She couldn’t ascribe her restless night to physical discomfort with her surroundings. The temperature of the quarters where Damien had imprisoned her was constant and so finely attuned to her comfort that she couldn’t help but wonder if these beings had discovered a way to regulate such things--as farfetched as that seemed on the surface. The bed was also comfortable. It was her own body she was uncomfortable with. She was sensible enough to realize that giving the appearance of malleability was probably the safest thing she could do in her current circumstances. She was cool headed enough to present the facade of doing so, but the customs here boggled her conservative mind. Inside, she cringed at being the next thing to naked--around a man, no less. More than that, it made her aware of her own sexuality in a way she never had been, nor had ever particularly wished to be. She was entirely certain that she would’ve been uncomfortable if she’d been completely alone. Damien Bloodragon magnified her awareness to such a degree that she had felt unnerved, jittery, and fragile even after he’d left her, at last, to herself.
