Warning signs, or battle scars?

Note:  Wrote this when intoxicated. Unedited, not counting spelling mistakes.



He burrows himself so far into the layers of her skin she will never be
able to dig him out.  It's not like she hasn't tried—wearing her battle
scars like trophies.  Sliding into herself every evening; partly
enthralled and partly sickened; she enjoys the delicious ways his kisses
burn the bruises. He loves making her hate him.  The  stubborn anger in
her voice gets him every time.  Whispering lust filled greed against
her skin, he takes her, and twisted pleasure in the hateful way she says
his name.  The more she hates him, the more they both enjoy his
punishment.  Because she'd never been given a reason to scream
before.  She likes it best when he is mean.