I felt nothing but fury at his pain.  I was too wrapped up in my own.  "How could I?  How could I?  How could you?  How could you?"

He was shaking his head, over and over.  "You don't understand.  You don't know anything." 

"I know you were engaged to fucking Tiffany, and that's all I ever need to know for the rest of my fucking life.  You wanted to break me?  Well, you did it, and today is your lucky day, because now you get to fuck what's left.  Are you happy?" 

His face was flushed, his eyes blinking so rapidly that I thought for a moment that he was going to cry.  "Jesus.  How did it come to this?  Jesus.  How did we end up like this?" 

"If you don't know then nobody does, because you fucking brought us here."

"I know, angel," he whispered.  "But believe me, I am not happy.  If it makes you feel better, you can be sure that I will never be happy again." 

It was something.  A few drops of cool water to dampen the inferno that lived inside of me. 

He had thrown me away, but at least he could never move on from me, not completely.  He was no more capable of that than I was. 

It wasn't long before he pulled the car deep onto the shoulder and put it in park.  He'd taken me to a spot that fit what I'd described.  He'd found me a nice view and a bit of privacy.  Despite his animosity, he'd accommodated me. 

I thought it was a tell of how I still affected him.

It was enough, for the moment.

He didn't move, though, didn't even take his hands off the steering wheel.

It didn't matter.  I opened my door, stepped out of the car, slammed it shut, and walked around the front of it slowly, my movements sinuous, seductive.  I made my way to his side, leaning over the hood, bracing my hands as I leveled my gaze on him through the windshield.

I watched his gorgeous, sinister mouth as he shaped a curse and then my name, the sight making me smile.  Not a happy smile.  There was no joy to be found in this.  It was the opposite.

This was about killing anything inside of me that was capable of that emotion.  Stomping it to death under my vicious, spiteful heel, then grinding it unrecognizable with my sharpest stilettos.

It was nothing new.  I'd been at this for a while and doing a stand up job of it, if I did say so myself.

His door opened and the sound of his cursing matched the words his lips shaped. 

It was music to my ears. 

"I hope you brought condoms," I interrupted his rather creative diatribe, tone as abrasive as I could manage.  "You aren't getting inside of me without." 

The cursing stopped, and his silence was somehow much more hostile than even that had been. 

The last time we'd had each other, no protection had been necessary, and the significance was not lost on either of us. 

The difference between then and now was more brutally apparent than ever, and if he thought his bitterness could match my own when it came to this, this particularly, he had a lot to learn.  

Finally he answered with a choked, "I brought some." 

I flashed my teeth at him in my most sadistic/masochistic grin, "Well, then.  Wrap it up, lover.  I don't have all night." 

He didn't even try to kiss me at first.  I was so relieved that I didn't question it. 

Instead he moved behind me, and I braced my hands against the car as I listened to the bittersweet sounds of him getting us both ready. 

The rustle of my dress as he pushed it up to my waist.  The whisper of my panties coming down.  A zipper being undone, the crinkle of a foil wrapper, the snap of a rubber rolling into place. 

I squirmed as I listened, but didn't move to help.  I didn't want to look at him.  Feeling him would be more than enough.  Too much, on its own.

He seemed to agree, butting up against my entrance with no foreplay at all. 

Good.

I was wet enough for him to ease inside of me.  Just the idea of this hate sex did that to me.

Still, the size and suddenness of him was almost painful at first. 

I welcomed the discomfort, leaning down to press my cheek hard against the hot metal of his car as he invaded me.  I hadn't wanted this to feel good.  That was not the point of this.  

He pressed a hand to the small of my back as he started to move heavily, his breath ragged as he pounded his rage straight into me with succinct, brutal thrusts. 

The brutality I welcomed.  Every savage plunge in and out, every jarring contact of my hipbones against heated metal, every rough slide of my nipples against my thin dress as they rubbed into the hood of the car, my cheekbone digging in until I was sure it would bruise, my nails scoring into his perfect paint job with enough zeal to break them. 

All of it only added to my perverse pleasure in the damaging exchange.

Hate sex at its finest. 

Unfortunately, it was stimulating enough to get me off and fast.  I told myself it was the booze that'd primed me so quickly for it, but of course I knew better. 

I tried to hold back, bit my lip and tensed up, but each forceful plunge in, every perfect drag out, all of the sounds he was making, the helpless moans escaping him with every desperate movement, were too much for me. 

I came, fast and sudden, letting out an anguished cry. 

He cursed, thrusting harder, faster, again, again, again, and started to come, calling out my name as though he had the right. 

After, I just lay there for the longest time, eyes wide open, staring out at the night with Dante draped heavily against my back, still inside of me, his mouth close to my ear.