Before, her pleasure had been a concern of his, even if only in relation to what was required of him. Now he has no reason whatsoever to care, and yet he does, in ways that twist at him and make him feel almost sick. As he thrusts hard into her, fucking her against the wall, he wants her to feel it, and not all of what he wants her to feel is pain.

As if he has something to prove to her. Or to himself.

The fight has intensified everything in him, sending heat through to every sensation, and he knows he won't last long. He doesn't want to. When this is over, he can try to forget.

Even though he knows a vain struggle when he sees one.