beaten black 'n' blue

Blue and black and purple and brown and green and yellow, and sometimes even red if they were fresh enough. He could turn all the colors of the damn rainbow under the right circumstances, and her guilt for loving it is only half-hearted. How can she feel truly guilty when the strange pleasure always outweighs it in the end?
The sight of him is beautiful. He is beautiful, always, breathtaking and impossible to look away from, but the sight of him as he is now is more beautiful than she could ever imagine to be real. He is ethereal.
It must the contrast, she muses. The bright, marble white canvas painted with those dark smudges with those bright, yellow edges that close in over time, staining him again and again into a work that rivals Kandinksy. When he stumbles in, a sleeve sometimes torn, drops of blood on his vest, and an exhausted grin on his face, she takes one look at the dark rim around an eye and she knows.
She knows that when he demands she help him undress and get cleaned up, that she will find those beautiful markings, still deep shades of purple and blue, and she will have the chance to touch them.
It is hard to conceal her excitement as she stares at his smooth, hard stomach, all marked up, and even harder to do so when she cleans him and sees him cringe and hiss as her hands brush over them. But she absolutely must conceal it, or else face his confused rage upon discovering just how abnormal her fascination was. He would surely remind her what a freak she was, and punish her for enjoying his pain.
She wants to feel truly guilty about that part. She really does. She knows that there is something wrong with her that she has come to find a sick sense of pleasure in seeing him like this, in seeing her love hurt in such a way, and it isn't as if she really likes that he is hurting. She just loves how beautiful it makes him, and is that really so wrong?
And so she will never tell him how her breath catches in her throat when she sees the telltale sign of a purple splotch somewhere on his perfect body, and she will continue to enjoy such things on her own. And when something has upset him and he turns to her for the comfort that only a blow to her jaw or stomach can give, she will not let him know that she will take a private enjoyment in the matching bruises that he has given her.