Perhaps he knew she wouldn't waste the fuel, or maybe he was just egotistical enough to think that she enjoyed the dance as much as he did. Either way, he didn't feel particularly worried about her making good on her threats. She hadn't tried to off him so far, which as far as he was concerned meant she wouldn't. Though, contrarily, his mind never applied that logic to other things. So the fact that she hadn't put out so far, either, did not to him mean he should stop suggesting she do so.
"Delusional? I'd have to be crazy to think you give good head? Oh, now, chica, don't sell yourself short. Nothing uglier on a woman than low self-esteem. Fucking tragic." Marcus considered reaching out to toy with her hair or stroke her cheek, but the glare she was giving him was awfully heated. She was liable to bite, or worse. So he settled for wetting his lip instead, just a quick dart of tongue, keeping his gaze steady. Measured. "Sure, I like more ass on a bitch, but a lot of people have lost weight these days. Don't feel ugly. Shit, you're easily in the top thirty."
He seemed to consider that for just a second, looking off in thought, as though he were actually making a mental roster of the women in Sing Sing, and ordering them by attractiveness. "Maybe top twenty-five in this fucking place. Hey, maybe you're just out of practice? You get lonely over there, chica? I don't see a lot of visitors."