*meets your gaze squarely, his own eyes clear and, yes, guileless* No. I never did. Amarië, how shall I call you cold when I myself have not found a reason?
*cradles your head as his other hand renews his assault, his fingers moving faster now, slower now, torturous in the variation* *licks a line straight up to your chin, blowing cool air along your damp skin (and his breaths are a little shaky now)* I ought to hate you for what you've done to me.