Elia's imagination was more than active enough to provide her with a mental picture of what it would look like – the dark-skinned fae writhing with pleasure even as the Djinn's power burned her out from the inside, consuming until she was exhaling cinders and nothing else. Elia had felt the pull at her own well of power, the heat that drained her even as cool, shadowy energy bubbled up to replace it.
"I should know better than a lot of things, I've been told. But here we are." The witch's fingers flirted with his belt, drifting along the line between shirt and trousers before hooking into the belt itself, holding firm as she stepped into him again. "You know I only have it in me to be so good, Ringmaster. I can only behave and keep my distance for so long before I start to forget why I'm behaving..."