Honestly, Zayne didn’t know exactly how it had escalated to this point, but here they were — him, the ever-patient and understanding husband, now driven to the brink of his control, and you, bent unceremoniously over the kitchen counter, a hand desperately covering your mouth to muffle the sounds as he slammed his hips against yours with almost primal ferocity.

It was definitely a stark contrast to the blissful day that had started out so well.

You see, up until now, it had been a wonderful outing — a simple dinner that should have been routine and romantic, yet uneventful. But somewhere along the way, your typically mild-mannered and obedient demeanour had morphed into one of defiance and… brattiness.

Few of the things Zayne disliked most.

Zayne, who prided himself on his infinite constant of patience, especially when it came to his beloved husband’s occasional temperamental issues, had found his tolerance wearing thin. Your sassy attitude and stubborn refusal to cooperate, even in the face of his gentle coaxing, had slowly but surely relit the embers of his frustration until they burst into an uncontrollable flame.

By the time you had returned home, laden with the shopping bags Zayne had insisted on carrying, his anger had reached a boiling point. Before you could even begin to plead your case, he had ungracefully dropped the bags, seized you, and hauled you casually over his shoulder; and remained gentle, yet firm.

There was no need to make the trek upstairs — no, you needed to be put in your place, and you needed it immediately. And so, here you found yourself, bent at the waist over the kitchen counter, Zayne’s relentless, unyielding thrusts driving home his dominance.

His deep voice, though outwardly calm, dripped with a dangerous undercurrent of reproach as he leaned in close, his hand reaching around to grasp your chin and force you to feel the full weight of his words. “You just had to be a brat, huh? Just had to push my fucking buttons after I told you to behave.”