The sudden slam of him in her drives a yell from her lips, that harmonizes with the heavy thwack of the headboard against the wall. And the sounds don't stop under his powerful onslaught. Not from her. Not from the bed.

She makes moaning and mewling sounds, from the friction of their bodies, from the bite of his teeth on her neck. She doesn't just lie there and endure it, though. Her hips rise up to meet him each time, a leg hooking around him to help give her leverage to keep up the pace. And her hands slow off their strength, squeezing on his arms in sync with each inward thrust. By the time they're done, he might have bruises in the shape of her fingerprints.