Maybe if you plead your case, he'll be...lenient?

You lick your lips.

You can feel his gaze follow your tongue as you inhale, the scent of smoke invading your senses and filling your chest.

"I don't know what you mean," you say slowly, measuring your words gently against each other. "However, if I've offended in some way...or, or did something wrong, is there a way I can...apologize?"

You let your voice drop into a husky resonance.

He is but a man, after all, and all men have their weaknesses.

He stares at you, then starts to chuckle a bit, chucking the brown end of the cigarette into his ashtray. "Make it up to me? Apologize?" he growls, and you try not to react to it, just gazing back just as stubbornly. He leans back in his chair, hands on his armrests, fingers tapping with rings glinting with each movement. "You know what? I haven't had a good show in a while. Strip."

What.

"What?" your mouth goes dry for a moment, but this is playing out how you'd wanted it to, isn't it...?

"You heard me," he chuckles, motioning at you. "Strip. And not fast, either. Start with that shirt of yours. Do the first button. I'll tell you when to continue."

You...you feel woozy with the adrenaline rush.

You'd somehow, someway, graced yourself past sure **** and danced your way into this situation.

Your hands shake a moment as you lift them, fingernails scraping the first button, and you swallow, feeling the bounces of your throat against the collar of your button-up.

He still grins at you. Dragon. Demon. Hunter.

And you, his prey.