Kedrick found himself enraptured in confusion at the perfect melding of Iris and Greta. If it had simply been that woman here, heeding all his demands, it could not have been this beautiful. Her fear was real, which honeyed this the most, he thought. Desperation for employment. It was a matter of life for Iris, and the avatar put on her might feel the same. He thought the nymph was making her own life difficult, preforming so well at the start.<br/><br/>He was filled with her flattery, the way she wrung herself when he looked at her, like the light from his eyes was affecting her skin and upsetting her swelling nerves. His breath cut in his throat when she clapped herself again. It was unbearable to be this filled with blood so suddenly. He couldn't breathe when her sex begged for attention, like its own performer. It was the kind of display even the best trained woman could not deliver. In Iris it was honesty.<br/><br/>With Greta's offer and the suggestion that his little, newest thing was battling tides inside for him, he couldn't' contain himself anymore. He shooed her lower hand away and undid his own belt while she was bound in hers. It was a barbaric kind of haste when he covered her with himself, and the rush with which he took himself out from the tailoring was cruder, even though the creature that was being Greta might find it the best kind of compliment.<br/><br/>Instinct had him rolling her belt once around her neck. He should be concerned about his fiery vengeance and it's physical manifestation. "What I like?" he asked and tugged at one side, his usual, chastising voices lost like flakes of salt in the sea. The black, broad band dug into her skin to contain her body, and perfectly keep it where it was when he drove into her. One hand could easily control it all, snaring her tighter and squeezing her throat deeper. It was more passion he'd ever shown anyone.<br/><br/>It was the danger with the kind of creature Iris was. And it was no danger at all, really. A lighting rod for his malices, if that was a part of him that needed to be exorcised. She'd drawn it out, because he'd been poisoned with restraint, and because he'd not held on hard to his cravings because no one had invited them the way her blushes and devotion had.<br/><br/>He gasped when he realized he pulled the belt too high for too long, and wanted to amend it, but his arm wouldn't lower as he released into his Waking Doll. The madness was cleaned from his vision before he could rely on it, and he was staring at his latest purchase with the greatest kind of denial, her body tangled in the unforgiving knots of the safety article, closed around her windpipe. He didn't know what to say or think, still inside her, or why there was so little dread in him. She made the perfect, macabre artwork.<br/><br/>The car stopped at his gates.