The pillow poofed against his broad chest, falling into his left hand, distracting him from a momentary reverie that came as he admired the way her dress' behaviour accentuated her wondrously alluring form. A look of genuine mirth crossed his features, accompanied by a rather out-of-place chuckle. That, he hadn't expected. With a gentle flick of his arm, he sent it back in her face, more a soft pass than an actual throw. He leaned over her, his masculine scent overcoming the air around her as the aggressive protrusion in his britches shamelessly nudged against her sweet, fabric-covered buttocks. He smelled of power, victory, and dominance. He used the extra reach the movement gave him to deftly pluck her wrists out of the air, stretching out to reach them and pulling them backwards as he straightened his back, imparting some force from his pelvis into her posterior as leverage, the ever-persistent presence of his manhood running along the crack of Danielle's bottom firmly. For now, her dignity was still preserved by the continued presence both of their garments. As if he was cuffing her, he pressed her wrists together against the lower portion of her back, just above where her buttocks terminated. He held them together with his left hand, wrapping her wrists in his powerful fingers and effectively immobilising her arms.<br/><br/>And there he had her - face down in the sheets, arse up in the air, legs split and pinned, and her hands firmly restrained. If there had been any doubt before, her ravishing was now inevitable.<br/><br/>Filled with a sense of satisfaction, he turned his free hand to matters of undressing. First, he grasped the slightly-grubby hem of her dress. He had no desire to tear the thing - in fact, the way it made her look was in no small part responsible for her current predicament. He wanted to see her wear it again. Atop that, even he had to admit, she had already been deprived of much this day, and the destruction of material possessions tended to hammer home despair in those facing hardships. He had seen it many times - young women, tears streaming from their eyes as they cradled broken trinkets or tattered scraps of material still partially serving as clothing, their homes burning around them - such was the result of a visit from the uninvited guest of conflict. Most men were much the same, though they favoured hardier, practical things. The Lady had shaped humans as sentimental creatures. If he was to use her as he intended for the next few days, he much preferred she have the same fight in her she did now, not sadness. Resentment, stoicism, and aggression were healthy emotions that filled the heart and empowered the soul, not so far divorced from lust - despondency, by contrast, made for a boring fuck. Relishing what he saw, he tactfully drew the hem of her dress up her thighs, over her hips and across her back.