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Her stomach continued to knot and writhe as his eyes bored into her even as she willed it to stop, for him to remain unaware of it. Finally he let go of her face and she could feel him trying to shake her off but instinctively she tightened her grip. As soon as she realized she regretted not letting her hand fall away and restored some physical distance, especially when she realized she'd followed it up with a thumb movement which was disturbingly reminiscent of a caress.

Tig felt briefly nauseated by this digression before it was replaced by the return of her seething anger. She dug her nails in. Does my life still mean so little to you? There was a slight hesitation before her reply as these words caught in her throat and were thrust back down again. Then should I die in a compromising position in another man's arms or am I allowed to fight back and cause a scandal? Because those are the only options you're leaving me with! Suppose I allow the next man to go about his business to spare you the embarrassment of a public duel, you'd never be completely certain I hadn't reciprocated. Wouldn't that bother you? The possibility that I'd willingly risked death, that I considered it worth it just to have someone else touch me... You'd be powerless to do anything about it and everyone would know. She didn't believe for a second that she'd ever risk her life so pointlessly but he didn't know that, and there had been an uncomfortable tightness in her chest since he'd spoken and it made her want to lash out in a particularly vicious fashion, to goad him into extreme emotion of some sort. If it made him jealous angry, somehow, she sensed, that would make it go away.

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Outfit | Tag: Tiberius Lestrange | Notes: