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The door slams violently, making the walls tremble and the assorted knick-knacks on your bookshelves rattle.
“Wade…?” The end of his name raises in question and alarm. The only response is the clunking of boots being kicked off and weapons being dropped to the floor. You hope the safetys are off.
You push to your feet from your spot on the couch, moving towards the front door hallway, mouth open, ready to ask what’s wrong. He slams into you, cutting you off with a yelp of surprise. His hands are rough and soaked with blood, smearing across your bare shoulders as he pins you to the wall. His mask is already discarded and he smashes his mouth to yours, tongue delving furiously and possessively, wasting no time on finesse. Your top is yanked down at the neck, hands reaching and pawing at your chest, hot and sticky. If the blood is still warm, that probably means it’s his. You’re not sure if that fact is comforting or not.
You brace your hands on his chest, pressing forward vainly in an attempt to slow the onslaught. He responds with a growl of rage, pulling back only far enough to spin you around and shove you face-first against the wall. Your shorts are shoved and tugged downward as his mouth latches on your neck, biting more than kissing, teeth more than tongue. There’s a rustle and a rip and then the blunt head of his cock is pressing into you from behind, rough and sloppy and not getting very far at all because he’s shoving forward blind and dry. He holds a gore-soaked, gloved hand in front of your face and speaks, his voice low and intense.
“Spit.”
You comply and he uses the moisture to smear over his tip and your entrance and now you’re really hoping that it’s his blood and not some unknown foe’s.
But you can’t worry about that anymore because he’s pounding forward, filling you, pace violent and harsh and your cheekbone connects solidly with the wall, making your eyes water with pain. His fist knots in your hair, yanking your head back at a painful angle, causing your back to arch awkwardly to meet his thrusts. There’s no warm up, no time allotted for you to acclimate to his girth, just the burning, searing pleasure of being stretched. Wade’s breath is ragged behind you, mixing with your desperate gasps and groans while his cock slams mercilessly into you, promising a raw soreness that will last through tomorrow. His hips shift, the angle changing, bumping against your g-spot with every thrust and it’s too much, entirely too much. You’re screaming and coming around him, the mixture of pain and pleasure impossible to separate.
He leans forward, teeth digging into your shoulder as he shivers and tenses, hips jerking wildly as he pumps his own completion deep inside of you. Before you can catch your breath, he’s spinning you again, mouth latching with a new kind of desperation, one begging for forgiveness and understanding. You give it unquestioningly.