Mount Apikuni don't go out tonight

He wonders if there is something about him that he has missed for all of these women to come before him like this, slinking and submissive and wanting.  His eyes which have to this point remained unflinching widen just barely in response to her statement.  It is soft, too.

He bets you anything it is.  She is very much a woman, and she is certainly his type.  She is finely crafted and willow-thin.  But there is something about her colour-drained features, her stoic demeanor, that is much more than that.  He cannot place it.

He is a man, black and ugly as he is, he still has desires.  But he does not like feeling used.  Is it, he states impassively, not daring to move.