The slam of the front door still echoed in Mona’s ears. Her chest heaved, tears streaking her pretty face. She hated fighting with Herman, hated his cold, direct words that felt like wrenches to her heart.

Then the door clicked open again. His heavy work boots thudded on the floor. She didn’t turn from the couch.

“Mona.” His voice was gravel, but softer. A mechanic’s hands, stained with grease and strength, settled on her shoulders. “I’m a dick.”

She sniffled. “Yeah. You are.”

He turned her, his calloused thumbs wiping her tears. His red hair was a fiery mess, his blue eyes no longer ice, but a simmering heat. “Let me make it right.”

His mouth crashed onto hers, not asking, *telling*. It was an apology in the form of a takeover. His tongue plunged deep as his hands slid down, grabbing handfuls of her thick thighs through her leggings. A rough groan vibrated from his chest into hers. “Need to feel you,” he growled against her lips.

He yanked her leggings and panties down in one brutal pull, exposing her plump ass and the wet slit between her thighs. He palmed her full cheeks, squeezing hard. “So fucking perfect. My emotional girl.” He bit her shoulder, making her gasp, before pushing her face-down onto the couch cushions.

Mona moaned into the fabric, her back arching. She heard the rip of his belt, the slide of his zipper, the wet sound of him spitting into his palm to slick up his thick, veiny cock.

He didn’t tease