The way Melinda cringed and tried, even now, to ward off Thomas' touch made this all the more delicious for him. He was no besmitten suitor hoping to win her heart or gentlemanly dandy looking to while away the time in the polite company of the fairer sex. He was a predator who would prey upon hey and wished to savor every moment of the hunt and take down. He allowed her to push away his hand... Only so he could use the distance to "gift" her with a hey handed snack with the back of his hand that snapped her head from pine side to the other.<br/><br/>"Yes... Beg..." Thomas cooed at Melinda, his face now but inches away from hers. "... But... You have to learn to do it prettier...and for the right things," Thomas admonished her ads she looked around for help that wouldn't be coming.<br/><br/>Yes, the night had eyes, even in Whitechapel. Problem is, for Melinda, those eyes were either cold and half dead or small and feral; not the sort that evidenced compassion or even concern for the victimization of a good woman. They were the eyes of poverty hardened survivors whose only care was to make it to the next, suffering as little as possible.<br/><br/>Thomas's hands closed about her throat tighter and tighter d he wanted to teach her a lesson. He wasn't holding hey thusly to kill her, no, that would be such a waste. Instead. He wanted Melinda to really feel the reality of the fact that het life was in his hand an that she breathed only at his indulgence. "Prove your not a stupid trollop... Beg.... Make me wsnt too give you what you need," he ordered Melinda, the cruelty in his eyes hinting at the fact that  her life depended on her acquiring to his will.