Sweat

The middle of her back developed a bruise from the excessive injuries she was incurring that day. He kept her pinned to the hard, wooden floor, his larger and calloused hands gripped her smaller limbs with little difficulty. Ambivalence shone in her irises, the rebellious indigo giving her captive a dangerous warning.

He narrowed his eyes and smirked deviously; he had triumphed again. He leaned down toward her, moisture from the tips of his chocolate-colored tresses dropped deliciously onto her cheeks and neck. "I hate you." she spat, bangs concealing her eyes.

The young man chuckled at her insult, amused by her vulnerable state. He initiated a rough kiss on her soft lips for a few moments before breaking the contact. His lips still lingered above her own, briefly touching, "I hate you more."