He considered his next words carefully as he advanced on the woman. "If you insist that you still belong to your husband, then you have two options - necrophilia, or a convent. Neither seem particularly fun to me. Why limit yourself now that you're free from the looming sin of adultery?" His words came out as hurtful and harsh, but in truth, he had not meant them as such. He was not a man predisposed to mincing his words for smooth consumption, and with the lion's share of his company consisting of roughly spoken warriors, lewd-tongued whores and bored military officers, it was safe to say he had not miraculously gained the capacity for diplomacy. Yet he cursed himself as the sentiment hung in the air - it was a spiteful thing to say. and most certainly not a stroke favourable to the image of him he wished to generally cultivate. Yet, what did he care what she thought of him? She'd be spending the next few days with his cock in her, and no opinion of hers could change that.<br/><br/>In moments, his broad strides had carried him before her. He noted that she sat defiantly on the bed - certainly, she had recoiled, but she had unusually iron nerves for a woman. Most of the other women he'd raped had fled to the corners of the room, as if they were attempting to hide and will him out of existence. It obviously never worked. But positioning herself in the centre of the bed was smart - it gave her more options to move, to react. For all of his callous detachment, an emotional stance necessary for the full enjoyment of what he intended to do, the tiniest seed of a warm emotion besides animal lust had willed its way into existence in his cold heart. Despite himself, he feared he was beginning to like the woman. She was a fighter. He had some level of respect for that, but he doubted she could follow it through. With his composure restored by that grim sentiment, he reached towards the bed, gripping the frame in one powerful hand as he hauled himself onto the soft surface. Once again, he proved he possessed a level of dexterity that contrasted his immense physically, though the finely wrought wooden frame upon which the feather mattress sat creaked as it accepted his weight for the first time. Not unlike the noise a woman made when she first accepted his manhood - another appealing metaphor.<br/><br/>A bar of orange sunlight flickered over his features as he crawled towards her, projected by a gap in the thick curtains smothering the window. It caught his eyes, glinting blue. It shone over his musculature, bathing his skin gold. He raised his left hand, intending to deliver a firm but harmless push to Danielle's abdomen, one which he intended would leave her lying on her back for his powerful arms to grasp, flip over, and mould to his will.