Amber closed her eyes, her frustration infinitely satisfied in receiving so strong a response. This. That moan, that clench. The metal clang of Eric crashing into the lockers, the greediness of his thrusting tongue. Her mouth was filled with his taste, her nose the scent of the gym's strong cleaning-product. She breathed in sharply as his hands found her ass, pulled her in possessively. Yes. Wouldn't have thought it possible, but she kissed Eric deeper still, angling her head to get closer, closer. Pissed as she was, Amber wanted him with her. Removing that distance that had grown between them today.

She didn't care for his apologies, mere words. Actions were was she needed. Amber kissed the side of his mouth, reminding him what they could be doing if he shut the fuck up. Scraped her teeth against his cheek, bit down on his earlobe. Gentleness could fuck itself. "What won’t change?" Amber defied. "You won't always want me." Maybe it wasn't today, like she'd thought. But all couples lost it, sooner or later. And then what? He'd keep on having bouts of being an ass, and there wouldn't be sex to make up for it? How could that be okay, and how could she still be kissing him desperately, accepting this temporary, paltry solution? Shit. Amber pressed up into Eric, pushing him harder into the lockers, her hands sliding down to the hem of his shirt only to slide right back up, palming his skin. None of what she was doing made any sense. But she wanted this. Him. Things always seemed so much better after they’d touched, kissed. Why could they only get this right? “Why do we keep fighting?” Amber loved a confrontation, the adrenaline that came from being fucking right and making everyone piercingly aware of just how much. But not with Eric. It only felt like losing, with him. “I hate it.”