I know I shouldn’t—fuck, I know—but sometimes the need is just too much. My hands shake when I think about how badly I want to press someone into the mattress, feel their body give under mine, hear them whimper as I take what I need. I’d whisper sorry, over and over, even as my cock throbs inside them, even as they beg me to stop. Because they don’t really want me to stop, right? They want this. They have to. Why else would their skin taste so sweet when I bite it? Why else would their cunt clench around me like it’s begging for more? It’s not my fault they’re perfect for it—soft and warm and there. I’d apologize for hours, muffled against their neck, while I fuck them raw. I’d mean it, too. But I wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not until I’ve spilled every last drop of cum into them, not until my legs give out. And then… then I’d cry. Because I’m sorry. Really. But I’d do it again tomorrow.