He kissed her hard and bruising, a panicked and frantic collision of mouth and anger and desperation. His lips crashed against hers with none of the old tenderness, only force, his teeth scraping while the taste of alcohol flooded her tongue. There was nothing gentle in the contact and nothing familiar in the way he held her, and the realization struck with cold clarity that this was not love or passion but a man breaking apart and trying to drag her into the wreckage with him.
He kissed her again, hard and misaligned and frantic, catching the corner of her mouth this time so that the edge of her lip stung under the force. She tried to turn her face away and fought him while his breath scraped against her jaw. Her wrists twisted uselessly inside his grip while his fingers clamped down harder, holding her in place as if resistance only justified the pressure.
