Lust had a nonchalant look on her face. 'Love' really wasn't a word that held much meaning to her when it came to sex. It was just a wonderful weakness to use that others had. But why would Irish care unless he wanted to kiss whoever was in love with him? She hit him hard enough that it sounded and felt like lighting cracking across his back, "Shouldn't is an awfully big word, darling. You shouldn't be doing lots of things." she jabbed her nail at his collarbone and slid it up along his neck, digging in hard enough to make it burn till she got to right under his jaw and forced it up till he looked at her, "I specialize in wanting. So tell me, Irish. What. Do. You. Want." all his desires, great and small, on a silver platter. The switch at his back soothing against the flesh it just marred, ready to go again.