He prepared another vision, one carefully constructed and one they had never had before. Her hair was done in artful tresses, skilled curls that fell from her head. Her makeup was immaculate, highlighting her natural beauty and adding a beauty of its own. The leather of the cincher made her waist look even smaller, its rough embrace trapped sweat between its shell and her skin. Her back bore his marks, scratches that still carried warmth, no blood, but trails saying he had touched her more than once. The silk around her wrist was soaked, damp from the moisture of who knew what, but it did not hurt her, just bound her. Again he was with her, this time under her, she was bound to something above his head, and below her he watched. There was sound, sound of his voice, of their bodies, of the steady smack of her flesh to his as she rode him. His hands were upon her, holding her breasts, keeping them from pulling at her back even as he tugged against her nipples.<br/><br/>With this vision prepared he held it in check as his hands gripped her hips. He withdrew , preparing her for his body. And then he thrust, using his weight to drive her forward as he sent the vision. Again he hoped she could see, feel the image in his mind, feel the lust and the desire to perform acts that were for her pleasure as well as his. He drove forward and then pulled back, only to repeat. The was not gentle, it was with force. He did not go so far as to hurt her, pulling back instinctively with each thrust to deny her pain. he still could not hurt her like that.<br/><br/>He focused and sent the vision even as his body sought to pleasure her in this reality. This time he made no sound, instead he was driven by her voice, and not his.