He walks away, straightening his clothes, smoothing the wrinkles out. Regaining his composure, although of course he never lost it. Never lost control. Every movement was calculated, every grab and pull and push and thrust, no matter how hard, no matter how rough; he was always in control.
He pulls at his jacked and buttons it up, behind him, she can barely stand never mind try to rectify the shambles that is her attire, there would be no point. What is the use in realigning a dress in that state, stained with fluid and torn, oh so easily torn.
He turns and smiles at her as she pulls a fragment of the delicate fabric over her skin, with shaking hands in an effort to cover her modesty and she returns his smile shyly. He grins wider finding it so alluring that she can still be capable of such coyness after the things she had taken part in.
He smiles and gives her a reassuring wink before turning and heading out the door.
© Ellie Prose