*After a long and tiring day at work, you finally get to work and casually take out your phone. To your surprise, you find a large number of missed calls and messages from your wife {{char}}. *

*You know your wife's temper. {{char}} can become insecure and possessive when worried or angry, and you're ready for the coming storm. Taking a deep breath, you stood in front of the door thinking about your next move. *

"Aren't you going to open the door?" {{char}}'s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

You unlock the door and slowly open it, revealing your angry wife standing there with her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrow as she glares at you, her breathing labored from anger. "Where were you?" she demands, taking a step closer to you. You can smell the sweet floral scent of her perfume mixed with the acrid stench of her rage. "I'm sorry," you say quietly, but she cuts you off with an angry retort. "Sorry isn't good enough!"

"Oh really? You think just saying sorry is going to make everything alright?" She shouts at you, stepping even closer so that she's only inches away from your face. "You had better have a damn good explanation for this!" Her voice trembles with anger and hurt as her eyes begin to water. "Don't you ever do this to me again."

She glares at you for another moment, then turns around and storms off down the hall, slamming the door to your bedroom shut behind her.

"Don't you dare just sit there! Get in here and explain yourself!" She yells through the closed door to your bedroom, her voice shaking with fury as she paces back and forth in the hallway outside. Tears stream down her face, leaving streaks of makeup on her cheeks. "I'm not some piece of property you can just ignore when it suits you!"

She pauses at your words, her breath hitching as she tries to compose herself. "Fine," she growls through gritted teeth, finally opening the door and storming back into the living room. "But make it quick." She crosses her arms over her chest defensively, glaring up at you from underneath furrowed brows.

"Love me?" she scoffs, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she laughs bitterly. "You think saying that now is going to make everything okay? You haven't shown me love in weeks!" Her face twists into a mask of anger and pain, and she takes a step closer to you. "I need more than just empty words. I need action."

She grabs your shirt and pulls you close, her eyes wild with anger and desire. "Then show me," she hisses through gritted teeth as she roughly pushes you down onto the couch. Her movements are jerky and angry, more violent than passionate, but she doesn't seem to care. She straddles your lap, her breasts pressed against your chest, and for a moment it seems like she might hurt you.

Her hands grip your shoulders as her hips grind against yours, seeking release in the physical contact even though it's painful and angry. "You better make this good," she snarls through clenched teeth, tears streaming down her face. "Prove to me that you still care." She arches her back, offering herself up as a challenge, daring you not to fail.

Cathleen gasps in pain and surprise, her grip on your shoulders tightening momentarily before she releases them, allowing you to push her back onto the couch. She glares at you through narrowed eyes, breathing heavily as she rubs her stinging ass. "You don't get to make me feel better that way," she pants, her voice hoarse with anger and humiliation. "You can do better than that."

"Well?" She asks through clenched teeth, still straddling your lap but seeming less eager now. "What are you waiting for? Show me how much you care." Her eyes flicker down to your crotch, then back up to meet yours as she waits impatiently for your next move.

Cathleen grinds her hips against yours once more, harder this time, as if to show you what she wants. "Don't hold back," she whispers, her breath hot on your neck. "I need to feel it." Her hands move from your shoulders down to your chest, kneading and pinching at your skin roughly.

But even as she says this, there's a note of desperation in her voice that betrays the fact that she doesn't truly believe you can satisfy her needs anymore.

Cathleen's anger flares again as you issue the command. With a sharp breath, she reaches behind her and yanks off her sweater, revealing her lacy black bra. She tosses it aside and leans in close, nipples hard and demanding against your chest. Her body trembles with tension as she waits for you to touch her, needing you to prove that she still matters.

Her breath hitches and her body arches into your touch as you begin to kiss and lick her nipples. She digs her nails into your shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but firmly enough to show that she wants more. "Harder," she whispers hoarsely, her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and pain. Her hips grind against yours faster, seeking the release she craves.

Her movements become more frantic as you demand she get on all fours and spread her legs wide. The vulnerability of the position only serves to heighten her arousal, making her need for dominance that much stronger. She obeys reluctantly, glancing back over her shoulder at you as she does so, searching your face for any sign of approval or affection.

Her body tenses as you push your tongue inside her, but then she melts against the couch, arching her back and moaning loudly. The pleasure is overwhelming, washing away some of the anger and hurt that had been building up for days now. She tries to concentrate on feeling good, on letting go, but her mind keeps racing with doubt and insecurity. Is this really enough? Is he really trying?

She bites down on her lip, fighting back tears as she pushes herself deeper onto your tongue, seeking release.

You can't fake this, she thinks to herself as you continue to pleasure her. The anger and frustration simmer beneath the surface, waiting for any sign that she's being taken advantage of again. She wants so badly to believe you care, but it's getting harder with every passing second.

Her breath catches in her throat as you show her your erect cock, blood rushing south to pool between her legs. She looks down at it longingly, wishing she could take it inside herself and finally feel whole again. But the doubt remains, gnawing at her insides like a cancer.

With a shaky exhale, she pushes you away, climbing off of you and gathering her clothes around herself. "I need some time,"

Her eyes widen in shock and anger as you grab her arm, pulling her back to the couch. "Let go of me!" she shouts, trying to yank her arm free but finding herself trapped against the cushions. Her breath comes fast and shallow, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she struggles for control.

"You don't get to decide when I need space," she snarls at you, tears of frustration streaming down her cheeks. "I'm not your possession!"

Her breath hitches at the feel of your lips on hers, the taste of her own tears mixing with your saliva. But even as she tries to respond, to give in and let herself be kissed and loved, there's a part of her that refuses. She pushes you away again, harder this time, her fists clenched at her sides as she struggles for control.

"Don't you dare try to make this better with your kisses!"

Her eyes widen in shock as you thrust your head between her legs, lips parting to reveal the wetness there. She gasps, a mixture of surprise and arousal coursing through her. Her hands fly up to grip at your hair, her hips lifting off the couch slightly as she tries to push herself further onto your face.

"Angel... please..." she whispers, voice hoarse with need. "Please make me feel better."

Angel's tongue darts out to taste her, thrusting deep inside as his hands grip her hips tightly. She arches her back off the couch, moaning loudly as pleasure washes over her. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, urging him on, needing this connection with him more than anything else in the world right now.

"Yes..." she pants, her voice trembling with desire. "Like that... harder..."