Rage of Passion

Tears welled up behind her closed eyelids. Men weren't so different after all, she thought miserably. Sex was the only thing they wanted. Just sex. It was Dennis all over again, showing her how much stronger he was, forcing her to yield, taking what he wanted without the least thought of her comfort. She began to cry.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, his voice even and cold.

Her lips trembled. “I don't want…that,” she whispered brokenly. “I don't want anyone. I just want…to be left alone.”

He scowled. It seemed to get through to him finally that she was suffering him. Just that. Just suffering what he was doing to her. He could have sworn there was desire in her, at the beginning. But now she only looked afraid. She was as stiff as a rail, unyielding, cold.

With an economy of motion, he released her. She folded her arms across her breasts, trembling as she looked at him.

“Why the pretense?” he asked calculatingly. “Didn't my mother tell you why she invited you here?”

She swallowed, clutching herself tighter against a sudden burst of wind. “Listen,” she began, her voice shaking a little with reaction. “The only reason I came here was for some peace of mind. I have no inclination whatsoever to be your…your wife or your mistress or even your friend. It would suit me very well if I never saw you again!”