That it was his bare hand stroking over her skin somehow made the softly drifting touch worse, rather than better. Clasped in the cold glove, her mind could fool itself into the thought that he was inhuman, not a sentient creature but a thing, a machine.<br/><br/>Thus, there was no escaping that what was touching her was a hand, warm, rough, human, and the elf shook her head, turning it away from them, and away from him. "Not all things pleasurable are meant to be had, not unless they aid in the Great Circle. Things done for the sake of the pleasure alone take one away from that Path."