Dawn surrendered the brush to him, unsure of what she was feeling on what lay in his eyes. Her body shivered for each slow caress over the marks of red and bruising on her skin, a soft sigh parting her lips. Would he touch her like she knew he thought about now? Like he craved? Now that another had done so and proved that she was not made of glass?<br/><br/>She hoped so. When the brush moved through her hair at first she stayed silent, hands clasped before her and eyes downtrained. "I am thankful you do not begrudge me pleasure where I find it but...I want to know. Which is it you fear Roarke? What you would do if I could take it?"