She couldn't draw breath fast enough, gasping hard to try and refill her burning lungs. It didn't help to still feel the black Hell-flames dancing about the seared skin of her neck, the taunting tendresse only making it that much worse.
The other hand, tormenting her with the silent threat it posed, hurt Lust more than she liked to admit, wanting nothing more than to snap Asmodeus's wrist, rip his arm out of it's socket and hurl it across the room. Her fear of the demon King did nothing to quell her intense hate, her desire to make him bleed, to make him writhe like the bitch he claimed her to be. Anyone else, she would have had them on their knees, begging her for mercy.
Sorry? She would show him sorry. Her wounded pride ached as much as her throat, her head pounding from the lack of oxygen as much as the temper that burned through her veins.
But none of that mattered when there was nothing she could do with the unspoken threat of the hand hovering where it could cause so much damage before she could even think to react if Asmodeus so chose.
"Please. I spoke out of turn, I wasn't thinking clearly. Your presence threw me off guard." Excuses tumbled forth, rambling off her tongue like nothing. Anything to please Asmodeus enough to get him away. He had to leave before Desmond might happen home. He had to leave without hurting it. To reach those goals, Lust would have done just about anything, but she couldn't quite bring herself to offer the apology he sought, or even think on what sort of proof would suit him.