It was no-frills sex. No toys, no lingerie, no roleplay, no power exchange. They had shared a look in the car, a longer look in the hotel lobby, and in the elevator a fiery exchange of eye contact so incendiary that if that old lady with the dog had not been standing behind them they would have started right there.
When he remembered the moment years later, and he would, he would recall her expression as not even specifically sexual. He would remember the openness of her gaze, the complete lack of boundaries, the trust in knowing anything might happen next. It was the awestruck look of a child; it was the worshipful look of a parishioner deep in prayer. The look of an athlete milliseconds before the firing of the starting gun. The look of a girl about to receive her first kiss.
Their eyes locked. The air shimmered. The moon broke out into clear sky and moonlight spilled through the window, baptizing them.
And then he sneered and pulled the belt tight and the air went red and everything seemed to happen at once. He lifted her off the ground with the belt, kissing her roughly as she gasped and choked and moaned, biting at her lips and tongue. He lowered her back to the ground.