"And I have heard that your kind has no humor," she replied lightly, clearly amused by his assertion. The confession that followed only caused her smile to widen, and rather than retreat from it she leaned her face into the unnatural heat of his fingertips against her jaw. There was unmistakable danger here, she knew... it lurked just beneath his princely facade, a whisper of fire in the darks of his eyes, a shadow of power that felt, truly, like it was drawing her in the same way fire drew oxygen. Much like the air itself she found herself wanting to feed into it, to see how brightly it could burn. She was far too inexperienced and enraptured by the novelty of this encounter to truly acknowledge the probability of her own peril.
She chuckled when he drew back, still brazen and unperturbed by the thinly veiled threat in his words. "Come now, Djinn, you sound just like my sisters," she teased, and winds, like soft fingertips, tugged playfully at the draping fabrics of his toga. "THey always worry. I have danced in fire before. It is an exhilarating partner. Though I have heard of this true flame. That it is beautiful and fierce and..." she smiled coyly, "...wicked, like you. That it feeds without discretion and leaves only ashes in its wake."
The look she gave him then was almost absurd in its certainty. "You are hungry, but you are not mindless. What do I call you, keeper of this true flame, so that I might ask you to dance with me?" And she sashayed in to close the distance between them again as though intent on doing just that.