"Not yet," he turned his hand about with a few gentle curls of the wrist, inspecting it, admiring the magics craftsmanship in the same way a dealer might look upon an antique. There was something very fulfilling, be it hypnotic about the swift marks and the soft curves of arcane penmanship... it wasn't the sole glyph he wore on his skin. Naeth also donned a few protection wards across his chest, but<span style="font-style: italic">'Amora'</span>looked particular pleasing in said script... or it could like Stolen Food Syndrome. Things always tasted better when taken from someone else's plate, it only made sense that stolen words would follow suite...<br/><br/>There was a small, amused exhale, a little too private to be counted as a laugh and then his eyes shot bolt upright, locking on hers, drinking in the desperation, "You'll have to earn it back, now, won't you dear?"<br/>Poor naive thing! Existing in her own little bubble until now... oh and what a pleasure it had been bursting it! If any voice of conscious was crying out in the back of his head, what was left of the booze had gagged it and chained it in the dungeon of his subconscious. It was making him sleepy to boot. Perhaps he had had his fun, besides, she'd admitted it herself, she wasn't going anywhere.<br/><br/>True, he hadn't fully broken her in and house trained her until she felt<span style="font-style: italic">happy</span>to be there, but enough was enough and bed was just too tempting.<br/><br/>"You have one last choice tonight," he mused, slightly less enthusiastic now, waving a nonchalant hand as he turned on his heel and started to slink off towards the four poster bed (an ex-lover had bought it for him, were it not so comfortable he'd have burned it for fire wood years ago!) "Either you come and join me in here," he shot her a cheeky smirk over his shoulder and started to strip off his shirt, "Or there are spare blankets in that chest over in yonder corner," and unbuckling his belt,  "and plenty good floor space!" he stripped completely (demons were also notorious for their lack of modesty. It came from years of sleeping in huddles, like animals in caves) and collapsed into bed, "In the morning your hand maids will dress, bathe and set you up. Sleep tight Amora, my sweet,"