Slammed against a pillar of the theater by too strong yet refined hands, Thomas can't help but shiver. Hana, majestic in her deceivingly understated shawl, towers over him in high heels.
"Annihilate me," she whispers in his ears, while she deftly ties his hands and his torso with unyielding knots that Thomas can't find in himself to fight. "I have been wondering, dear Thomas, who was the man who wrote such a heartfelt plea."
Gone is her cockney accent, gone is her silly smile; Thomas could see now it had only been a deceit. She carries herself differently, with the light smile of a goddess who regards Thomas as a toy for her amusement. She isn’t an actress playing Venus, she is Venus. Thomas didn't know his goddess had such a cruel tingle on her red eyes.
Her hands grab his neck and push him where she wants, molding his unresisting form to her pleasure. She passes a finger under the thin line of leather strapped around Thomas’s neck as if she is looking for the best place to leave a bruise, and he can’t. He can’t.
He is frozen in place not only by the bonds she tangled him in, but by his own desires made flesh. Hana has stripped him down to his core elements. To repressed desires and pleas.
He doesn't know how to react but fortunately the words are already there for him, lied down like a safeline to perdition.
"Oh please, please. Annihilate me."