He gives her breast a particularly intense, punishing squeeze, making her back arch instinctively.
"Nnnhhh..." Marielle bites her lips to try suppressing the moans because she doesn't really want to fully give in to him.
"You're starving, aren't you?" he sneers, his voice dripping with a mocking, masculine arrogance. "All that dignity, all that 'grace'... it's just a mask for how fucking frustrated you are."
"Your husband's been gone, leaving you all alone in this big, empty house with nothing but your thoughts and your mounting desperation."
"You've been pent up for months, haven't you, Marielle? Begging for a man to actually take you instead of just talking to you."
The bluntness of his words hits her like a physical blow. It is a vulgar, shameless assumption, yet as he continues to manhandle her, his hands kneading her tits and squeezing her ass as if testing the quality of meat, she can't deny the truth of it.
