The tip of his blade lingered near her heart as he edged closer to her temptingly portrayed figure. A dark part of him secretly yearned to turn the blade down, drawing its sharp point into the valley of her breasts and slice through her gown, so he might feast upon the sight of those proud, full globes. Instead, he steadied his hand more over her heart, the tip settling against her milky skin.<br/><br/>"No, I will save you some dignity, whore--" his words were cut off as the trap was sprung. The sword fell, clattering harmless onto the floor at the foot of the bed.<br/><br/>"Unhand me! Your deceptions are pitiful, witch!" He did not give up, there was that. Even though the silken web seemed unbreakable he twisted and fought, tugged and cursed. Powerful, muscular form buckled and bent, desperate to escape, though ultimately futile. Even as she mocked him he glared at her, casting a look at the sword. Some part of him trying furiously to reason a way out of the circumstance he found himself in.<br/><br/>