Northstar Vale das gericht

her displeasure smote whiplike at him, and mahler looked upon her with a growing sense of irritation as catlike andraste cast first her silent barbs, and then the flute of mockery rose to her throat.
she meant to goad him, to spite him until the masculine was spurred — mahler grew cool from where he rested against the stone floor, but bore her heavy glances and imperious countenance with his usual retiring nature.
she would shame him for her own dissatisfaction, when his body had borne a great loss in the past months? mahler was pragmatic; he could not dally here and spin about with her in paroxysms of desire all the while, not when his obligations loomed high and fierce above his head even when slumber had claimed him?
he was spurned; she unsated, and the thorn of her tongue was a wounding blow to his efforts. not a sensual beast by many means, mahler had allowed andraste to unravel him into exposed lusts and pockets of desire.
and now she had become another of those clamoring for more than he was able to give; wearystruck and rankled, mahler lifted his great heft carefully to limbs that had lost their pleasant tremble.
and here he met her moonkissed pout with a sweeping stare that lingered upon her sun-carved flesh and veiled eyes, lips briefly thinned into a caricature of a smile before they parted completely despite himself —
"i plead nothing from you, andraste," and there the briarpatch of how he remembered she had torn away aurëwen and installed in its place the porcelain idol of pearled coolness and haughty sateen carnality.
darkened plume flared at his hips; mahler began to search for the path down which he had been led before the meet that was so plainly unsatisfying in its very existence.