her head back in pleasure. God, she loved him.

He bit his lip, raising his hips to her rhythm, feeling her quicken, her hips becoming a frenzy. She was close.

Disregarding her rhythm, he thrust up into her, knocking her from her pace, the orgasm catching her unexpectedly.

She gasped, almost holding her breath, her hands tight on his shoulders, eyes clenched shut, as he felt the orgasm pulse through her, feeling even her toes shake against him.

As she came down, breathless and grinning, his own smile fell as he thrust up into her hips, knocking her eyes open. He reached up and pulled her shoulders down, resting her chest against his.

His hands fell upon her hips again, gripping hard as he thrust up into her, hearing her moan into his ear. The whiskey made his body feel warm and on fire. Her hot skin pulsing against him made him thrust faster and harder, knocking her soft chest sliding along his.

She bit onto his shoulder and, to his surprise, he thrust into her as the orgasm caught him as unexpectedly as it'd caught her. He body stilled as she felt him throb.

She lifted her head to look at him, worried at what reaction she'd find now that they were done.

To her relief, he was smiling, eyes closed, completely sated. She tried to open her mouth to thank him, to tell him how much she loved him, but the strength to do it was gone.

Sliding next to him, he put his arm around her and rested her head on his chest, still grinning as she lay pleased beside him. He didn't have to ask if she was satisfied. She had the look on her face that was the same as his right after a good sip of whiskey. He had succeeded in pleasing her.

He was surprised to realize that he was pleased as well. Satisfied. He had been able to give her what she wanted and needed. And he had actually enjoyed it. Love didn't always mean romance and kisses and flowers... it was understanding her and what she wanted, and loving her enough to give it to her.